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“Smart, sexy, centered, and a good cook. I found the whole package.” Holding his wine glass aloft in a toast, he waits until I walk to him, the glasses ringing in approval as we cheer each other, sip once, then kiss.
Beep!
The rice cooker is done.
“Can I help?” Will drinks more wine, then sets down the glass, looking at my midsection. “Do you have another apron?”
I point to the row of hooks with five white aprons in a row.
“Wow. You’re organized.”
“Form and function. I like aprons and I like the look.”
Plucking one off a hook, he opens it up and bursts out laughing.
Across the front is a huge Wonder Woman symbol, two giant silkscreened Ws.
Looping the top over his head, he reaches behind himself and ties the strings. “What do you think?”
“You’re working it. You could be the next Gal Gadot.”
“I’ll stick to being Will Lotham. I’m pretty good at that. What should I do?” Unbuttoning his cuffs, he does that slow shirtsleeve roll that looks so sexy on a man who has come over to make love with you after dinner.
Not that I would know.
Because this is the first time I’ve had a guy overnight. But I’m hoping it’s the first of many nights with Will, so I’m going to generalize.
“How about salad, Wonder Will?” I point to the fixings. He gets to work, again not asking, just intuitively knowing what to do in my space.
I like this.
No. Scratch that.
I love this.
As I’m browning the chicken in some avocado oil, he asks. “Do these go in the salad?”
I look up. He’s staring at a small tray of long, aromatic herbs arranged with other savory bites.
“No. But you can have some now.”
“What are they?”
“Basil, mint, coriander, lemongrass.”
“Not for the salad? What do you do with them?”
“Eat them. As an appetizer. And we’ll have some of the herbs on the chicken.” I reach over and choose a sprig of basil, a sliver of ham, and a sesame cracker. “Try it,” I offer.
He does. He nods, making sounds of approval.
Is he loud in bed? I wonder as I watch him. Or a dirty talker?
Blood rushes to every pore on my body at the thought, my face feeling like a furnace.
“Mal?” He steps toward me, a predator sensing an opening. “What are you thinking about? You just… changed.”
“Changed?” My voice cracks.
