“I have to put him in his crate when I cook. He won’t stay out when I’m in here and after a near miss with some boiling water I learned it was safest to put him away until the food is prepared. Hungry?”
“Starving.” I wasn’t hungry at all before until I smelt the food. But now my stomach rumbles like a little monster lives there. “What is that?”
“Spinach and cream sauce over pork chops. I also made potatoes and bread is warming.” He points around to various pots and dishes.
“You made all this for yourself?”
He gives a sad shrug. “I live alone, so when I make something I want leftovers for when I’m too tired to cook.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re sharing with me today, because it looks yummy.” I tap his jean-clad leg with the toe of my strappy heel.
“It’s almost done if you want to sit down.” He points to the small dining table near his living area. Sage doesn’t have a table because … well, Sage is Sage and why bother when you have a couch and bar top counter.
“I like it better here,” I admit, my voice raspier than I intend, but that’s what Lachlan does to me. He looks over his shoulder at me with a crooked smile.
Something feels different in the air tonight between us.
Thicker.
Heavier.
I watch Lachlan as he finishes the last few touches to the meal and then starts plating. He has me help with that part, directing me easily to where he houses everything in the cabinets and drawers.
We each take our plate to the table along with two glasses of water.
“Should you let Zeppelin out?”
He shakes his head, pulling out a chair for me to sit down. I blush, and take the chair, letting him push me in.
“If I do, he’ll only beg for food. I’d like to enjoy dinner with another person for a change.”
“Haven’t you had dinner with your family every night while they were in?”
“Yeah,” he takes his seat, “but I want to have a nice meal with you.”
Oh.
We each cut into the pork chops and I take a small bite, not usually a fan of the meat myself. “Oh my God,” I cry in surprise, “this is delicious.”
He chuckles, swallowing a bite of food. “You like it?”
“So yummy.” I cut another bite and eat it before trying a potato. “God, you’re an amazing cook.” I can’t help but praise him, because it’s deserved. “Are you sure you wanted to be a basketball player and guidance counselor was your back up? Because you, sir, should’ve been a chef.”
He laughs at my remark. “I assure you, I’m not that much of a talent in the kitchen. I excel far more at other things.” His eyes flash and he clears his throat, shaking his head slightly. “But I’m really glad you like it.”
I take a bite of butter bread, chewing and swallowing. “Thank you for asking me over. I was fine staying in and watching movies but this ... this is nice.”
He lifts his head from his plate. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I echo.
We exchange a small smile, one full of all the things between us we’re both too scared to give voice to. But they still exist there, in the space between words and glances, thoughts and sounds.
When we’ve both had our fill, we stand in the kitchen together, him rinsing the dishes while I load them into his dishwasher.
Once the kitchen and table are cleaned, he goes back to let Zeppelin free, and I stand in front of his window, looking out at his view. It’s only one floor above Sage’s so it’s not that different, but maybe it’s the impending new year counting down in a matter of hours that makes things look so different.
“What are you looking at?”