“Yes, but girls always lie. What about after the popcorn incident?”
That’s an easy answer. “Zero after.”
He taps his fingers on the counter mimicking my earlier movement deep in thought. “Really? Zero? Because you couldn’t defile the sanctity of popcorn?”
I nod my head. “Yes, it’s a deal breaker.”
“Obviously,” he deadpans.
“Plus he picked a bad movie. He led me to believe we’d watch the new movieLove Notes, but instead he’d already bought tickets toKillers on the Loose.”
“Killers on the Loose? I’ve wanted to see that.”
My eyes roll to the ceiling. “Men.”
“Dating is like playing video games.” He grins and carries on in a way that makes me believe he’s put real thought into this analogy. "Every relationship has their battle tactic, the way a couple moves forward. Take you for example—”
“Me?”
“You’re the type of girl who requires a grind offensive.”
“Really, Ryland?” I shake my head at his implication someone needs to grind on me like a dog to a favorite pillow.
He chuckles. “A grind offensive requires a lot of repetitive action to advance forward. Similar to how you have to strike a dragon multiple times before you get the chest at the end of the cave tunnel.”
“Yeah, I’m still not picking up what you’re laying down.” He didn't compare me to a dragon did he?
“If a guy wanted to win you over, he’d have to work at it. Show you he’s not what everyone expects of him and make you enjoy spending time with him. Those other guys gave up too easily. The perfect one will stick it out and refuse to give up until you see.”
A timer — on the stove this time — goes off and Ryland turns back to his task while I contemplate what he’s said. I hate to admit there's truth to his assessment of me, but there is. I’ve never dated a guy because he showed up. Even Cody worked his butt off at the start of our relationship. He carried my bag for me around campus, helped me study, took me out to dinners. He tried. Kind of like the guy across from me right now. The one who offered me use of his elevator, taught me his favorite video game, takes me to work, and is currently cooking me dinner.
“Okay, it’s time to eat.” Lost in my own thoughts, I missed Ryland filling my plate. Spaghetti judging from the red sauce he's poured over a lump of noodles.
I take the plate from him and set it in front of me. “What did you have in the oven?”
“The meat sauce. It’s supposed to bake in the flavor more.” He positions a stool on his side of the counter and turns to make himself a plate.
“Do you cook this often?”
“No, but I saw it on television yesterday.” Ryland’s watching daytime cooking shows? This soccer coaching gig couldn’t have come at a better time.
The noodles stick together as I twirl my utensil through them, but I manage to get a decent number with some sauce on my fork for a first bite. Ryland watches me expectantly from his side of the island and I smile at him raising the fork to my lips. I keep my lips upturned through my first few chews until he’s satisfied and lowers his eyes. Once I'm off the hook, I swallow down the salt-laden horror in one big gulp and try not to gag. Did he dump a salt shaker in there? How much does a person need to ingest before they die? Will this meal kill me? Should I risk it for him?
I stick my fork back in the dish, but I no longer see the sweet celebratory dinner he cooked. In its place a blood pressure monitor beeps back at me and I calculate how much I’ll need to eat in order to keep up appearances. Surely not seconds. Well, at least my last doctor’s visit put me over my deductible for the year. Any subsequent ER trips will be covered.
Ryland’s smile stretches on for miles in this goofy grin full of pride over his meal. He raises his fork in slow motion, but there’s no way for me to politely stop him. Maybe he won’t notice. I hold out hope through his first chew as I beam back at him, but by the time his mouth moves up and down a fourth time he’s lost the radiant expression.
Mid chew he turns and spits the bite into a napkin. “This is horrible. You can’t eat this.”
“It’s not so bad.” I bring the fork to my mouth again but can’t force myself to stick it in.
He grimaces. “Put the fork down, Marissa. Were you going to lie to me and eat that?”
“Well… you were so proud of yourself.” I laugh a few times, but once I get started can’t stop and almost lose my balance on the stool.
For a moment I worry he doesn’t find the situation as funny as it is, but soon Ryland laughs along with me and we agree to try a new Chinese place down the street with guaranteed fast delivery.
