He chuckled, charmed by the way she was confessing her eating habits to him as if he was the food police.
“Sounds like you need some food then,” he said. “Can’t do all this mental and emotional work on an empty stomach. You need some protein.”
She laughed and stood up when he did. “Are there leftovers here we could eat?”
“Just pie,” he said with a chuckle. “Not enough protein there. Come on into the kitchen with me, and we can whip something up quick. What are you hungry for?”
“Oh, goodness,” she said, following him into the kitchen with wide eyes as if she was entering a forbidden place. “I’ll eat anything, really. Whatever you feel like you want to cook.”
“I like cooking everything,” he said, grinning. “Besides, this one you’re cooking with me. What do you think?”
Delilah looked around the cozy, tidy kitchen curiously but also clearly with trepidation. The countertops gleamed in the lights, and the scent of lemons and chopped garlic still lingered in the air.
“I’ve never been much of a cook,” she said. “When I’m really in a bind at home—and by that I mean that I’m hungry and it’s too late at night for me to order takeout from any nearby restaurants—I just make myself a can of soup or boxed macaroni and cheese.” She grimaced. “But you’re not allowed to tell anyone that.”
He laughed. “Your truly shocking and scandalous secret is safe with me.”
Delilah let out a lilting laugh that made Tom’s heart do a somersault.
How can she be so beautiful and glamorous and also so sweet and cute at the same time?he wondered, feeling another swirl of admiration for her.
“How about we make some Italian pasta?” he suggested. “I’ll be in charge of the meatballs, and I’ll talk you through making the sauce and boiling the noodles.”
“I guess so,” she said, looking nervous.
He chuckled. “It’s no big deal, you can relax. I promise I won’t let you burn anything.”
She smiled. “As long as you’re guiding me through this, I guess it’ll be okay.”
“It’ll be great,” he said. “Cooking is an act of creation, and you’re a creative person. I bet you’re going to have a wonderful time. Maybe this is what you need—a different kind of creative release. I bet it’ll make you feel so much better.”
She shrugged. “Might as well try, right?” She flashed a grin at him. “Lead onward, Captain. I’m ready to follow your orders.”
He felt his ears turning pink. He loved hearing her call him “Captain,” and for a second his heart was beating so fast he could hear his blood rushing in his ears.
They began to cook together, chopping up onions and garlic and sprinkling spices into the bubbling tomato sauce. Tom mixed together ground beef, eggs, breadcrumbs, and spices and rolled up a few thick and juicy meatballs, which he set to simmer in a pan. As he prepared the meatballs, he kept a close eye on Delilah, who seemed uncertain but eager.
“This smells divine,” she said, sniffing the air and closing her eyes. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started smelling those meatballs.”
“This food will taste amazing then,” he promised. “Food always tastes better when we’re hungry.” He glanced at the pot of water, which had begun to boil.
“Go ahead and put in the noodles,” he told her. “Don’t do too many at once, since you don’t want them to stick together.”
“Okay.” She looked around the counter. “Where’s that box? Oh!”
She noticed it and reached for it just as Tom picked it up to hand to her. Their hands touched, and for a moment, he felt an electric thrill pass through him. Her hand was soft and her touchwas gentle, and a warm feeling spread through his stomach. The hairs on his big, rough hand prickled a little, and he laughed with embarrassment.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She smiled and fumbled with the opening of the noodle box. He glanced at her and a moment later, his heart practically stopped when he saw that she was blushing. Had she felt the same kind of thrill over their accidental touch that he had? Something like that couldn’t be possible, could it?
“Here,” he said, holding out his hand for the box. “I know a trick. These boxes are hard to open sometimes.”
She handed it to him, and their fingertips brushed together again. This time it felt comfortable, and almost as if they had both brought their fingers together on purpose.
Tom slid a knife under the tab of the box and handed it back to Delilah. She began to set the noodles into the pot a few at a time.
“When I was a kid,” Delilah said, smiling as she mused over her memory, “I sat on the floor of my parents’ kitchen and put noodles into a pot like this, although that one was empty. It was so thrilling for me, pretending to be a grown-up who was really cooking. I absolutely couldn’t wait for the day when I could do things like that.” She shook her head. “And then we do grow up, and we act like it’s all a chore. We don’t appreciate our abilities to do wonderful things like this.”
