He cut me offbefore I could finish my thought. “I’m going to stop you right there. Dinnerwas only an excuse to see you again, Molly. You could have served goldfish andI would have pretended to love it. I’m not here because I want you to impressme with your cooking. You already impress me because of who you are. Youimpress me with your knack for business. You impress me with your painting, anddesign style and mural making. You impress me with your kindness, your sense ofhumor and the way you nibble on your bottom lip when you’re deciding what youwant. Molly, if I wanted a chef to make me a good meal, I would have stayed atwork. I’m here because I want to spend the evening with you. And no otherreason.”
I suddenly found itdifficult to breathe. “Oh.”
He stopped fiddlingwith the wine bottle and stepped over to me, pulling my hands into his. “I hopeyou didn’t feel pressured to cook for me. I would hate to know I’m the reason…”He paused to look around at the mess in the sink and on the stove and all overthe counters. “Your kitchen exploded.”
A trembling sigh ofrelief moved through me. I’d wanted to scare him away with my bad cooking, butI’d ended up falling harder and faster and deeper for him. Did he even knowwhat he’d done? Did he know how important his words were?
“I don’t know whatI was thinking,” I told him honestly. Because it was true. It had been aterribly stupid idea. Not just because it hadn’t worked, but because I didn’twant to push this man away. I had great big fears when it came to him, to us. Iwas filled with debilitating uncertainty. I didn’t know if I trusted whateverthis was between us to last. But I did know I enjoyed spending time with him. Iliked the way he made me feel when we were together. And I liked the way helooked at me, and touched me and kissed me. I liked Ezra Baptiste way more thanI knew what to do with.
And I wanted to seewhere this thing between us was going to go.
I wanted to knowhim.
He stepped away topour a glass of wine for me. “It’s impressive though,” he chuckled. “I’ve neverseen so many things go wrong at once.”
“I know it’s hardto believe, but I was born this way. It’s all natural talent.” I took a sip ofmy wine and then another sip. I tried to talk myself out of gulping the entireglass, but it was too good to stop.
Half his mouthlifted in that crooked smile that made my belly quiver. “How about we cleanthis up and I cook us something instead.”
“You can’t dothat.”
“I can,” he argued.“I promise not to burn the bread.” He looked at the salad again like it was themost offensive thing of all. “Or turn the lettuce into soup.”
I snorted on asurprised laugh. “I meant, you literally can’t make us dinner. I have nothingbut cereal and yogurt and maybe some cheese.”
“That can’t betrue.” He turned around and walked straight to my refrigerator. Yanking openthe door, he leaned inside and moved the milk around. “What is the opposite oflactose intolerant?”
“Lactose tolerant?”
He shot me a lookover his shoulder. “What I’m saying is, I’ve never seen so much dairy in onerefrigerator. You literally only have dairy.”
“I also haveoranges,” I told him. “And I think some grapes.”
Ezra stood up andopened my freezer. He pulled out the Mint Chocolate Chip I’d been saving for arainy day. “Oh, look. More dairy.”
“Hey! That’s adifferent variation at least. I should get credit for that.”
He moved over to mypantry, rummaging around until he came out empty handed. “You weren’t kidding.I can’t even make eggs.”
“Sorry, I don’t dothe whole big shopping thing. I prefer to make several intrusive, bothersometrips a week. This time, I only got enough ingredients to ruin them all.”
“How do you survivelike this, Molly?” He looked genuinely concerned, but I didn’t know what totell him. I had a system that worked for me.
Sure, it would havebeen beneficial to introduce more vegetables to my diet and maybe some fiber,but let’s review what happened with the spaghetti. It was safer for everybodyif I just stuck to microwaveable meals.
And the dairy ofcourse.
“I’m really good atordering Chinese,” I told him.
His eyebrowsfurrowed. “How about this. I’ll start on the dishes and you order the Chinese.”
My chest warmed, myheart expanding to accommodate a flurry of new emotions. “What do you want?”
“You pick,” heordered. “Show me just how good you really are.”
I shook my head athim, but did as he asked. When I came back to the kitchen he had already thrownaway all of the food and started on the dishes. I stepped up next to him andreached for the noodle pot to dry.
“You don’t have todo this,” I told him.
