She opened a cabinet door and discovered the mystery of his sustenance. There were energy bars and protein powder, as well as spices, oils, flour, crackers, even instant mashed potatoes. Inspired, she began to pull out ingredients and some crockery.
Phoenix finally emerged from the bedroom. “Are you okay? Did I keep you too long?”. When he saw her with a spoon in hand and wearing his apron, he smiled. “Well, look at you! It smells amazing.”
The proximity to the oven warmed her skin, but it was his smile that heated her from deep inside her belly.
“Wait’ll you see what I can do outside the kitchen.”
Phoenix paused, his quizzical quirk of one eyebrow making her laugh.
“I mean my presentation, of course.”
He joined in her humor. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”
Orchid pulled the Sancerre from the fridge and poured him a glass. “Cheers,” she offered.
They clinked stems.
“To the miracle maker,” he said.
“Your dinner’s on the table.” She shooed him out of the cooking area and removed the apron.
He approached the table with awe. “Where’d you get these ingredients?”
“Your pantry. Let’s try it before you get too impressed.”
They sat across from each other, like a couple christening their new place. She touched her crystal glass to his, thinking that her cooking might bring him joy during this busy period.
“Bon Appetit,” he said. He took one of the pastry bites that was smeared with soft cheese and topped with a dollop of fig jam. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t have anything this gourmet in my pantry,”
“You’re excited over an appetizer? You really don’t know how to cook, do you?”
He threw his head back. His teeth shone white.
She’d never seen him this happy. Even more buoyed than he’d appeared in his family photos. Her savory nibbles were tasty. The joy on his face was intoxicating. “Have mine, I’m bringing more.” She nudged the toasted rounds towards him and left the table, as if she were the hostess and owner of this beautiful flat.
The kitchen smelled like… home. She lifted a platter of sweets from the counter. Phoenix entered the kitchen, with the saucers in hand. He placed them in the sink. “Can I give you a hand?”
Like a mirage, she pictured strong fingers nestled in the indentation where her spine curved as it descended downward. She pushed the thought away. “Maybe just grab the wine.” In this apartment, intimate with his cooking utensils, she needed to remind herself:Business, all business.
As he refilled their glasses, she put more food on clean plates and carried them into the room, where she settled into a chair. The temperature in her cheeks elevated from more than just wine.
“Was everything vegan?” he asked, while easing into the chair across from her.
“Puff pastry has butter, and I used Pecorino from your fridge, so it’s vegetarian but not vegan. You’re out of nutritional yeast, in case you didn’t know.”
He rewarded her with a hearty laugh.
His perfect teeth, well-fitting garments, and air of Ivy League confidence drew her to him. He was accomplished, kind, and attractive. A feeling of care for him filled her. On the one hand, she didn’t want to leave. On the other, she feared losing herself in the masculinity of him.
He sampled a bite. She’d drizzled honey onto the bakery goods, coaxing more sweetness from the pastries.
His expression mirrored what she’d known in her first taste; the concoction looked deceptively simple, yet left you wanting more.
“This is delicious; did you make it?”
“Nope, I just dressed what I’d brought.”
“You’re a miracle maker.”
