Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind tasting a naughty, sweet little thing like me.
22
Spaghetti
The next day, after my shift, I cleaned myself up in the employee bathroom before driving to Harvey’s place. The GPS instructions wove into the Carol of the Bells playing on the radio. That had to be a good sign. Plus, there was a 'bell' button next to his apartment number and the H. Hamlin label. Harvey buzzed me in, so I dashed up the old stairs that smelled a bit like my elementary school gym.
Harvey held the door open to his apartment. “Hey, glad you could make it.”
“Glad to be here.” I grinned.
“Come on in.” Harvey swept his hair back, his fingers tangling in the damp brown waves. I wasn’t expecting it to be so fluffy on top.
I stared in awe. “You havehair.”
“Is that a surprise?”
“It’s always under your hat.” I held my lip between my teeth. His fitted vintage band tee didn’t have anything underneath,either. I lightly scratched at his toned arms and tattoo. “You’re showing off for me?”
Laughing, he ushered me inside. “It’s just hair and skin–maybe some ink.”
“It’s pretty.” I held onto his arm to edge off my boots on his kitchen mat, bells tinkling. “You’re a beautiful man, Harvey.”
His cheeks turned bright pink as he tugged the back of my jacket. “Okay, your turn to unveil something.”
I shrugged out of my beige winter coat. “You finally get to see me in a new outfit. I changed after my shift.”
His nails grazed the bare skin showcased by an off-the-shoulder baggy caramel-colored cable knit sweater, which draped low enough to cover the waistband on my black leggings.
“You look…stunning.” He cleared his throat and hung my jacket. “Anyway, uh, this is my place.”
Generic cream tile and yellowed wood cabinets speckled the exposed brick kitchen. A grease guard protected the wall from a decent full-sized electric stove, which was part of a black appliance set.
“Are you cooking me dinner?” I ran over to examine the steaming pot and prep bowls nearby.
“Spaghetti.” He rubbed the back of his reddened neck. “Sorry, it’s not fancy.”
“I love spaghetti. And are these going to be meatballs? Can I help roll them, please? It’s like playdough you get to eat.” I clasped my hands and batted my eyelashes in earnest. It was so rare I got to make anything without my family hovering over my shoulder. Maybe I could actually enjoy cooking.
His lip ticked up. “Sure thing. How was your shift?”
We chatted while making dinner. I rolled the meatballs and Harvey cooked them. Once my part was over, I washed my hands and hugged him from behind, relaxing in the warm hollow between his shoulders seemingly made just for me.Today, he smelled like fresh laundry detergent and a little bit of seasoning.
“This is nice. I just wish you could pay more attention to me,” I lamented jokingly.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said.
“I know, I’m just extra needy when I’m hungry and everything smells too tasty.”
He chuckled. “You sound like my coworkers. They’re always giving excuses for hanging out and snacking.”
“Maybe they need to be directed to do something else kinda fun but easy to take their mind off things.”
He hummed and turned down the burners. “If you’re okay handling the sauce, you can help by stirring.”
“I get to wield the giant spoon? Yay.” Head held high, I took the wooden spoon and swished it around the saucepan.
“Good job.” He kissed the back of my head.
