“Nothing stops me from representing my emotional side.”
She rolls her eyes but then sweetly kisses my chin and, to my surprise, hugs me. Knowing this girl needs all the affection, I wrap my arms around her and hold on to her tight, kissing the top of her head once again.
After a few seconds, she pulls away and smiles. “Where are we?”
“Glad you asked,” I say as I take her hand in mine. “Come with me.”
We head up some steps to a brownstone, and I open the door for her, only to press my hand to her lower back to guide her up another set of stairs. “Are you ready to partake in a cooking class?”
She pauses. “Wait, really?” Her eyes grow big as pure joy crosses her expression.
“Yeah, really. I was looking up different classes, and this one is six weeks. I hope you have time to spare, because I signed us up for all six.”
“Oh my God, that’s…that’s so exciting.”
“Yeah, you want to cook with me?”
“I really do.” She stands on her toes and kisses me, and the feel of her mouth, her excitement, her gratitude, it hits me differently.
I like this.
A lot.
“Don’t stop stirring,” I say. “We can’t screw this up like the other couples.”
Decked out in black cat aprons—for no reason other than Scottie said the tied strings in the back resemble a tail—we’re in the back of the class, and we’re the only couple who has not burnt something yet or that the teacher—Miss Mary—didn’t have to help.
But this stage, making the cheese sauce, this is crucial.
“Oh, we’re not screwing this up,” she whispers as she continues to stir the cheese sauce while I sprinkle cheese inside the pot to melt. “Steady, not too much all at once. We don’t want a clumpy cheese.”
“Fuck no,” I whisper. “Our cheese will be the smoothest in all the land.”
“Kings and queens will bow down to it.”
“Pictures will be taken.”
“Autographs will be asked for.”
“And before you know it, there will be billboards around the world with our mac and cheese on full display. Written underneath, it will say…they brought the cheese to the table.”
She lets out a laugh and shakes her head. “That’s a horrible slogan.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, insulted. “That’s what people like most about mac and cheese: the cheese. So if we state we’rebringing the cheese to the table, that implies that we are.” I finish sprinkling the rest of the cheese as she continues to stir. Thankfully, we’re so good that we can talk and work at the same time.
“Sure, I guess.”
“And,” I continue, “what does the man with the deep voice in the Arby’s commercial say? ‘We have the meats.’ People know, they go there and they’re going to get a mouthful of meat, just like I give you a mouthful of meat.”
She snorts so loud that it gathers attention from other couples. I casually wave at them as they turn around, hovering over their hot plates.
“Hey, watch it. We might bring the cheese to the table, but I don’t want to bring boogers with it too.”
She glances up at me, mirth in her eyes. “You bring the meat…with piercings.”
“Proud of it, babe.” I kiss the tip of her nose and move behind her back, where I place my hand over hers and begin stirring. “Should I start humming ‘Unchained Melody’? Have aGhostmoment with you?”
“How do you even know that movie?”
