“Want a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll take a White Claw if you have them.”
I lead Carmen to the kitchen. She seems a little bit skittish. I can understand why. According to her, she’s just been working or holed up in her apartment since she came to town at the end of the summer. Going from that to being right in the middle of a hectic house party can be a shock to the system.
Not exactly a gentle reintroduction to college social life.
She picks out what flavor of drink she wants, and I reach for one of my own. We crack our cans at the same time.
“To my excellent cooking,” I propose. She texted me this morning that she finished the last of the chili I left at her door.
Just referencing that day feels risky. The memory of hearing her moan my name behind her door sweeps into my mind, and a quiver runs through me. I’m barely able to avoid popping an awkward bulge in my pants.
“Not to mention your modesty,” she snarks, knocking her can against mine.
I notice that she still has her jacket tucked under one arm. I could kick myself for being such a bad host. Being too distracted by how knockout-beautiful she looks to take her coat for her.
“I’ll grab your jacket,” I say. “We’re just throwing them on the couch.”
“Actually,” she says, “could we maybe finish these drinks outside? I’m feeling kind of …” she glances at the crowded and kinetic space around us.
“A little cramped?”
“Yeah.”
“For sure, no problem. We’ve got a bonfire going in the backyard so it won’t even be too cold.” The cold isn’t too harsh tonight, either. I could get down on my knees with gratitude to the weather for being mild enough to let Carmen wear that skirt.
Amazingly, we find the area around the bonfire empty. We take a seat in two lawn chairs next to each other. Comfortablewarmth radiates from the fire. A deeper warmth spreads through my chest at how intimate this moment feels.
“How was your day?” I ask. “I hope the fact that you finished my chili yesterday didn’t make it impossible for today to be anything but a huge disappointment in comparison.”
“Nah, don’t worry. I got a gas station hot dog today to make sure it would be up to par on the culinary front.”
“Ouch, low blow. Don’t insult my chili. I’m too sensitive for that.”
She laughs, shaking her head. I really like the way her eyes crinkle.
“Sorry, I should have known better.”
“It’s going to take me weeks to get over it.” I try to put on a sad voice, but I’m given away by a smile I can’t hold back.
Her pretty brown eyes roll. “You know I’m kidding. Your chili was great.”
I shake my head firmly. “I don’t believe you now. You’ve killed my cooking confidence.”
“Now you’re just fishing for sympathy.”
We both laugh. A comfortable silence settles over us. The fire is warm, the air is crisp, and the sounds from my house feel miles away.
“But really, how was your day?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Eh. Frustrating. I had the day off, but I couldn’t do anything other than struggle with the chapter I’m writing.”
“Still having writer’s block?” I ask.
“I haven’t made any progress since I told you about it, actually. It’s just been non-stop. All because of this one stupid scene.”
“What’s the scene about? Why’s it giving you so much trouble?”
