"Did you say you were going to cover me in frosting and lick it off?" I asked him.
He smirked. "Every inch."
"I thought you didn't like frosting," I said coyly.
"I like it on you."
I couldn't believe I was blatantly flirting with this guy. In all my severe lapses in judgment, this had to be the worst.
"What are you making?" he asked me.
"Some real food," I said, concentrating on slicing vegetables for the ratatouille. "Tonight you will be eating steak, truffle mac and cheese, veggies, and a nice salad."
"Sounds rustic," he said.
"My oma used to say, 'Chloe, do you know what a man wants?'" I said, gesturing with my knife the way she always would. "'He wants you to fuck him, not fuck with his food.'"
Jack laughed at my impression of my oma. "She had a bit of a potty mouth," I said sheepishly. "She said she was old and a grandmother and had therefore earned the privilege."
"I think I would have liked her," Jack said, still chuckling.
"Yeah. I think she would have liked you too."
He looked at me in concern.
"Sorry," I said. My eyes were tearing up, and I wiped my hands off to blow my nose. "This was supposed to be, if not a romantic evening, at least a fun one for you. You work too hard."
Jack came around the large kitchen island and wrapped me in his strong arms. They really were ridiculously buffed.
"I'm sure she would be proud of you," he said, kissing me on the cheek.
I leaned against him for a moment until I felt more in control.
"Let me finish cooking," I said after he released me. While the ratatouille and the macaroni and cheese bubbled happily in the oven, I prepped the steaks.
"This is another reason I never want to leave New York," I said. "The cuts of beef are amazing." I stuck a piece of the raw meat in Jack’s face. "See this marbling?"
"It's really impressive," he said.
I inhaled. "Dry aged, just some salt and pepper and a dab of butter." The oven beeped, and I pulled out the pasta and veggies to settle. Then I put the nuts for the cookies in the oven and cooked the beef in a piping-hot cast iron skillet, which I was shocked to see that Jack owned.
"I can practically see you salivating," I said as I set the steak on his plate and dished up the sides for him.
"It looks amazing," he said. "It's better than any restaurant."
"Oh, look, you set the table!" I exclaimed. There were candles and linen napkins and a bottle of wine out. "This is too perfect!"
He waited impatiently while I snapped a few pictures.
"I think I need you to move in," Jack told me after inhaling his plate of food and going for seconds. "After living off of takeout and reheated prepared meals, it's the ultimate luxury to have you here serving me home-cooked food."
I was pretty pleased. "The best compliment is someone taking a second helping or a fourth cookie," I said, trying not to sound giddy that he liked my cooking.
"Speaking of which, you did promise me your special cookies," Jack said, grinning impishly.
"I thought you wanted me covered in frosting for dessert," I said, innocently sipping my wine. Then I jumped up before he could take me up on the offer. The grin on his face was practically hazardous.
He followed me and watched from the other side of the island as I busied myself chopping nuts and measuring flour.
