Tara walked out to the sounds of whistles and laughter. That was okay. She was on her way to see Luke.
On the drive to his house, she breathed in deep through her nose and blew out long, slow breaths, reminding herself to play it cool and keep her head. Hope was a scary emotion. After being burned by Derek, she didn’t want to jump into anything with both feet ever again.
Except, when Luke opened his door, looking at her like she was the best thing to ever show up on his doorstep, she walked right up to him and wrapped her arms around his middle.
He took the abrupt hug in stride, laughing into her hair. “Don’t ever stop surprising me, okay?”
She nodded. For some reason, tears were stinging her eyes, and it was taking everything in her to hold it together. Being in his arms was like finding a piece of herself she didn’t know was missing.
“Are you hungry?” he murmured.
“A little. Do you actually like to cook for people, or do you just feel obligated since you know how?”
“Both?”
She released him and followed him into the house. It was nice, but sparsely decorated. It looked exactly like a house a single guy would live in. He had a ping pong table where she’d expect a dining table.
He led the way into the kitchen, and she leaned against the counter next to him, looking over all the shiny stainless-steel appliances.
“Okay, so how hungry is a little? I’ll make you just about anything I have the ingredients for.”
She studied him. He looked excited to cook for her, but tired too. She knew from their nights talking on the phone that he spent a lot of his weekends cooking for other people. Perhaps he had some good leftovers. If they continued to see each other, there would be other nights for pulling out all the stops, where he could buy and prep something in advance just for her. She went and opened his fridge, perusing.
“What’s this?” She took out a sealed container and set it out the counter, cracking it open to have a look. It smelled delicious, even cold.
“Minestrone soup.”
“How about we warm up some soup and make a salad?”
“Are you sure?”
“Is the soup bad?”
He smiled. “No. It turned out really good. But we don’t have to eat leftovers.”
“This isn’t a date. This is me escaping my house, remember?”
“Not a date. Check.” He smiled, but she could see him absorbing her words like a blow. She wasn’t the only one nervous and unsure here, and there was something reassuring about that.
She ran her hand over his arm, which was warm and tan and smooth, and for a second she forgot what she planned to say. “What I meant is that I was kind of looking forward to hanging out with no expectations between us. You don’t have to impress me tonight. You don’t have to do all the work while I sit back and judge your ability to be romantic and chivalrous.”
“Leftover soup night it is.” His eyes were on her hand, the one still holding his arm, and for several heartbeats they stayed like that, connected by touch, frozen by it. Maybe he was too scared to make a move, because that was exactly how she felt.
She finally dropped her hand and went back to browsing the fridge. He reached around her to pull out salad ingredients, letting his hip slide against hers and their shoulders brush against each other. She smiled at his purposeful closeness with the impression of being accidental. So that’s how things were going to be.
They washed their hands side by side at the sink, and then stood close, chopping up salad fixings together at the counter. Her knife skills were of the ordinary variety, and she stopped to watch him turn the carrot he was holding into perfect little matchsticks like it was nothing.
“There’s a name for that cut, right?”
“Julienne.”
“That’s it.” She stole one and bit into it. “Somehow it tastes better in this shape. Is there a name for that too?”
“Mouthfeel. It’s a very complicated, scientific term.”
“Yes, very complicated. I’ll have to test out this theory some more.” She ate the rest of her slice of carrot and picked up another one, waving it at him like a weapon.
He picked up his carrot stick to challenge her and they had a very tiny sword fight which ended when she swooped forward and bit the end of his off, and then almost choked on it from laughing.
He shook his head. “I don’t know whether to ban you from my kitchen or hire you as my personal assistant.”
“We’ll debate the merits of both options while we eat. Get out a sauce pan for this soup, young man.”
“Yes, boss.”
“See. Third option.”
