“Someone is preservative free,” I state as I pull out the bag of fresh green beans.
“Your body is a temple,” Baz responds as he seasons the potatoes with olive oil and salt.
“Yours definitely is,” I toss out offhandedly.
“So is yours.” He smiles broadly, returning the compliment.
“Mine isn’t nearly as pure.” I drop the bag of beans on the kitchen island where he’s prepping. He emits a little laugh but doesn’t elaborate on his thought. He doesn’t need to; I know he equated my comment to something dirty. Which is fine. I like to get dirty. “What am I doing with these?”
“There’s a colander in the sink. Snap the ends and toss them in there.”
Snap the ends?
He reads my confused facial expression. “Have you never cooked fresh green beans before?”
“Never,” I admit. “I’m not very domestic.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He wipes his hands on the dish towel draped over his shoulder and leads me over to the sink. He positions me in front of him and then rips open the plastic bag. With his chest pressed against my back and his strong arms encircling me, my blood roars and heartbeat accelerates. “See? Just like this.” He rests his lips next to my ear as he takes one of the long, thin beans and breaks off each pointy tip. “Think you can handle that?”
I turn my head so I can peer up at him through the corner of my eye. “I’m pretty sure I can.” We get caught up in another one of those paralyzing, pulse-pounding spells. Baz tightens his arms around me and attempts another kiss. I don’t move, welcoming the advance. I close my eyes preparing to feel those soft, plump lips when the oven beeps, sabotaging the moment.
“Shit,” Baz hisses, annoyed, before he laughs. We just can’t seem to nail a lip-lock down.
It is sort of funny.
I continue to crack the string beans as he pops the potatoes in the oven.
“Those are going to have to cook for a little while before we put on the string beans and steak.” He leans against the countertop next to me and crosses his arms causally. Christ, he is so inherentlymalehe makes my damn ovaries throb. “Do you want some wine in the meantime?”
Alcohol? Absolutely. “That’d be great.” I finish the last of the beans and grab the towel off his shoulder to wipe my hands.
“Red good?”
“Perfect.” I slap the towel back in place. We both laugh breezily. It’s just too easy. Being together.
Baz pours two glasses of wine, and I notice even that’s organic. “You’re pretty hardcore with your diet, huh?”
Baz takes a tentative sip of his Bordeaux, regarding me over the glass. I get the feeling that question made him uncomfortable.
“I sort of have to be,” he divulges.
“Why?”
He hesitates for a few beats before sharing his thoughts. “I have some issues.” He clears his throat.
“Issues?” I probe.
Baz rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to tell me. We all have some kind of issue. I get it. We just met. You don’t need to lay everything out all at once.”
God knows I’m not going to.
Baz dissects me with those piercing green eyes. What did I say? I was trying to be nice. I take a sip of wine, hoping to move right along from this topic of conversation.
He steps closer to me, and my body reacts on a molecular level. It’s like I can feel him without him even touching me.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Baz?” I question.
