“Not you too,” Hank whined.
I opened the second box, which contained a sealed plastic container and a set of cutlery. He opened it, gazing down with his brow furrowed. “What is this?”
“Lobster risotto.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.
I retook my seat next to him on the couch, our knees jostling. “It’s better than it looks.”
“I’m sure it’s great,” he said. “But lobster? I’m going to have to pay you by the time I finish this meal. It’s a little rich for a dog groomer salary.”
I chuckled. “Don’t be silly. It’s free. Besides, you gave me those free trial days.”
“And you paid Sammi in dog biscuits. This friendship doesn’t seem very equitable.”
Ah, the dreaded F-word. I forced a smile. If friendship was all I got with Hank, it wasn’t the worst deal in the world.
“You’ll just have to forgive me the next time I’m late, then,” I said lightly.
“Forgive you? I’ll be crossing my fingers if it means I get to eat like this.”
He spooned up a bite of risotto, eyes closing as he savored the flavor. His lips were a little shiny from the grease of the bacon-wrapped shrimp. His face was slack with pleasure, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
The friend zone was decidedly hot from where I was sitting.
Tramp whined, perhaps feeling as hungry as I did just then. Hank fed him a bite of shrimp, then when my stomach rumbled loudly, flashed me a look.
“Have you not eaten? Oh my god. I’m hogging it all.”
I laughed. “No, it’s fine. I like watching you enjoy it.”
A tense silence dropped between us as his eyes met mine.
“You know,” I fumbled, “because every chef likes to see their food appreciated.”
He relaxed, a grin spreading. “Yeah, of course. But I’ve had more than my share.” He pushed the risotto at me. “Have some.”
I took the same spoon that had just been in his mouth and dipped it into the risotto, then brought it to my lips. Hank watched as I took the first bite, eyebrow inching up.
I savored the rich, creamy texture, the sweetness of the lobster balanced with the savory notes of the risotto. I sighed. “Delicious.”
Hank was popping the last bacon-wrapped shrimp into his mouth—after giving the begging pooches one last taste. I noticed he hadn’t wanted to sharethosewith me.
I smiled. “Thanks for being patient with me for being late. It really was a hectic day.”
He nodded. “It’s okay, I don’t?—”
Tramp chose that moment to paw at his knee, his too-long nails snagging in a loose thread.
“Tramp,” I scolded.
Hank carefully extricated Tramp’s paw from his jeans, then studied his nails with a frown. “He needs a nail clipping.”
“I know. He’s just impossible. He’s too big and strong, and no amount of bribing worked, so…” I shrugged helplessly, feeling like a bad dog daddy.
“I could do it,” he said. “It’s a routine service I provide when grooming.”
“Oh, um…”
