“Perfect,” she said instantly. “Why don’t you come to my place instead? We can work together, make proper notes, and I’ll cook us some Sauerbraten. It’s way better than whatever mystery meat they’re serving in the dining hall today.”
“Sauerbraten?” I repeated, trying, and probably failing to pronounce it correctly.
She chuckled. “German pot roast. It’s marinated for days in vinegar and spices, then slow-cooked until it falls apart. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s basically a warm hug in food form.”
“That sounds incredible,” I said, my stomach already growling embarrassingly loud. “And much better than the instant noodles I was planning to have for dinner.”
“Instant noodles?” Marley looked genuinely horrified. “Absolutely not. I’m rescuing you from that tragic fate immediately.”
Rescuing me. It sounded ridiculous.
But it also sounded nice.
Too nice.
We both stood up, gathering our bags, and made our way toward the exit. The hall was nearly empty now, just a few stragglers chatting with Dr. Jacques near the front.
“Hey, guys!” called out a tall dude I recognised as James, one of our coursemates, standing with a small group near the door. “How’s the project coming along?”
“Making good progress,” Marley replied easily, while I just smiled and nodded.
We said our goodbyes and headed out to the parking lot. When we reached her car, she walked ahead and opened the passenger door for me.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the seat.
“No problem,” she replied, closing the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side.
Once she was settled and starting the engine, she glanced over at me.
“We’ll need to make a stop at the market first to grab some groceries and ingredients. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “I don’t mind at all.”
The drive to the supermarket was comfortable and filled with easy conversation about our different childhoods, her stories of strict German punctuality versus my tales of Nigerian family gatherings that could last for days. She made me laugh when she described her grandmother’s horror at learning that some people didn’t plan their meals a week in advance.
At the supermarket, I watched in fascination as she moved through the aisles, selecting ingredients I had never heard of while explaining what each one would contribute to the dish. She was in her element, and there was something incredibly attractive about her confidence and knowledge.
“You really know what you’re doing,” I observed as she examined different cuts of meat with the focus of a scientist.
“My grandmother would disown me if I couldn’t make a proper Sauerbraten,” she grinned. “German grandmothers don’t mess around when it comes to family recipes.”
After loading up with everything we needed, we made our way to her place. I was expecting a typical student apartment, so when we pulled up in front of a sleek ten-storey apartment, I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“This is where you live?” I asked, craning my neck to look up.
“Benefits of having a trust fund,” she said with air quotes, though there was fondness in her voice, not arrogance.
We took the elevator up to the seventh floor, and I found myself making nervous jokes about the fancy button panel while Marley watched me with amusement.
When the elevator doors opened, she led me down a well-lit hallway to her door, pulling out a sleek key card instead of traditional keys.
“Very high-tech,” I commented.
She laughed, swiping the card and pushing open the door.
“After you, princess.”
I stepped inside and immediately gasped.
