“Wow. Smells great in there,” he said. She liked his nontraditional greetings.
“It’s lasagna.”
“From scratch?”
“From Costco. Though someone really ought to name a retail chain ‘Scratch.’”
He smiled at that. And then the smile dropped away. “I... I brought hummus.” He gestured with a little Tupperware container.
“Ah, ‘I brought hummus.’ That’s Hipster for ‘I come in peace.’”
For some reason the wordsI comethrobbed in the air like some sort ofSesame Streetgraphic and they were momentarily flustered.
A sort of fuzzy heat rushed over the backs of her arms and neck.
“Did you grow the garbanzo beans yourself in gourmet poop?” she recovered.
“Next year, I think I’ll give that a shot,” he said equably. “I’ll probably give making olive oil a shot, too. There are about a half dozen olive trees on my property and room for more. I have room for a little vineyard, too. So I think I might give wine a shot.”
He stopped talking and frowned a little, perhaps realizing that he was saying “shot” rather a lot.
“Anyway, my hummus secret is I add a few white beans in with the garbanzos. Gives it a mellower flavor. Goes a little better with crackers that have a little bite to them, like chili or garlic or za’atar. I have a few of those right...” He produced a little package from behind his back. “...here.”
She contemplated these offerings. “You actually have ‘culinary secrets’?”
“Most of them are children of necessity. As in once all I had was white beans when I was really jonesing for hummus.”
“And here I thought you weren’t into children of any kind.”
“Ha. Listen to how we banter.”
And just like that it went dead quiet and awkward.
He cleared his throat. “Avalon... I wanted to apologize for last night.”
“Which part of last night?”
He sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
She smiled crookedly. “That’s a rhetorical question, right?”
“I got caught up in the moment. I mean, that green polyester bathing suit with the little frill on it... you siren.”
She gave a short laugh. “Come on, Mac. It’s not like I fainted or swatted you away. You made a pass, I kissed you back. We’ve done that before. Together and separately. Not my first time.”
“Boy, could I tell.”
This statement made her realize that few people were ever this genuinely direct. It belonged in the category of things that required getting used to, like ouzo or sauerkraut, but were ultimately addictive.
“Andthenyou dashed off all flustered,” he added.
“I wasn’t flustered,” she lied, smoothly. Sounding flustered.
There was a beat of silence.
“Iwas,” he said simply.
Her heart lurched painfully. Like it wanted to get to him but she’d staked it to the damn ground or something, like a savage guard dog.
