Page 38
Story: How to Marry the Boss
“You’re disgusting.” But she’s smiling as she says it.
“Why? I think it’s adorable that you moan when you eat.”
“You think it’s adorable?” The surprised look on her face tells me she doesn’t know what to think.
“Yeah.”
“You like that I moan when I eat?” she asks again as though she doesn’t quite believe me.
“Sure. It lets me know I haven’t lost my touch in the kitchen.”
Her amused look falters before she rights it again and rolls her eyes. You’re good, but not Gordon Ramsay good.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Ms. Knight,” I tease
“All in a day’s work,” she says before taking another bite.
“One of these days, I will blow your mind with my cooking.” If there’s anything she should know about me, it’s that I never back down from a challenge.
If she’ll let me, I’ll blow her mind in other ways, too.
She looks surprised. “Wait, you’re serious about the cooking?”
“If it’ll make you happy, yes.”
She gapes. “I was just kidding. You don’t have to cook for me.”
“I insist.”
“Really? You want to do that?”
If that means more one-on-one time with her and putting a smile on her face? “Absolutely”
She pauses, continuing to eat. “I didn’t think men liked to cook.”
I shrug. “Guess I’m the exception. I find it relaxing.”
“You’re the first guy I know who says that.”
“Just because not all of us do doesn’t mean we can’t.”
“Most straight guys I know wouldn’t touch so much as a spatula with a ten-foot pole.”
“Then they don’t understand what it means to cook for a woman.” I make direct eye contact with her.
There’s brief moment of silence as we stare at each other before she breaks both eye contact and silence. “I didn’t know you were so good at cooking.”
“I learned a lot through trial and error in my first year of college. During our sophomore year, when Jonathan and I first moved off campus, we found a house to rent. After settling in, I realized we didn’t have to live on microwave shit anymore, so I decided to get creative.”
“Jonathan never mentioned any of this. What type of dishes did you guys make?” She seems intrigued.
“Of course he didn’t. Probably because I did the cooking while he either watched or taste tested. I made anything and everything. I grilled steak and baked chicken. I even made fettuccini.”
“Wow. If I’d known you such a good cook, I would’ve asked you for advice. The best I can make is eggs and toast.”
“So that’s what you lived on? That’s sounds miserable. “Please tell me there was more to your diet.”
“Once I got over the culture shock, yes. I made friends with locals, and they introduced me to many different cuisines. Curry was a personal favorite for a while. It’s popular in the UK.”
“Why? I think it’s adorable that you moan when you eat.”
“You think it’s adorable?” The surprised look on her face tells me she doesn’t know what to think.
“Yeah.”
“You like that I moan when I eat?” she asks again as though she doesn’t quite believe me.
“Sure. It lets me know I haven’t lost my touch in the kitchen.”
Her amused look falters before she rights it again and rolls her eyes. You’re good, but not Gordon Ramsay good.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Ms. Knight,” I tease
“All in a day’s work,” she says before taking another bite.
“One of these days, I will blow your mind with my cooking.” If there’s anything she should know about me, it’s that I never back down from a challenge.
If she’ll let me, I’ll blow her mind in other ways, too.
She looks surprised. “Wait, you’re serious about the cooking?”
“If it’ll make you happy, yes.”
She gapes. “I was just kidding. You don’t have to cook for me.”
“I insist.”
“Really? You want to do that?”
If that means more one-on-one time with her and putting a smile on her face? “Absolutely”
She pauses, continuing to eat. “I didn’t think men liked to cook.”
I shrug. “Guess I’m the exception. I find it relaxing.”
“You’re the first guy I know who says that.”
“Just because not all of us do doesn’t mean we can’t.”
“Most straight guys I know wouldn’t touch so much as a spatula with a ten-foot pole.”
“Then they don’t understand what it means to cook for a woman.” I make direct eye contact with her.
There’s brief moment of silence as we stare at each other before she breaks both eye contact and silence. “I didn’t know you were so good at cooking.”
“I learned a lot through trial and error in my first year of college. During our sophomore year, when Jonathan and I first moved off campus, we found a house to rent. After settling in, I realized we didn’t have to live on microwave shit anymore, so I decided to get creative.”
“Jonathan never mentioned any of this. What type of dishes did you guys make?” She seems intrigued.
“Of course he didn’t. Probably because I did the cooking while he either watched or taste tested. I made anything and everything. I grilled steak and baked chicken. I even made fettuccini.”
“Wow. If I’d known you such a good cook, I would’ve asked you for advice. The best I can make is eggs and toast.”
“So that’s what you lived on? That’s sounds miserable. “Please tell me there was more to your diet.”
“Once I got over the culture shock, yes. I made friends with locals, and they introduced me to many different cuisines. Curry was a personal favorite for a while. It’s popular in the UK.”
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