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“Everything okay in here?” asked a voice.
I looked up and squinted through the haze to see Monica standing in the doorway. I shut the water off and wrapped my hand in a towel.
“Things are going just fine,” I groaned, holding my hand and wincing slightly.
“What happened to your hand?” she asked worriedly, gently unfolding it from the towel. “You hurt yourself!”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” I waved her off.
She placed her lips on my palm and I gave her a weak smile.
“You did all of this for me?”
“I wanted it to be special. But I’m not much of a cook. Clearly.” I looked around the mess in the kitchen. Potato peelings on the counter. Sauce splattered on the white quartz countertop. The burned pork chops in the sink.
“Why don’t I clean up? You go take care of that hand of yours.”
“But what about dinner?”
“I’m going to order pizza.”
“Pizza?” I asked, defeated. Not because it didn’t sound good, but because this night had gone much differently than I expected.
“Yes, pizza.” She nudged me. “I’ve been living inyourworld for months now. Maybe it’s time you experience life from my perspective.”
“Okay. Fair enough,” I replied, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the lips.
I turned to head to the bathroom to put some ointment on my hand.
“There’s potatoes in the oven,” I called over my shoulder. “They’re probably burnt.”
“I’m on it.” She giggled.
Only Monica could make this disaster of a night better. That’s why I loved her.
When I came back to the kitchen, she was just finishing wiping the counters. The smoke had dissipated and there was no sign of the disastrous food I had tried to cook.
“Thanks,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.
“Of course,” she said, tilting her head back in the crook of my neck.
“I did get champagne,” I said, pointing to the bottle on ice.
“Well, let’s have some.”
I popped the cork with my left hand and filled two glasses. I held my glass up and she did the same.
“To our first official date,” I said.
She smiled and clinked her glass to mine before taking a sip. She made a face before quickly trying to hide it.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head.
I watched her curiously as I took a sip. I grimaced as the champagne ran down my throat. It tasted awful. It was flat and had a weird tang.
“Gross!” I said, looking at my glass and inspected it. “It was supposed to be vintage.”