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“We can’t have that.” He tapped the table. “I want you nice and sober during our date. Well, naughty and sober would be fine, too.”
“If you think I’m doing anything nau… anythingelsenaughty with you, then forget it.”
This time he did laugh. “Just the reaction I’d hoped for.”
“I’m sorry.” Genuine honesty tinted the words. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just I wasn’t… I didn’t…”
“Mean for it to happen,” he offered. “And then again. And well, again.”
Her cheeks pinkened. “No, no and no. I’m sorry. You were a gentleman. I’m just upset at myself.”
With anyone else he would be insulted, yet this delved beyond their relationship, beyond morning after regrets. She had enjoyed it as much as him, proven it when she initiated further intimacies. Why was she so distraught? “It happened, and we can’t just ignore it. Not when it was so extraordinary.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She retrieved her glass and poured herself another drink. “And we can absolutely ignore it.”
She tried to act confident, but she was obviously lying to herself as much as him. He took away the drink. “Have some food first.”
She sighed and picked up her fork. He lifted his own utensil and cut into the lasagna. It was steaming hot and scented of oregano, basil and roasted onions. He liked his food fresh and gave it only a few seconds to cool before taking a bite.
His mouth exploded.
“What the–” Destiny gasped at the same time he snatched his napkin and choked fire out of his mouth. He grabbed his wine and took a gulp, but it wasn’t nearly enough to douse the white-hot pain annihilating his lips and tongue. Destiny was choking and turning red, her eyes bright and watery. He ran to the cabinet and pulled out two bottles of Evian – he held oneto his guest’s mouth and gulped his own. When he’d finished, the burning in his mouth had gone from a five-alarm fire to a four, but it still felt like a thousand firecrackers sparking. Destiny sputtered and gasped, but appeared slightly less about to collapse. He led her to the couch, where he stood as she sank down, heaving in deep gasps. He grabbed the two plates of lasagna and tossed them in the sink.
They stayed silent for a few moments, recuperating from the heat. As the pain in his mouth receded to a more ordinary discomfort, Julian finally managed to speak, “Are you okay?”
With a small choke, Destiny nodded. They both looked to the sink. Then he folded his arms over his chest.
The redness returned to her cheeks.
“Is there anything you’d like to say?”
“Probably not.”
“Anything regarding the lasagna and, I don’t know… attempted murder by spice?”
“I’d like to speak to a lawyer.”
“So you’re admitting your guilt?”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Although-” She paused. “You may have added a bit too much spice.”
He gave a sharp but painful laugh. “Me?”
“That’s right. You’re the one who put in the spices. And obviously too much of that…uh… spice.”
Oh yeah, she knew she was in trouble. By her watery and still shocked eyes, it hadn’t been purposeful. “You’re the one who gave them to me, and none were supposed to be hot. Exactly which spice are you referring to?”
“The hot spice, of course.”
“What’s its name?” He pointed to the cabinet. “Show me.”
She put her hand over her mouth and started shaking. Concern bloomed anew… until he realized what she was doing. “You’re laughing?”
She shook her head, but couldn’t conceal the truth. She’d destroyed the recipe, nearly committed homicide by spice and now she thought it was hysterical. Then he started chuckling, too, and then it deepened until it turned into the heartiest laugh he’d had in years. The mood changed, as if they were old friends connecting on some deep shared joke. It felt… wonderful.
The laughter finally slowed to chuckles, then to wide smiles. When they finally calmed down, he sighed. “You don’t have any idea how to cook, do you?”
“Well…” A grin broke out. “I know slightly less about cooking than I know about Julian Starcroft films. It’s a miracle I didn’t set anything on fire.”