Page 85 of Kiss and Tell

“You remember how much help I was in the escape room?” I asked.

“You were useless until the very end.” He kissed the tip of my nose to show he was kidding.

“Imagine that but with cooking,” I replied.

“Are you telling me you’re not exactly a gourmet chef?” he asked.

“If the kitchen doesn’t catch fire I call it a success.”

“Why don’t we leave the cooking to me?” he suggested. “You can wash and chop the vegetables or something.” He waited a beat. “You are okay with a kitchen knife, right?”

“I don’t think I’ll chop my fingers off, if that’s what you mean.”

It was Connor’s turn to cringe.

“Maybe I’ll handle the vegetables, too,” he said. “You can set the table for a nice romantic dinner. Don’t touch the candles,” he said as an afterthought.

“I’m not that bad,” I said. “I used to burn candles and incense all the time as a teenager, and I only set fire to my trash can once.”

Connor paused with a few big, bright red tomatoes in his hands to stare at me.

“How about you take a seat and just sit there,” he said.

“I feel bad leaving you to do all the work,” I replied.

“That’s better than you feeling bad because you set my apartment on fire.”

I did as he said, pulling out a kitchen table chair and perching on the edge.

“What are we having?” I asked.

“I’m going to throw together a nice pasta dish,” he said, which explained the tomatoes.

“Do you always have fresh vegetables in your fridge or were you planning this?” I asked.

“I may have picked up some extra groceries,” he said. “But I’m usually pretty well stocked. From your tone of surprise, were you expecting me to say I live off takeout?”

“You’ll get no judgement from me,” I said. “My usual dinner consists of toast with either a cheese slice or peanut butter.”

“Isn’t that exactly what a sandwich is?” he asked. “And here you’re always giving me a hard time.”

“Toast isn’t a sandwich,” I said.

“What is it then?”

“It’s toast.”

Connor side-eyed me.

“You can’t tell me you always eat like this, with fresh vegetables and everything,” I countered.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked. “I never got to have home-cooked meals when I was on the road. Now that I’ve settled down, it’s nice to be able to cook for a change. And it’s even nicer to have someone to cook for.” He threw me a wink.

Connor started chopping the vegetables while I sat and watched.

I thought about what his life on the road had really been like, aside from being stuck on a tour bus for weeks at a time. Performing loud music every night, after-parties, drinking, women…

It was nothing like the simple life I was used to. I worked late, came home, made myself some toast — which wasn’t a sandwich, as much as Connor might have insisted — and either put on a movie or pulled out a book.