7. Alex
7
ALEX
I think I might break a record speeding home after work, even with two stops to pick up pizza and a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Leaving the food in the kitchen, I hurry to change into fresh, more casual clothes than the button-down and slacks I wear at the office. Pulling on a hunter green t-shirt and tan cargo shorts, I slide my feet into a pair of black Chacos and check the time. Ten minutes till six. I wander back into the kitchen to wait, wondering if Nora is a punctual person. I’m not naturally so myself, but growing up in a family of type-A business people forced me to acquire the trait.
When the doorbell rings at 5:58, I jump even though I was expecting her. I dart into the hall and see her silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass door, waiting for me to let her in.
Swinging the door open wide, I give her my most charming smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she answers with a tentative smile of her own.
“Come on in.” I usher her forward and close the door behind her. “Just follow me to the kitchen and we’ll get this party started.”
Her smile hints at amusement. “A party? I thought this was just a kitchen tour.”
“Anything is a party with the right food and company. Pizza is definitely party food, you seem like a fun person, and I’ve been told I’m a fun guy, so yeah, it’s a party.”
“A party for two is usually just called a date,” she quips as we stop beside the island. Her eyes widen and she flushes, hurrying to clarify. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. This is definitely not a date. So…” She clears her throat and looks around, clearly trying to change the subject. “This is your kitchen.”
She looks adorable with her pink cheeks, her nervous fingers twisting the strap of the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. I’m tempted to press the date comment, but I take mercy on her and follow her lead.
“Yep, this is it. As you can see, it has several nice features.” I reach deep inside for the realtor training I received years ago as a condition of working in the family real estate business. Even though I manage the HR department of the Nashville branch of Lockwood Properties and have virtually nothing to do with the buying and selling of properties, my dad wanted all of us to have that foundation. “You’ll notice the marble countertops, double oven, and my favorite feature, a state-of-the-art microwave.” I pat the appliance affectionately. “She keeps me fed.”
Nora humors me with a chuckle, and my grin broadens as I continue.
“Here we have an extra wide island, recessed on one side for bar stools. It gets great natural light from the glass doors just there.” I gesture to the French doors that lead to the back patio. “Which makes it the perfect place to set up for filming. Or for watercolor painting.”
I’m doing my best to sell this place, and if her approving nods are any indication, I think it’s working.
“Watercolors, huh? Are you an artist?”
“Nope, never held a paintbrush. But I watched a movie about an artist once and the main character was adamant that natural light is essential.”
She raises an eyebrow, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or confused by that anecdote.
“So, any questions?” I rub my hands together. “Or are you ready to start eating pizza?”
“How about both?”
“Works for me. Have a seat. I’ll grab some plates.” Normally I would eat it straight out of the box, but I’m striving to impress, so I retrieve two white plates from the cabinet and set them out with two real water glasses—not the cheap plastic tumblers I usually use.
Nora settles her bag on one corner of the island and slides onto a stool. She continues to examine the kitchen, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“Would you like water or…” I glance inside the near-empty fridge. “Blue Powerade? Or milk, though I don’t suppose that would be the conventional choice to go with pizza.”
“Water is fine, thanks.”
“One water, coming right up.”
She’s quiet as I assemble everything, and I have to fight not to fill the silence with small talk. My siblings have told me before that not everyone appreciates a verbal infinite stream of consciousness. Actually, I think their exact words were something closer to “For the love of Pete, do you ever stop talking?”
Finally, I settle onto the stool next to her and open up the pizza box, inhaling the cheesy, tomato-saucy scent. “I didn’t know what kind of toppings you like, so I went with classic cheese.”
“Cheese is good.” Nora reaches for a slice and slides it to her plate. I grab two slices and dig in, my lunch long gone.
“So, what do you think?”
She takes her time chewing, swallowing, and wiping her mouth on a paper towel she rips from the roll I set out before answering.
“I think I’m sold. As long as you’re sure that it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”
“I’m sure. I’m thinking of it like having a personal chef who is also teaching me to cook. Really, I should be paying you.”
She chuckles. “When you put it like that, I start to think I might be getting ripped off.”
“Oh, you definitely are. But it’s too late to back out now. It’s in the contract.”
“What contract?”
“The ‘kitchen contract.’” I set down my pizza to free up my hands for air quotes.
“I don’t remember hearing anything about this.” She squints and frowns, but there’s a slight uptick at the corners of her mouth that hints at playfulness.
“That’s because it’s up here.” I tap the side of my head. “I haven’t typed it yet.”
“Ah, I see. And will you type it up at some point or will it always live in your cranial filing system?”
I can’t hold back a burst of laughter. “Cranial filing system?”
“Can you think of a more flattering term for keeping something in your head instead of writing it down?”
I shake my head. “No. No, I can’t.”
She smirks. “I didn’t think so.”
“How about I promise to print out an official agreement before we start filming?”
“Deal.”
“Excellent.” I clap my hands, excitement zooming through me like electricity. “So, what happens next?”
“Next?” She hesitates, as if unsure. “I suppose we set a filming schedule. I’m planning to keep it simple and just use my phone to shoot—it’s pretty new and has a decent camera, so I’ll just need to order a tripod.”
I nod along, thinking. “If you get two tripods we can use my phone too. Shoot from different angles.”
She tilts her head and blinks dark lashes over bright blue eyes. “That’s a good idea.”
“Why, thank you,” I say in what I imagine is a gracious fashion. “What do you plan to cook?”
“I have some dishes in mind that I think would be good for a beginner to start with, but I also want to hear what you’d like to learn how to make.”
“I want to learn to make tacos. Everybody loves Taco Tuesday, right? So as long as I only invite people over on Tuesdays, I’ll be a popular guy.”
Nora’s eyebrow shoots up again. It’s always her left one, I’ve noticed. “You know you can make tacos any night, right? There’s no rule that says you can’t serve tacos on Saturday night.”
“I mean, I guess not an official rule,” I concede as I reach for a third slice of pizza. “But I think of Saturday as a grilling night. You know, burgers, steaks, chicken…”
“Do you ever make any vegetables to go with all that meat?”
“Sure.” I wipe my mouth and grab my water glass. “Potato chips.”
“Oh boy,” she says, shaking her head. “We have a lot of work to do. I think we should start inside, but maybe once we get the hang of what we’re doing, we could do a special episode outside and I could show you how to make grilled corn and zucchini.”
I raise my glass like I’m toasting her. “I’ll drink to that.”
She settles back with another slice of pizza and tucks a stray lock of silky-looking pale blonde hair behind one ear. “So if Saturdays are for grilling and Tuesdays are for tacos, do you have food assignments for other nights of the week?”
“Not really. Although now that I think about it, I do usually eat pasta on Monday nights and Chinese food on Fridays.” And barbecue on Wednesdays, salad on Thursdays, and snacks on Sundays. Seems I’m more of a creature of habit than I might have realized, but she doesn’t need to know all that.
“Alright, we’ll start with tacos and go from there. I’ll order the tripods this week. When do you want to start?”
As soon as possible. “How long do you think it will take them to get here?”
“Maybe four or five days?”
“Then how about next Saturday? I’m free all day, so maybe we could batch it and shoot several episodes at one time for you to edit during the week.”
She smiles, her blue eyes crinkling delicately at the corners. “That’s what I wanted to do, but I wasn’t sure what you’d think about making it an all-day thing.”
All day, all night, all week. I’d be happy to have her here as long and as often as she wants to be. I’m glad she can’t hear my thoughts. She probably has at least an idea of what a zero to sixty kind of guy I am from how little persuasion it took for me to offer her my kitchen, but I’m doing my best not to scare her away with my personality and enthusiasm. I know I can be a bit much, so I’ve learned to tone it down some. “That’s fine with me. We’ll plan on Saturday, then. Anything I need to do to be ready?”
“Just have the kitchen counters clean and empty.” She looks around, probably realizing that she just described the current state of affairs. I don’t think she fully grasps just how infrequently this room gets used. “And maybe I could peek in your cabinets and see what kind of supplies you have so I know what I need to bring and what’s already here?”
“Sure thing.” I hop off my stool and offer her a hand to climb down from hers, even though she’s almost as tall as I am. She places her hand in mine, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from brushing my thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles. I release her hand as soon as she stands and put a few feet of distance between us, though not enough distance to avoid the sweet scent emanating from her. It smells fruity like maybe strawberry shampoo or body wash?
“My kitchen is your kitchen,” I tell her, gesturing around in a circle. “Feel free to make yourself at home and look at anything you want. I’ll get out the ice cream while you’re looking.”
I try to watch her as much as I can without being creepy while I’m dipping the mint chocolate chip. She opens the first cabinet, peering in at my plates and bowls, then makes her way methodically across the room, opening each door and drawer, her intelligent gaze taking everything in. Occasionally she makes a humming sound and takes a note on her phone.
“Well? Do I get a passing grade?” I ask when she turns to face me again, hands on her hips.
“I have to admit, your kitchen is better stocked than I expected.” She accepts the bowl of ice cream I offer her with a smile. “I’ll only have to bring a few things with me —plus the ingredients of course.”
“You have Maddy to thank for the well-equipped kitchen. When I moved in, she made sure I had everything she could think of that I might possibly need and more.”
She did the same for much of the rest of the house as well, though she took care to make sure the décor reflected my style. The result was a home that feels like me but looks much nicer than your average bachelor pad. Having an interior designer for a sister definitely has its perks.
“Well, she did a good job.” She smiles widely, enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes. “I can barely believe it. With the lighting and the layout—it’s like this kitchen was built for this. It’s almost too good to be true.”
“Sounds like this partnership was meant to be.”
She nods slowly, her gaze holding mine, until she clears her throat and looks away. The sound of spoons scraping bowls fills the kitchen as we finish our ice cream.
Nora sets her bowl in the sink. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. There’s lots to do if we’re going to be ready for Saturday.”
I straighten as she reaches for the bag she left on the end of the counter, draping it over her shoulder and withdrawing her keys. “Let me know if you think of any way I can help between now and Saturday.”
I’d love an excuse to talk to her again before then.
“Will do. Thanks for dinner.” She walks into the hallway, making her way to the front door. She grasps the knob and pauses, turning back to look at me.
“Olives.”
“I’m sorry?”
She gives me a small smile. “That’s my favorite pizza topping, for future reference.”
I grin back, committing this fact to memory. “Duly noted.”
“Okay, well, I’ll see you Saturday, then?”
“See you Saturday.”