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“No.”
“Then you should use it to cover your own food as well.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m paid plenty of money. I can afford my own food.”
I reach across the counter and pick up her discarded wrapper, flattening it smooth. “If you consider a store brand granola bar food.”
She arches an eyebrow at me, her lip switching ever so slightly. I can’t tell if I’ve amused her or annoyed her.
“As a matter of fact, I do consider it food.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Since only one of us is a James Beard nominated chef, it’s my opinion that matters.”
I’m sure she thinks she’s won the argument with that, but she clearly doesn’t know how stubborn I can be.
“You’re roasting an entire chicken,” I point out.
She nods without glancing up from the potatoes she’s peeling.
“Surely you don’t expect me to eat the whole thing.”
“Of course not. Chicken breast, pan drippings, mashed potatoes, and sautéed spinach for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be making chicken stock from the carcass and you’ll be having chicken and spinach panini for lunch.”
“Which still doesn’t account for the whole bird.”
She sighs. “Most of it though.”
“Which means there should be plenty of chicken for both of us. There’s no point in wasting food.”
She looks up at me, squinting in a way that’s challenging and a bit playful. “What are you, some sort of food waste expert?”
“It’s an area of interest for me.”
One of her eyebrows arches. “Really?”
Inspired, I type away on my keyboard, pull up the document I was reviewing last week, and then turn the laptop to face her.
She gives me the side eye before setting down her peeler and leaning over to squint at my computer screen. She plants her elbows on the counter, causing her shirt to gape, revealing the crest of her breasts.
Fuck me.
What is it about this woman that even a hint of her tits gets me hard?
She reads the title of the article out loud. “The impact of food waste on global methane emissions by G. Mathews, et al.” Then she straightens, rolling her eyes. “Seriously? You just have that at your fingertips?”
“I read it last week, actually.”
She snorts. “Fine. I will eat some of the chicken.”
I gesture to the bag of potatoes. “You’ll have some of all of it.”
She arches her eyebrow again, but pulls out a few more potatoes without comment.
