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His fork pauses mid-bite. “Is it bad?”
“No,” I swirl my fork around to take another bite. It’s delicious. If your job as CEO fails, you could always open an Italian restaurant.”
“I’m glad,” he smirks as he dunks a slice of garlic bread into the sauce.
I copy him and dunk a slice into my sauce, soaking up all the yummy juices.
“It also makes me nervous as heck because I’m going to have to cook for you on one of these dates. I should warn you that my experience in the kitchen is refined only when it comes to baking. I'm confident with muffins, cakes, and cupcakes, but only when they come from a premade box. I can add eggs and oil like a pro but don’t ask me to make something from scratch. But,” I hold my finger up, “I can cook food if I can make it in the microwave, so there’s that.” I sink my teeth into the toasted garlic bread, and a butter explosion spreads over my tongue, making me moan.
"I think we're venturing into red flag territory, Pumpkin," Julian teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
I arch an eyebrow, replying with a playful smirk, “Well, it's only a red flag if the man's a disaster in the kitchen. Someone in the relationship has to cook. That's your job now." I tease. “I’ll bake boxed muffins.”
He grabs the wine bottle, the sound of the cork popping echoing on the rooftop. He pours each of us a glass, the rich red wine swirling into the crystal.
“I’ll eat your muffin anytime.” He replies.
We both freeze for a split second and then the space erupts with laughter. It's a hearty, uncontrollable laughter that makes your stomach ache in the best way.
“I meant the muffins you baked,” he clarifies between chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
“I know, but imagine Kent and Harper hearing that one!” I manage to say, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
“They would be proud, which makes my morals ashamed,” he agrees. For the first time, I see a hint of blush creeping up his cheeks.
“What kind of microwave food are we talking about?” he asks as he sips wine.
I lean back in my chair, relaxing in this atmosphere we have. It’s casual yet supercharged with chemistry. “Harper and I were in college, and our food plan was atrocious. We got food poisoning twice within the first month of school, so we never returned to the cafeteria. I became the in-house chef, and our microwave was basically my Easy-Bake.” I take a sip of the wine. “You actually can cook a lot more in the microwave than you think,” I murmur into my glass, “but don’t try to cook a steak. We tried that once, and I think chewing leather would’ve been easier.”
He tips his head back, letting out a deep belly laugh that goes to my core, making my thighs clench.
“You tried cooking a steak in a microwave?”
I nod as I bury my nose in my wine glass.
He picks up his glass and takes a sip. A drop of red wine lingers on his lips before he swipes it off.I wish I were that drop.
“The Texan in me is highly offended.” He replies.
“The cow would have been offended if he knew his sacrifice was in vain.” We both laugh, but then the mood turns serious. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone I can talk to as easily as you, Julian.”
He leans forward on his elbow, his eyes smoldering. “Me too.”
“We better not mess this up because you would have been a great friend to have in my arsenal,” I reply.
“Well, good thing I don’t just want to be your friend, Pumpkin.”
We finish our pasta, and Julian pours us a second glass of wine. “I still feel like there’s so much I don’t know about you.”
“That’s what dates are for,” he replies. “Let’s check off the basics. What’s your favorite color?”
“I don’t know if I have a favorite color, but I have a least favorite color,” I confess, grabbing my wine glass and taking an inappropriately large sip.
“What is it?” He leans back in his chair and watches me closely.
“Black,” I say as I swirl the red wine around. “I don’t ever want to wear a black dress again, so if you ever plan a date that requires a black dress, expect me to wear the opposite.” I raise my red wine. “I’ll probably wear red.”
He gets more comfortable, crosses his ankle over his knee, and asks, “What’s your bone to pick with black?”
