Page 12 of When Love Is Unexpected

"Sam, you almost kissed me," I say, hoping it will break the ice enough for him to open up.

"If memory serves me right," he says, "It was you who almost kissed me."

"You say tomato, I say tomahto," I counter.

"But we didn't kiss," he says. "No harm, no foul. Besides, I'm not in the habit of kissing a woman who belongs to another man."

"I don't belong to anyone," I say, my temper rising.

"You know what I mean," he says. "You were in a relationship."

"I would have thought our friendship was enough of a deterrent," I say. "Or are you in the habit of kissing all your friends?"

"Just the beautiful ones," he says jokingly. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Why later?"

"Because I'm hungry," he says. "And if I piss you off, you might storm out of here without feeding me first."

I guess that's his way of breaking the ice. I'll take it.

For the next half hour, we glide around the kitchen as if dancing without music and without touching.

While he puts away groceries, I add the spaghetti to boiling water and cook some pancetta and hot pepper flakes in olive oil.

When everything's ready and I start topping his plate of Carbonara with freshly grated parmesan cheese, I say, "Tell me about Greece."

"I love it," he says. "But I'm moving back to the States next year."

"Is there a particular reason why you're coming back?" I ask.

"Greece was a social experiment, an adventure, but my life is here."

He twirls some spaghetti onto his fork and takes a big bite. After that, "hmm," is all he says between each bite.

"We should talk about our trip to San Diego," I say.

"Yes," he says, "you're going to meet a lot of people. Let's talk about my immediate family first."

"Okay," I say. "Should I take notes?"

"Because I've talked about them so often," he begins, "you should already know them by name. Let me test you."

"Okay," I say. "Shoot."

"Who are my parents?"

"That would be Robert and Alice Jameson. They've been married for thirty-three years and have three children."

"Good, good," Sam says. "Who are their children? If you know, please provide names, ages, and significant others."

"Abby is your older sister," I say. "She's thirty-one years old and married. Wait, don't tell me."

"I'll give you five seconds," he says. "One, two, three."

"Andrew! Abby is married to Andrew Thade. I don't know for how long.”

"That's ok," he says. "Keep going."

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