Page 36 of Nerdy Dirty Valentine

At the store, I bought them and then texted James, inviting him and Ginsberg to dinner. Walking through the supermarket, I suddenly wanted to make him more than things like eggs or frozen foods. I walked to the vegetable aisle. Ginger, green onion, cabbage… I picked up peppers and onions, too. I wanted some kind of side dish that was savory and healthy. I then headed for some New York strip loin, something I recalled my dad loved to grill with a touch of salt, pepper, and fresh rosemary. I hoped to get it caramelized golden on my grill. I’d cool it and slice it on top of the stir fry. I wandered into the next aisle, pausing at the wine.

Do you want beer or wine at dinner?I texted.

I waited as his three dots appeared.

No, I don’t. Feed me and I’m happy.

His text made me smile. I turned into another aisle and got some sparkling cider instead. I had a feeling he turned down the wine out of respect for me, and that felt good. James never drank in my presence, and unlike some guys, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. Like he was giving something up because of my weakness. James only made me feel… safe.

Fuck, why did that word come to mind? I had been taking care of myself for a long time. I didn’t need somebody else. My entire job was making people safe, not the other way around.

Shaking off these thoughts, I focused on the dinner. I needed some crunch. Homemade potato wedges, maybe? Seasoned heavily and fried to a golden crisp? Yes. And dessert? The most important part, in my book.

But I was no baker, so I’d have to keep it simple. Big cookies. I quickly added salted butter, vanilla, and chocolate chips to the cart.

I hadn’t cooked much beyond burgers or pizza at the firehouse. Nothing fresh like this, where I had to chop and prepare. Surprisingly, I enjoyed it, and it came easier than expected. I soon had things sizzling and the steak seasoned. Only the cookies remained to mix and bake.

Setting the table was next, and I debated candles, but that seemed way too fussy. Besides, I couldn’t find any. James had added some new plates and glasses when he redecorated, so I happily added those, humming a little as I worked. I didn’t have fancy napkins, but I folded them over neatly and put out my best silverware. No plastic tonight.

Finally, James and Ginsberg arrived.

I kissed James and greeted Ginsberg, leading them to the kitchen.

Ginsberg stood for a moment on his hind legs, nose twitching, smelling the kitchen.

“That’s the most activity he’s shown all day.” James snickered. “But I have to agree it smells fucking awesome in here.”

“Thanks. I kind of enjoyed it,” I mused. I truly had. Before tonight, I’d stayed away from cooking, making excuses or saying I was terrible at it. But since meeting James, a good deal had changed. I felt a new lightness.

“Come and eat.”

James dug into his steak.

He groaned. “Heaven.”

Pleased, I ate a piece myself, the steak tender. The potato wedge was also decent, buttery with a little toasted garlic.

“My vegetable medley has good spice, but it’s not really going with the rest,” I said.

“Don’t agree.” James spooned some into his mouth. “And these potatoes are the bomb.” He chewed a big wedge. His bottom lip glistened with some butter, and I fixed my eyes on the spot.

“Glad you like it,” I replied in a husky voice.

“I like it all, the veggies included. It’s perfect.”

He was wrong. The spices didn’t complement, but I silently vowed to do better next time.

I poured us some sparkling apple cider and accidentally knocked a few wedges to the edge of the table, which Ginsberg instantly grabbed in a big gobble.

“Hey,” James shooed him. “Get down. I swear, Ginsberg only moves this fast for food.”

“It’s a compliment,” I laughed. “Let me fix him some kibble with steak juice.”

“He’s going to be your slave for life,” James objected but without heat. He was too busy eating another big slice of steak. I kept watching James eat my food. He gave a hum of satisfaction as he chewed that reeled me in.

I scooted my chair closer. “So, did your folks cook a lot when you were young?”

James glanced at our close chairs but didn’t move away. “Mom did a mean Thanksgiving dinner, complete with the turkey and homemade gravy, and Dad loved to grill. But otherwise? Not much. They both worked a lot, and we had takeout on speed dial.”

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