Page 179 of 7+Us Makes Nine

We clinked our glasses, never looking away from each other. I put pasta with marinara sauce into my plate, salivating at how good it all looked and smelled. I took a huge swallow.

“Mmm.” Closing my eyes, I reveled in the rich taste. “It’s so good.”

He didn’t say anything, and when I opened my eyes, I found him staring at me like enchanted.

“You have no idea how sexy you look right now. As if you’re having an orgasm.”

I winked at him. “More like a food orgasm. But now stop staring at me and eat!”

He snorted and filled his plate with pasta with mushrooms. “Yes, boss.”

I continued moaning as I munched, enjoying his meal too much. “This is amazing. So delicious. Your cooking skills put mine to shame.”

“You don’t cook well?”

“Not at all. My cooking is a disaster. Actually, it’s perfect if you want to poison someone.” He laughed loudly, shaking his head at me.

“You don’t say.”

“True. My mother teases me all the time, saying I’m never going to get married if I don’t learn how to cook. But I’m hopeless since whenever I try to get serious and cook something other than a plain soup, I manage to mess something up. So I gave up and accepted that it’s better for me to be as far away from the stove as possible.”

“So how do you manage to survive? Don’t tell me, you only drink water?”

My laughed matched his. “I usually zap ready-made dishes or go to a restaurant. These days, our cafeteria at work does the job at keeping me well-fed. How about you? You learned from your mom, right? I remember her having a book or something when you moved to town.”

“It’s a bit more than that. My mother is a famous chef.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She even has her own cooking show that is broadcasted on cable TV each week.”

“Wow. That’s so cool.”

“So it was a must for me to learn how to cook too. She kept saying that I can’t rely on my wife to cook for me and that I have to do it on my own.” He rolled his eyes. “She drilled this into me during my junior high years until I gave in to her and finally learned how to cook. That was before we moved.”

“Sorry. It’s sounds like you didn’t like it at all.

“Don’t be. And yes, at first I was like, this is boring, blah, blah, blah, but I grew to love it. Now it’s my favorite pastime.”

“Cooking?”

“Yes. I like experimenting and creating new dishes.”

“What are your favorite dishes? Italian?”

“Yes. I love everything about Italian cuisine. And you?”

“I love seafood. We didn’t eat seafood much when I was a teenager since my mom is allergic to it, but as I grew older, I made sure to eat it as often as I can.”

I took a sip of my wine before I took another bite of my pasta. “I guess I’m lucky that my mother didn’t pressure me to learn to cook. She probably didn’t want my poisoning people on her conscious.”

“And here I was, actually planning to suggest I teach you how to cook.”

“Thanks, but no. As much as I appreciate it, it would only be a waste of your time. Sorry.”

He shrugged his shoulders and reached for my hand across the table. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to be cooking for us both, right?”

I gasped, his words stealing the air out of my lungs. The way he worded it sounded like we were in for a long ride here, and I felt conflicted. A part of me was

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