Page 69 of A Billion Desires

The cook placed a bowl of salad in front of me, followed by a large plate of steaming ravioli and meat sauce. A chunk of garlic bread sat on the edge.

After Cherry was served, the cook grated parmesan cheese on our meals before he excused himself. Cherry picked up her garlic bread and tore off a piece, then dunked it into the sauce. “Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes as she chewed, obviously pleased with what she was tasting.

I followed suit and did the same thing.

“Oh, Christ,” I said in a muffled voice while the savory tastes and garlic undertones exploded in my mouth. The bread was fluffy and fresh, nearly melting in my mouth as I chewed.

“Good, right?” she said, now cutting into her pasta. “Taste the ravioli, it’s to die for.” She slid a small piece into her mouth.

I stabbed my fork into one of the pillowy squares on my plate, feeling a bit wary. I was picky about my pasta—something Cherry wouldn’t know. Wherever she’d bought it from, I hoped it wouldn’t taste too rubbery.

I’d still eat it. The sauce and garlic bread alone would disguise the undoubtful doughy consistency.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault that I’d been spoiled.

I liked what I liked.

Swirling more sauce on top, I lifted my fork into my mouth.

When I began to chew, I closed my eyes in pleasure. The pasta was perfect. Not doughy or rubbery or artificial tasting at all.

Sheer perfection.

I’d have to ask the cook where she’d ordered this from.

“This is delicious, thank you,” I said, taking another forkful of the pasta.

“You’re welcome,” she said as she ate her salad.

“You didn’t have to do this, I would have taken you out,” I said, swallowing more of the ravioli down. Next, I dove into the salad—which was also the most divine combination of oil, vinegar, herbs, and spices.

Clearly not from a plastic bottle.

A small frown formed on her face. “It’s your birthday, someone should cook for you,” she said, shaking her head as she continued to eat.

“This is a lot of trouble to go through, though.”

“That’s the whole point of having a birthday, Nick,” she said, her eyes meeting mine. The light from the candles flickering back at me. “People are supposed to make a fuss.”

I swear to God, it felt like something cold inside my chest had just cracked and melted. It took me a minute to get my breath back. I decided to stand up and open a bottle of wine.

Strolling over to her side of the table, I poured a generous portion into her glass. She gazed up at me, wiping the corner of her mouth with the napkin. “Thank you,” she said, giving me the sweetest smile I’d ever seen.

“No,” I said, lifting her chin with my finger, and leaning down to her lips, “thank you.” My mouth touched hers and she sighed as I kissed her. She tasted like the tangy, lemony dressing—fresh and clean.

When I pulled away, her eyelids fluttered in the most alluring way.

I found my seat again and poured myself a healthy glass of wine before setting down the bottle. The red wine was dry and flavorful, pairing nicely with the meal.

We ate in comfortable companionship. She asked me about a few of the shrubs and flowers in the backyard. Then told me she might take home a “cutting” of each of them to see if they’d grow in her yard.

I didn’t know what a “cutting” was, nor did I care.

What I loved was hearing how interested she was in the greenery.

I mean, I didn’t care one way or the other about what shrubs or plants the groundskeepers added or took out. But hearing her go on and on about leaves and shade and full sun—made me smile as I ate.

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked after her longwinded explanation to me about the differences between annuals and perennials.

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