Solomon pulled the sandwich and fries from the bag before he went to work unwrapping the food. “An attempt to argue was made.”
“Did you have any plans tonight?” I asked after we ate in silence for a few minutes.
Solomon’s vigorous chewing with only the tiniest of pauses to breathe between bites proved how hungry he was. He probably went into the office early and hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. Really, he had the worst eating habits.
“Nope. Just the usual.”
“Catching up on your shows while eating a microwaved meal?”
“You know me too well.”
Did I, though? After that shit with Dennis, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Well, I have nothing going on either.” Solomon raised an ironic eyebrow I chose to ignore. “Want to hang out?”
“You don’t have a date or something? I figured you’d have a few lined up by now.”
I pretended not to be offended, even if I was. I did date a lot, so I guess I deserved that, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed hearing it. “Shockingly, I don’t. But my mother sent me a new recipe for some bourbon chicken I was going to test out. Want to come be a guinea pig with me?”
“Sure. Need me to bring anything?”
I shook my head. “Nah, just yourself and maybe your dishpan hands.”
“I do not have dishpan hands.”
I studied the long fingers he had wrapped around his sandwich. “Then who’s going to scrub the pans when I’m done cooking?”
Solomon’s eyebrow rose again. “Isn’t that why you have a dishwasher?”
I let out an exaggerated gasp. “I’m wounded. Everyone knows that some dishes are not dishwasher safe, no matter what the advertisements say.”
“I didn’t.”
“You would if you actually took the time to cook. Which proves you have terrible eating habits.” I shoved the rest of my burger in my mouth. “Come over at your usual time. I’ve got to get back to the café.”
“I’ll see you at seven.”
That would give me plenty of time to make sure I really did have everything I needed in my cabinets. If not, I’d have to haul ass to the grocery store on the corner and do some last-minute shopping. But as I glanced through the recipe my mother had emailed me, I was pretty sure I would be fine. Even though my parents had retired to Florida the year before, my mother wanted to make sure I still ate decently without her around, so she took it upon herself to email me a different recipe each week. For once, I was glad for that because the bourbon chicken sounded delicious.
“Something smells great,” Solomon said hours later after he let himself in.
“Thanks. I tasted the bourbon sauce, and it’s incredible if I do say so myself.” I wouldn’t say I was a Michelin star chef or anything, but I could find my way around a kitchen without something catastrophic happening. Unlike Solomon.
“Do you need help with anything?” he asked as he stepped up to the sink to wash his hands.
“Nope. The rice is almost done,” I told him as I stirred the chicken and checked on the rice. I turned to look at him just as he pulled open a cabinet door. “What are you doing?”
Solomon pulled some plates down. “I’m going to set the table.”
“Oh… Thanks.”
I’d just assumed we’d eat in the living room while watching the television, but if he wanted to eat at the table, who was I to argue with him? With a shrug, I left Solomon to his task while I checked on the chicken and rice. Thankfully, I’d timed both perfectly—thanks to my mother’s instructions—so they finished at the same time. After carrying the food to the table, we dished up hefty portions and dug in.
“I think this is my new favorite dish,” Solomon gushed with an appreciative moan. “How have I never had this before?”
“It is pretty good,” I agreed and took a sip of the wine Solomon had poured for us. “My mom did a good job with this recipe.”
“Thank her for me the next time you talk to her,” he said before shoveling another bite into his mouth.
“I will. She asks about you all the time.”
“Does she still think we’re an item?” he asked with amusement.
“Of course she does. I finally stopped correcting her.”
Solomon snickered as he stabbed another piece of chicken with his fork. “I’m sure it’s easier to do that rather than confuse her with all your dates,” he said with a shrug. I knew his remark was innocent since my dating history was long and messy, but it still stung a bit. I chose to ignore it and shoved another bite in my mouth. “I miss her stuffed chocolate chip cookies,” he added a few seconds later.
“I might’ve been sent that recipe as well,” I admitted as I tried to shake off the bit of hurt his words had caused.
Solomon paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “And you’re just now disclosing this information?” I shrugged. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that I wasn’t the only one withholding information, but I refrained. Solomon had his reasons for not telling me about Dennis—reasons that made no sense to me but did to him. So rather than bring it up, I smirked instead.
“I might or might not have sent her an email asking about that particular recipe today, and she sent it almost immediately. I think the fact I inquired about one made her ecstatic to share.”
“Does that mean you’ll be making me cookies?”
“Who said I’d be making them for you?”
The look he shot me was loaded with sarcasm. “Really? Who else would you make them for?”
“The neighbor? My dentist?”
Solomon gave a rude snort. “As if your dentist would eat chocolate chip cookies stuffed with Oreos.”
“He might? I don’t know his eating habits.”
“It’s not nice to tease me with things as important as your mom’s infamous cookies. I thought you loved me more than that.”
I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. “Please, you know I love you more than I love thunderstorms.”
Another snort. “Yeah, right. You live for storm season.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t any fun if you aren’t there to count the seconds between thunder and lightning with me.”
“Uh-huh. If your dentist gets those cookies before I do…”
“Relax, Sol. No one will get my mom’s cookies except for you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He shoved the fork into his mouth and narrowed his eyes at me as he chewed. I was only teasing him with the cookie thing, but I wasn’t lying. When I got that recipe from my mother, the only person I thought to make them for was Solomon. Making them for anyone else never crossed my mind, and even joking about it felt wrong to me. But I needed to know something.
“Sol?”
“Yeah?”
“If the situation was reversed…”
“Which situation?” he asked, cutting me off.
“The cookie thing?” Solomon nodded in understanding. “If it was reversed, would you make them for someone else?”