“Where are we going?” I asked as he pulled away from the curb.
“You’ll see,” he said, an excited grin spreading across his face. “I’m glad you agreed to come. After the other night, I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”
“Well, after you ambushed me at the Ratty in front of everyone, I hardly had a choice.”
“Coercion was the plan all along,” he said, chuckling. He reached over and lightly traced my fingers.
“So this place we’re going to…should I expect more strange cuisine or are you playing it safe this evening?” I casually turned up my palm to intertwine our fingers. Normally I wasn’t so forward, but the rules had changed. We both knew that nothing about our time together was ever ordinary.
“It’s a surprise.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Yes you do.”
“I know,” I huffed. It was maddening that he knew me so well. “Am I going to learn anything about you tonight?”
“That’s the plan.”
Jared pulled onto a narrow street and parked beside the curb in front of a darkened building. I wasn’t sure what restaurant it was, but it didn’t look open. He took my hand and led me down an alley, guiding me around the water-filled potholes.
“Your cut has healed nicely,” I noticed, “I can barely see it.”
Jared simply nodded, leading me further into the darkness.
His hand left mine only to reach into his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door, and then stretched his arm toward the inside to signal me to walk in.
“We’re going up the stairs,” he said.
My heels clanged against the iron steps as I slowly climbed to a small landing. At the top, Jared edged past me to use his keys once more. He stepped ahead of me this time, holding the door open.
I walked into a spacious bi-level apartment decorated in grays and blues. It was dimly lit and the blinds were drawn, setting off the glow of the numerous candles lit around the room. Chinese panels and manuscripts from different parts of the world hung on the grey cinderblock walls, illuminated by track lighting. He didn’t have enough furniture to fill the space—or maybe it was simply clutter free—everything was in its place. The entire room was immaculate. The air was saturated with different spices and flavors, and the small round table displayed empty wine glasses and white plates.
“This is your apartment?” I asked, looking up the wooden stairs leading to the loft.
Jared stood behind me, sliding my coat from my arms. “Is that okay? I thought it would be the best place to talk,” he asked, a bit anxious.
“No, it’s great. It’s amazing...you’re cooking?” I asked, preoccupied with my surroundings.
“Something like that. Try not to get too excited.” He tucked my hair behind my ears. “Have a seat, it’s almost ready.”
He took the flowers from my hands and whisked them to the kitchen, filling a vase with water. He reappeared, vase and flowers in hand, placing them in the middle of the table.
Jared brought a serving dish to the table and forked out a slice of meat.
“Pot Roast?” I asked.
“Well, there are other things—,” he gestured back to the kitchen.
“No, no, it’s just that…pot roast is my favorite. My father had a close friend that always invited us to dinner when I was little, and his wife made this amazing pot roast. It’s been a long time since I’ve had it, but it smelled a lot like this.”
Jared made a strange face as if he didn’t know how to react to my little anecdote, and then returned to the kitchen. He brought out a bowl of steamed vegetables, a plate of dinner rolls, and a baked potato…all of them favorites of mine.
“You thought of everything,” I said, bewildered at the food sitting on the table.
“There’s an Angel Food cake in the oven,” he said, sitting across from me.
“I love angel foo—,” I cut myself off when I realized how redundant it would be to say the words. “You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Jared said with an uncertain half smile. It sounded more like a question than an answer.
“We’re going to talk, right?” I asked, staring down at my plate.
“We are going to talk. But let’s get through dinner, first.”
“I can do that,” I grinned.
I bit into the pot roast and instantly I was seven years old, sitting in a homey kitchen with a million savory smells floating throughout the room. Cynthia was politely chuckling at something Jack’s friend Gabe had said, and Gabe’s wife circled the table in a light blue apron, spooning out vegetables onto everyone’s plate.
“How is it?” Jared asked between bites, bringing me back to the present.
I shook my head, searching for the words that would do the taste I was experiencing justice. “I haven’t had a meal like this in a long, long time,” I chewed, “since I was a girl. Where did you learn to cook like this?”