Talent Doesn’t Make the Meal Good
It’s only been a month, and I can’t keep putting this off. What if she finds out I can’t cook? She won’t see me any differently, would she?
Thoughts swirl in my head as I twist the doorknob to her already unlocked apartment. I take a deep breath as I step in. She meets me at the door. Her brunette curls roll off her shoulders as she wraps a gentle hand behind my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. Fireworks. There’s never not fireworks.
“I can’t cook,” I blurt, flustered again by her confidence. She doubles over, laughing, a hand tightly squeezing my arm.
Was that that funny, I think to myself.
“Oh god, neither can I!”
If one could see us as she boils rice while I attempt to chop baby carrots and sear the ground beef, you would think you were looking at two poor, hopeless college partners. But if one could see my eyes as I smile at her every success and mistake, you would think you saw stars.