Add Spice to Taste (9 page)

The urge to apologize was strong but I didn’t know why, since I hadn’t done anything. That was turning into a regular thing lately. Maybe some
sort of PTSD reaction after my last relationship.

Despite th
e wonderful meal I’d just had, my stomach roiled with acid. I gulped some air just before Julianna came over to me. I thought for sure that she was going to tell me to go to hell.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. Listen, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about earlier.” I pointed to where Brit and I had our Patrick Swayze-Demi Moore moment.

Before I could continue,
she held up her hand. “It’s okay. I know.”

I raised my eyebrows
.

“Yes,
at first I thought you were getting your swerve on, but after watching you for a while, I realized what you were doing.”

Either
despondency or relief must have been plastered all over my face because her eyes softened and her mouth curved up soothingly.

“It’s okay. Really.”

“So we’re good?”

“Yes
.” She leaned in and pecked me on the lips. “We’re good.” My knees gelatinized.

“So
, can we get together this weekend? I’d love to see you.”

“Definitely. But I won’t be free until Sunday evening.”

“Okay, why don’t I cook for you? At my place.”

“Sounds great.
Let me give you my number.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket, called up the “new contact” page, and handed it to her. She put in her number and gave the phone back. I felt like I’d just won the lottery. I’d have to tell Sasha, “Better luck next time.”

“Okay. Bye
,” she said, brighter.

She
left and I felt as if she had taken part of my heart with her.

The timing
of our date actually worked out for me because I spent much of the next two days calling everyone I knew to help me with Brit’s party. I was drafting a little flyer to post at school to get student volunteers when I got the idea to ask Julianna. I knew she needed the money and I was more than willing to help her out.

And maybe this would help her truly believe that I wasn’t interested in Brit. I mean, if I were, I wouldn’t invite Julianna to help me cater
her party, would I?

D
inner

When my doorbell
rang, I felt a stirring in my belly that I hadn’t experienced in so long that I’d forgotten how good it felt. The nausea, the tightness, the pounding head. It was definitely part of the pleasure-pain principle.

I wiped my hands
with a towel, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Julianna stood there, a bottle of wine in her hand, and my heart jackhammered. She’d put on a little makeup and done her hair differently, sort of spiky. It was hot. Not that she needed to wear makeup—she was beautiful just as she was. But I thought it was so cute and flattering that she wanted to look good for me. At least, that’s what I thought she was doing.

Everything was just as I’d wanted it. I’d left the A/C running all afternoon to make sure it would be cool enough in the apartment after cooking. The candles on the table were lit and the a
ir smelled delectable.

“Hi, come on in.”

She stepped inside the threshold, then turned to face me. I was about to tell her to go in and make herself comfortable when she pulled her other hand from behind her back. A bouquet of Gerber daisies. Any solidity left to my heart melted.

Now with both hands extended, offering me wine and flowers, she smiled shyly, but enough to bring out
her dimples.

“Wow, you are so incredibly sweet,” I said, wishing I’d come up with something better. I took them from her and led her inside.

“I remembered the tattoo, which I love, by the way.”

My face
burned and she saw because she looked pleased. She ran her hand up my arm, and my entire body shook. “You are so cute when you blush,” she teased. “Do you blush everywhere?”

My tongue thick
ened, which I hoped would come in handy later, but it wasn’t so great right now for conversation. At the moment, I felt like I was thirteen again with a major crush on Jocelyn Rogers, the first girl who broke my heart. Would Julianna break my heart? At this point, I was more worried that I’d be a dumbass and do something to drive her away.

I
closed my eyes for a second, and prayed that I would, at some point that evening, pull myself together to have some intelligent conversation.

“
Thanks. I’ll go put these in water.” I held the daisies up and went in search of a vase, hoping that I’d come up with something interesting to say..

A
s it turned out, I didn’t have anything to worry about, because intelligent conversation was something that we did well, during and after dinner. My dinner was perfect, too. I made a special meal of pear-endive salad, beet-stuffed ravioli with
buerre noisette
, tempeh and brown basmati-stuffed cubanelle peppers, and roasted asparagus with lemon and parmesan. For dessert, there were molten lava mini cakes in the oven, and fresh raspberries steeped in vermouth and lime zest. I had also chilled a nice bottle of Moscato to round it all out.

We sipped the sweet wine slowly, enjoying the complex flavor.

“Dessert wine is generally served with dessert,” I said, chuckling, “but dessert needs a couple more minutes.”

Julianna put her glass down and her cheeks turned
a sweet coral pink. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I never was going to have a Moroccan dinner party.”

“No?”

“No. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you and that was the only thing I could think of saying.”

The Moscato had loosened my muscles and relaxed my pulse, which had been racing all evening, and
I burst out laughing. “That is so awesome.”

She laughed with me and, falling into the effects of the wine, we finished off another glass, leaving a bit for after dinner
.

When the lava cakes were done, I painsta
kingly made little hearts on the plates by putting a few dots of vanilla cream around the cakes and running the tip of my knife through them. In a moment of panic, I almost wiped off the little hearts, thinking that maybe that would seem too pushy or sappy. But then I thought that maybe she’d think it was cute.

Well, shit. I’d gotten this far on taking chance
s. I’d might as well keep going.

I brought the plates to the table and put one in front of Julianna. Her eyes lit up. “This is beautiful! And I’m sure it tastes as good as it looks.”

“Thanks. I hope so.” I sat down and looked at her. She was waiting for me to start, so I picked up my spoon. “Well, dig in.”

Julianna pressed her spoon into her cake with such anticipation on her face that I worried about disappointing her. When the chocolate ganache oozed out of the center, spilling into a pool in the center of her plate, her eyes widened and she licked her lips. My heart beat faster
.

She lifted the cake to her mouth, slowly closed her lips around it, and closed her eyes.
Did she moan?

“Oh. My. God. This is scrumptious,” she murmured. I would’ve
completely melted with happiness if it hadn’t been for one thing. She had said nothing about the little hearts, one way or the other.

I looked down at my plate, at the little cream-colored hearts, and felt childish. Geez, I could be such a dork. I broke into my cake and watched the chocolate run out, probably like all my chances of succeeding with this wonderful woman sitting across from me.

“I love these,” she said.

“Hmm? What?”

“The hearts. I love them.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They’re very pretty. And very romantic.”

The warm, liquid chocolate in my plate was looking more like what was becoming of my heart.

Everything was perfect. And Julianna thought so, too, and she told me several times, much to my delight.

When our napkins were covered in chocolate and we had sighed with satisfaction, I stood up and grabbed our plates
. Julianna stood up, too. “Can I help?” she asked.

“What you can do is take our glasses and wait for me on the couch.”

She giggled. “I think you might be trying to get me drunk. That’s okay, though. I trust you.” She went into the living room while I threw everything into the sink. I’d deal with the dishes later.

Sitting next to
her, I once again felt like I had in junior high school, but this time I was experiencing the exhilarating stuff that happens when you’re thirteen and fourteen. Those days when you are just beginning to explore your sexuality and physical encounters. But at the same time, I hadn’t felt this comfortable with anyone in a long time.

She took a sip of her
Moscato and drew her knees up onto the couch and faced me, glass in hand. “You know, I don’t believe in games and while I think some wooing is good, I think sometimes you need to be straight up.”

“Wooing?” I laughed.

She laughed, too. “Yeah. You know, courting, seducing, pitching woo, whatever you want to call it. It’s fun. But there’s a time and a place for it.”

“O
h, so serious.” I pretended to frown.

“Well, sometimes, you have to make your intentions known.”

I said nothing and waited for her to continue.

“I really like you and I’d like to see if
we can take this somewhere. How about you?”

My heart must have skipped several beats and I didn’t know whether to indulge my feelings of elation or if I should keep my guard up and proceed with caution.

I decided, fuck caution because if you don’t open up the door, love will never come in.

“I feel the same way.”

She took another sip of and put the glass down on the coffee table. “Okay. Good. So now we can get back to wooing.”

“Uh
-huh. And how do we do that?”

She leaned over and lightly draped herself on me. Her lips were only a hair’s width away from mine when she said in a low, throaty voice, “By taking it slow. Achingly, torturously slow, until every inch of our bodies throb with desire and the mere thought of one another brings us close to coming.”

The room was suddenly brutally hot and my forehead broke out into a sweat and my throat swelled. “Wow,” I barely managed.

She pulled herself back upright, cross
ed my body with a really seductive motion, and picked up her glass.

In other words, we were going to be old school and hold off
jumping into the sack until we were both ready. I was motionless for a few beats, then I breathed deeply and cleared my throat. “In that case, I have a proposition for you.”

One of her eyebrows shot up. My che
st fluttered and my belly tightened. “Uh, yes, well, this is a business proposition.”

First she pouted playfully, then she said, “Oh?”

“I’m catering a party—Brit’s sister’s birthday party. It’s only two weeks away and I need help. Would you be interested? It’s a chance to earn a few bucks.”

Julianna’s eyes widened in a mixture of thrill and apprehension. “I—I’ve never done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve thrown parties, but I’ve never
catered
any.”

“
There’s nothing to it,” I said, taking her hand. “All you have to do is follow my instructions. You’ll be helping me prep and plate. I’ll be doing most of the actual cooking.” I paused but she remained silent and wide-eyed.

“I haven’t been able to get anyone else with such short notice. I may be able to scrounge up a few students, but there’s no guarantee. And,
besides, you said you needed the money, so here’s a way to make some. Please.”

Her eyes brightened and her dimples made an appearance. “I suppose it would be an interesting experience, and I’m all about interesting experiences. Okay, I’ll do it.” The idea seemed to excite her
.

“Great. I appreciate it.”

“I appreciate your trust in me,” she said softly.

Tiny ripples of elation skid
ded across my stomach. “I have a feeling about you.”

She
slid a little closer. “I have a feeling about you, too.” She closed what little gap there was between us and kissed me. Her hand rested on my upper arm, now hot from her touch.

“Two weeks, huh? Does that mean you’ll be too busy to see me?”
She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, hell no. I’ll always have time for you.”

“Mmm. Good to know. Now shut up for a minute.”

And
I did.

W
hen she left, I knew what she had meant by wooing. We had done nothing but kiss. My skin was seared where she had touched me and I ached for her. I understood, now, that way of holding off, teasing and seducing all the while, until you’re driven so utterly wild, that the first time you make love, it’s infused with such desire and longing that it can only be deliriously wonderful.