Her eyes bug out. “Paul Walker. And yes, those are them. Haven’t you seen them?”
“Nope. Victoria wasn’t really a movie person. She preferred all those reality shows…”
“Okay… but you haven’t been with her in over a year. How have you not seen any of those movies?”
“I guess I’m not a sit-down-and-watch-a-movie-by-myself kind of guy.”
“We’re rectifying this tonight,” she says, her tone dead serious. “I declare tonight a Fast and the Furious movie marathon night.”
When we get to the condo, she puts away all of her farmer’s market findings, while I get us set up in the living room at the coffee table. I was nervous that after the way I acted last night, things would be awkward between us, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t be. Georgia isn’t the type to hold a grudge.
“Today was nice,” she says, sitting next to me. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. Friends don’t thank each other for hanging out with them. I had a good time too.”
We watch the first movie, and then the second, and while we’re on movie number three—technically it’s number four because she insisted we skip number three—something about them needing to be watched out of order for it all to make sense—Georgia’s stomach grumbles. “I think we missed dinner.”
I glance at the time on my phone. “I think you’re right.”
We head into the kitchen to see what we have to make. I’m scouring through the cabinets, ready to settle on PB and J, when she says, “How about we make a flatbread? We can use some of the veggies I bought at the farmer’s market.”
“Sounds good to me.” I close the cabinet.
She grabs a bunch of stuff from the pantry and fridge and gets to work making the dough. Apparently she found a recipe online and bought the stuff to make it but hasn’t gotten around to it yet.
Once the dough is rolled out—that part was all me—and put on the wooden block, she starts slicing—and snacking on—the fresh mozzarella.
“What toppings do you like?” she asks, popping a slice into her mouth.
I laugh at the fact that she’s eaten more of the cheese than she’s put on the flatbread. “Anything.” I steal some of the cheese from her and place it on top of the dough. “I’m not picky.”
She chops up a tomato then takes a bite of one of the slices. “Oh my God, try this.” She grabs another slice and brings it up to my lips. I open my mouth and she feeds me the tomato slice. When she doesn’t retract her hand quickly enough, I playfully nip at the tips of her fingers, making her shriek with laughter.
“Not cool,” she says with a laugh, placing the tomato slices on top. When she’s done, she adds some basil then puts it into the oven and sets the timer. “Twenty minutes.” She hops onto the counter. “What should we do while we wait?” She glances around like a bored kid, making me chuckle.
When she reaches for another piece of mozzarella, an idea comes to me.
“We could play the food game.”
“What’s that?” she asks, looking intrigued. The woman loves her food.
“You never played it as a kid?” I thought everyone did… When she shakes her head, I explain, “One person closes their eyes and the other feeds them a piece of food. The person being fed the food has to guess what it is. If they guess it correctly, it’s their turn to feed the other person the food.”
“What happens if they guess wrong?”
“They have to go again.”
Her eyes light up. “This sounds like fun. I’ll go first!”
“No way. I mentioned it. I go first.”
She pouts playfully. “Fine. I’ll close my eyes. I know food anyway, so I’ll guess right.”
She closes her eyes and I dash to the fridge to see what we have. I consider going with the hot sauce just to fuck with her, but instead go with something a bit more enjoyable.
“All right, open up.” She opens her mouth and I slide the spoon between her lips.
Her face immediately scrunches up. “It’s lemon juice.” Her lips pucker and she coughs slightly. When she opens her eyes, she glares. “That was horrible.”
“Hey, it could’ve been worse.” I laugh. “I almost went with the hot sauce.”
Her eyes widen. “I would’ve killed you.” She jumps down. “Close your eyes. My turn.”
I do as she says and a minute later, she’s telling me to open up. I smell it before it enters my mouth. Cocoa powder. The spoonful is filled so high, I choke on the powder, my eyes opening in time to see plumes of it hitting her in the face. She coughs and splutters while cracking up laughing.
“Did you feed me the entire container?” I ask, spitting that shit out into the sink before grabbing a bottle of water and taking a large sip.