“Let me see that,” she said, snatching the box.
Sure enough: Remove plastic before placing in oven. It was even in bold.
So much for her second attempt at domestication. It hadn’t gone any better than her chicken attempt, and that at least had required real chopping.
“Also,” Mitchell added, poking the pizza disaster with a tentative finger, “I’m pretty sure that broil and bake are not interchangeable.”
They aren’t?
“Well, that’s just great,” she said grumpily. “I’m so glad you have all these advanced kitchen skills you decided not to share.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
Mitchell planted a quick peck on the top of her head as he slid past her to grab his wallet from the counter. “Pizza guy.”
Julie’s mouth dropped open, even as her appetite surged in gratitude. “What do you mean, the pizza guy? When did you order pizza? I told you on my way over that I had dinner planned.”
“And that’s when I called the pizza guy,” he called over his shoulder.
Julie’s lips pursed in thoughtfulness as she swept her failed pizza into his garbage can. She was certainly racking up ideas for her article today.
How to get him to invite you over: Ply him with wild sex and half-naked eating in bed.
How to know when he knows you: When he’s formulated a solution to your screw-ups before they even happen.
“What kind did you get?” she asked, pulling plates out of his cupboard.
“Some greasy meat special. Grab a couple of wineglasses, would you?”
She complied, her hand faltering slightly as she realized she knew exactly where to find them.
Another first. Knowing her way around a man’s kitchen.
Mitchell plucked the glasses from her hand as he pulled a bottle from his built-in wine rack. She grabbed the pizza box, the plates, and a roll of paper towels and followed him to the couch. They settled side by side, their arms companionably moving above and below each other’s as they got situated with pizza and wine.
Mitchell reached for the remote when they both had a full plate and glass, and Julie froze as the realization swept over her.
This was it.
This was movie night.
She waited for the wave of self-loathing and the depressing suspicion that her sexiest years were behind her.
Instead she felt … relaxed. Contented. Happy.
“What are you so smiley about?” he asked, shooting her a glance as he navigated through his On Demand menu.
“Nothing,” she said, giving a smug little wiggle of giddiness. Just happy about you.
“So what are we watching?” he asked, scrolling through the options. “Action, comedy, some stupid drama?”
Julie thought about suggesting the romantic comedy he’d just scrolled past on the menu, but she wasn’t brave enough. There was taking things to the next level and then there was taking things to the romantic-comedy level. She didn’t want to push her luck.
“You pick,” she said magnanimously.
He snorted. “I hate it when women say that.”