He joined her halfway through her preparations and sat at the counter, watching. “That looks labor-intensive.”
“I find it calming. Other people might choose to use a relaxation app, but I make risotto.” She adjusted the heat and went back to stirring. “What do you do to relax?”
“I used to write to relax, but that was before I was published.”
“I guess it must be different when it becomes your job.”
“Risotto is your job.”
“True.” She added a little more liquid. “But I chose to make this. So how do you choose to relax now?”
“I work out. I find that relaxing. And martial arts. There’s a place I go close to here.”
“Fighting is relaxing?”
“It’s not really fighting.” He selected a bottle of wine and opened it. “It’s discipline, both mental and physical.”
“I’ve never been big on violence. That’s probably why I hate horror movies.” She tested the rice to see if it was cooked while he poured wine into two glasses.
He handed her one. “When did you last go to a horror movie?”
“It was a long time ago. My date thought it would be a great way to get me to snuggle close to him. He hadn’t reckoned on the fact I might scream.” She turned off the heat and took a sip of wine. “Mmm, delicious. So you work out, you do martial arts—what else do you do to relax?”
“I walk the streets of New York, people-watching. You really screamed?”
“I made more noise than the heroine who was getting her throat cut. The woman in the row behind me started screaming too because I scared her so much.”
He laughed. “I wish I’d been there.”
“Trust me, you don’t. If I ever find myself unemployed again, I might try to get a job as a scream artist, if such a thing exists. I have a scream that could make Hitchcock shudder.”
“I want to hear your scream.”
“I save my best screams for genuine moments of terror. If you don’t use screams judiciously, people pay less attention. They’ll be thinking, ‘oh, Eva is screaming again,’ rather than ‘quick, something’s wrong with Eva.’”
“When did you last scream?”
“Last week when I discovered a very big spider in the bathtub. This is ready.” She spooned creamy risotto into two bowls, added a few shaves of fresh parmesan and placed a bowl in front of him. “Enjoy. If you’re going back to work after this, I might go for a walk. Given that you didn’t poke your head around the door once all afternoon, I presume my absence won’t impact on your creative flow.”
He paused, fork in hand. “You can’t walk alone this late.”
“This is New York City. It’s almost impossible to find yourself alone, and it isn’t that late. I don’t plan to go into the depths of Central Park. Just wander along Fifth Avenue.”
“The stores will be closed.”
“That’s the safest time.” She forked up some rice. “When they’re open, I’m dangerous.”
“Shopaholic?”
“Not really. More that my taste exceeds my bank account.”
“Speaking of taste, this is delicious.” He ate and then accepted an offer of second helpings. “Do you have a favorite store?”
“Tiffany’s.” She didn’t even need to think about it. “I like looking at the people who are looking in their window. And sometimes you see a man proposing and the woman’s face lights up and it’s pretty perfect. Real-life romance.”
They’d finished eating and he stood up.
“Let’s go.”