Jessica Conant-Park - Cook the Books

Kyle stood to greet me. I had dressed casually tonight, but Kyle was wearing one of his requisite suits, this one dark brown with a red patterned tie.

“Hi, Kyle,” I said as I slid into the booth. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Nope, I just got here myself,” he said.

A waitress walked by and tossed menus onto the table without pausing to see whether we wanted drinks. I eyed her suspiciously and picked up one of the laminated menus. It took only a quick skim to see that the dishes were typical of many old- school Italian restaurants: lots of pasta with a few sauce and meat options, piccata this, Parmesan that. Still, I resolved not to judge the food until it was served. After all, this unpromising dump could be the source of the most flavorful red sauce in Boston. I did, however, decide not to risk ordering seafood. The odds felt good that the kitchen was hideously unsanitary, and I didn’t happen to have a craving for rotten mussels. Our disgruntled waitress eventually stooped to taking our order, but she managed to act positively put out by our presence and annoyed at us for wanting something to eat-in a restaurant, of all places.

“So how is your friend Adrianna doing?” Kyle asked as he moved to take a drink from his water glass. “Have you two been friends for a long time?”

“Don’t drink that,” I said, touching his wrist. “The glass is dirty.”

Kyle peered at his water and frowned. “Indeed it is.” A large glob of some dark substance clung to the inside of the glass. He set it down and pushed it to the center of the table.

“Adrianna is doing well. I’ve hardly seen her this week, though, since I’ve been so busy with school and the cookbook work. But we’ve known each other since high school, so we each understand when the other gets bogged down with life. The poor girl has been so tired, of course, because of Patrick. I don’t think she was prepared for how stressful being a parent is.”

Kyle nodded. “Well, she doesn’t show it. Does her husband, Owen, help out much?”

“Sure. It’s a rough time for him with work, though. He gets up at about four thirty in the morning to get the seafood orders for his restaurants, and then he isn’t home again until five or so. Sometimes later if people call because they ran out of tuna or forgot to order scallops or something. And his income is dependent on the market, of course. He determines the price for what he sells, and there’s only so much he can raise the cost of fish. Sometimes he makes only pennies per pound on some items. Oh, and he pays for his gas, too. It’s a rough business, but some weeks are better than others. And his schedule is really good. He’s at home with Ade and Patrick every night.”

“He must be exhausted, though, when he comes home.”

“True, but at least he has a regular job now. This is much better than the puppeteer phase.”

Kyle laughed. I admired the small dimples that appeared on his cheeks. “Well,” he said, “Patrick is adorable. He must be good company for Adrianna, huh?”

“That bundle of baby yumminess is more amazing than I could have imagined. I knew that I’d be loopy about my best friend’s baby, but I had no idea how deeply attached I’d become. And so quickly. He’s only three months old, but I can’t imagine not having him in the world.” I thought about my class on attachment and about how important and meaningful our familial, romantic, and friendship attachments were. I knew how strong my attachment to Patrick was, how innate it felt and how uncomplicated it was. Since Patrick was Adrianna’s son, she must have magnified versions of those same feelings. “I know he’s only a baby, and I’m not his mother, but I can’t help feeling that he and I have a truly special bond. There’s just something magical that takes over when I’m with him.”

Kyle nodded and looked at me with kindness in his eyes. “I could see that when I came to your house the other day. He’s very lucky to have you in his life, Chloe.”

When the waitress brought our food, I managed to refrain from wrinkling my nose at the glob of thick spaghetti slathered with lumpy Alfredo sauce. Kyle looked equally horrified by his chicken Marsala. A few small bites of our food confirmed that some of the time, looks are not deceiving.

Kyle rested his fork on his plate and shut his eyes, laughing softly. “Okay, this restaurant has officially been cut from the list of possibilities for the cookbook.”

“You think?” I asked with a grin.

“Let’s get out of here.” Kyle didn’t bother getting a check for our pathetic meal. He stood up and threw some cash on the table. “This meal isn’t worth deducting as a business expense,” he joked.

Kyle held the door open for me as we exited into the busy scene in Kenmore Square. The college kids were out in full force, and groups of laughing students brushed past us on their way to the bars. Kyle offered to walk me to my car, but I’d taken the T. Public transportation was easy for me because the C Line ran right into Cleveland Circle, which was only a few blocks from my place.

“I’m not letting you ride home with all these drunken idiots,” Kyle said as he waved his arm around us. “A pretty girl like you would be fending off ogling frat boys the whole way home. Come on. I’ll give you a ride.” He flashed me a sexy smile and held his arm out for me. “Madame? Or should I say, signora ?”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “No Italian right now, please!” I looped my arm through his and let him escort me to his car.

I stared at Kyle as he drove us down Beacon Street toward Boston College and listened to him ramble about other restaurants we could try. He really was good looking and genuine and… well, normal. Plus, he drove a badass Audi with leather seats and a kickin’ sound system. I let my focus drift over his body and admired his solid chest and narrow waist. When I worked my gaze back up to his arms, I wondered what sort of defined muscles might be lurking under that suit of his. His lips were full and sort of…

“Chloe?”

“Yes?” I whispered a bit too breathlessly.

“This is your turn, right?”

“My turn?”

“To your house.” Kyle pointed to a street sign.

“Oh. Yes, that’s it.” As we drove up the side street, I fidgeted nervously and flipped my hair over my shoulder twice.

Kyle pulled up to the curb and set the car in park. “Sorry dinner didn’t go as planned, but I’ll make it up to you. You pick the next restaurant, okay?” He touched his hand to my arm and smiled.

I held his look. We were having a moment! I could feel it! “I had a great time,” I said in a voice that I hoped was steamy and seductive. “I really did.” With no forethought, I leaned awkwardly across the gearshift and flung my arms around Kyle’s neck. I touched the back of his head with my fingers as I pressed myself against him. I inhaled. He smelled like the icky Italian restaurant, but I couldn’t fault him for that, especially because I must’ve smelled the same way. I was making my first move since Josh. And it felt wonderful! I was moving on, charming new men, and leading an exciting single life! I buried my head in his neck and then kissed him softly there, letting my tongue tease him. Kyle patted my back, slowly at first, and then suddenly with great urgency. Well, I thought, this is an odd way to show affection, but rapid back-patting was apparently Kyle’s way of encouraging me, of letting me know that he was responding to my sexy neck-kissing move.

“Oh! Plowee!” Kyle’s voice sounded weirdly muffled and frantic.

I yanked myself away. My winter jacket had puffed up around my shoulders and was pressing against his face. I was suffocating the man!

“Sorry! Sorry about that!” I stammered as I fumbled with my seatbelt. “So, so sorry!” I yanked repeatedly on the door handle, willing the stupid thing to open and free me from further embarrassment. “What’s wrong with the door? It won’t open!” I pounded my shoulder against it just as Kyle hit the unlock button, and as the door flew open, I lurched violently to the right. Amazingly, I caught myself, dangled precariously over the curb, and held still, possibly in hope of finding a graceful way to make a recovery. But there was none. I waved my left hand in Kyle’s direction, and he grabbed hold and pulled me upright. I did my best to compose myself and appear relaxed. “Well, thank you for dinner. I’ll call you in the next few days with an update on the cookbook progress. Good night.” I beamed idiotically and stepped out of the car.