Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“It’s a fish,” he says, placing the plate of mozzarella in front of me, but it’s with sliced tomato and pieces of fresh basil.
“I almost dropped it off at the fire station,” I say. When he throws his head back and laughs, I want to kick him suddenly. He goes back to the kitchen and comes back with two plates and two forks and knives.
“What do you think the fire station would have done?” he asks, placing a plate and fork in front of me and then turning to go and stir the sauce.
“I don’t know what they would have done. They have to take it, no questions asked.” I take a piece of cheese and cut some of it up.
“It’s not a child,” he says, laughing.
“Really?” I say, taking a sip of wine. “Does it not have to be fed daily?” I ask him, and he doesn’t answer. “Will I not have to change the water and clean the bowl?” Again, he doesn’t answer. “Will I have to make sure it doesn’t die?” My voice goes higher. “It’s like a child.” He sits in front of me, and then I smell fresh bread. “Are you cooking bread?”
“Yeah, I threw in some bread that my mother made the last time she was here,” he says like it’s a natural thing. “Did you name the fish?”
“Why would I name the fish?” I ask. He takes a piece of the cheese and chews it, and even though I have the sudden urge to kiss him, I remind myself he just gave me a fish.
“I’m just wondering if I’m going to have to change the name,” he says and then gets up when the oven beeps. “Nemo,” he says, taking the bread out of the oven and then pouring the pasta into the pot and stirring it. He sets the timer and then turns to look at me. “Dori.”
“That’s so cliché,” I say. “I mean, at least come up with something original. Is it a girl or a boy?” I ask him, and he shrugs. “Bubbles. Elsa,” I finally say. “I saw it with Allison last time. She’s a kick-ass girl.”
“So I guess her name will be Elsa,” he says, and then I see him take something else out of the oven. “I made some salmon also.” Instead of answering him, I get up and walk over to him.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” I tell him, and he rubs my face.
“Well, I had to make it up to you since I sent you a fish.” He laughs and then leans down and softly kisses my lips. No tongue, just a small peck. “Now, let’s talk about you walking here naked.”
“I wasn’t naked,” I huff out, rolling my eyes. “I had a jacket on.”
“Let’s say something happened to you, and you fell,” he says. The oven beeps, and he grabs his gloves and moves me aside as he drains the pasta. “Then you’re lying in the middle of the street naked.”
“With a dead fish,” I point out. “So you see how this is all your fault. It’s the six degrees of Markos buying me a fish.”
He laughs now, a full-on belly laugh. His eyes crinkle on the sides. “Go sit down. I’ll bring the food out.” Shaking my head, I walk to the table and wait for him. He comes over with a round big bowl and I swear it’s the best thing I have ever smelled. He scoops some pasta and places it on my plate and then does the same for him. Putting the bowl with the remaining pasta in the middle of the table.
“Bon appétit,” he says in French, and I smile at him.
“Bon appétit,” I tell him and grab my own fork. The minute the pasta hits my tongue, I moan. “How did you make this?”
“It’s my mother,” he says while he takes his own bite. “She makes the sauce homemade.”
“Like boils them and peels them and all that?” I ask him.
“Yes.” He nods. “They do it every year.”
“That is so cool and amazing,” I tell him, and he nods, telling me about all the times he had to pick tomatoes. I laugh at his stories while I finish my whole plate, and when I get up, I push him down. “You cook, I clean,” I tell him. “It’s the least I can do.” I put the plates in the dishwasher, and when I finally finish the pots, I look over and see him yawning. “Did you go back to bed when I left?”
“No.” He rubs his face. “Tracy got here as soon as you left.”
“Who’s Tracy?” I ask but don’t look at him, my heart hammering in my chest. It never even occurred to me that he could be dating other women, and I am just a number.