Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
“You are just in time. Do you mind grabbing the salad off the counter?” I turn and see she actually has a salad inside of some fancy looking dish I didn't know I owned. I am so busy trying to figure out when the last time I had a salad that I almost miss her question. “I hope you like chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy?” Is she serious? Who doesn't like it? Do I look like I don’t eat fatty foods deemed not good for you?
“That happens to be one of my favorite meals. My grandma used to make it all the time.” Grabbing the plates from the cupboard, I begin setting the table. Minutes pass and the room begins to feel light and comfortable. Somehow we have fallen into a familiar rhythm right now as we prepare to sit and eat together.
“Alright. Everything is ready. Wow. You did a great job with the table.” I smile slightly, my chest puffs out a little beguiled by her praise.
“Thank you so much." I wait for her to put the dishes she has in her hand down and then I pull her chair out for her and push it in when she sits.
“Thank you.” I look in her eyes, really look in her eyes and I see nothing but appreciation.
“You are welcome.” Taking my seat on the other end of the four-person table, I sit unsure what to do next. She smiles like she knows and shakes her head in amusement.
“Would you like for me to serve you or…”
“No. How about I serve you. After all, you did all of the cooking.” And it looks fucking delicious, but not as delicious as she does.
“That would be fine.” She hesitates when she says it, a slight frown on her face and I can't help but notice how adorable she looks when she is not sure about something. I hate how strained it all feels, you know. Neither of us is sure how to bridge the gap and I know it is mostly my fault, but I also don’t know how to fix it without feeling a dork.
I grab her plate and put a healthy portion of food on her plate, placing her salad in the salad bowl. She drizzles dressing on her salad and hands me the dressing. Once I am done, I look and notice she is not eating. “Is everything alright?” I ask her, concerned I have somehow done something wrong.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You’re not eating,” I say pointing to her plate.
“Oh. I’m sorry. The way I was raised, the man of the house has to take his bite first before we all eat.” I take a moment to soak this in before speaking.
“I see. Is this a tradition you would like to continue, or would you like to try something different?” I can see her mind spinning the question around. Then like watching a light turn on a quiet room she lifts her head and answers me.
“I would like to try something different.” She stops and bites her lip before saying in a quieter voice. “A lot of different things.” I feel pride in her decision to make different choices for herself. I sure hope her quieter voice doesn’t mean she feels judged by wanting to try different things.
We finish dinner with minimal conversation, the air between us thick and holding something different that I can’t put my hand on, but I know it is there. Refusing to let her wash the dishes, I load the dishwasher and start it. Once everything is cleaned up we both stand at the bottom of the stairs in awkward silence. Both of us are looking at one another unsure how to accept the silent changes happening between us.
“Everything was delicious, Ada.” She blushes slightly and puts her head down before looking back up.
“Thank you.” I can see she has something else to say. “I feel like I have to admit that I didn't come up with that recipe myself. The Amish don’t cook like that. I found your grandmother's recipe box in the cupboard.” Ah! That makes sense. “Then I called Sadie and asked her to help me shop for everything I needed.” Damn, how long was I in the shower?
“Well, it tastes just like my grandma made it. When she passed, she left me her recipes all written out and labeled. She said it was for my future wife. Something about a real man needing real food,” I mumble that last part because I always felt like she was just not saying what we all know is true. A fat man needs real food.
“Ah Well, lucky for me she left me one of the keys to satisfying you.” I know she didn’t intend it that way, but my cock took that as an invitation from her innocent lips. Jesus I have to get her away from me right now.