Lib Novel Page 16
“Would I, what? Put in a good word?”
“You know what I’m asking. Don’t be coy. It doesn’t suit you.” Apparently, the nap had left him more playful than usual. He scanned her from head to toe, lingering in her most prohibited areas.
She flipped the spoon upside down and tapped her chin, intermittently pushing the tip between her lips. “Would I mind being close to you? That depends. Close to you doing what?”
“Lying in bed together,” he said. “Talking. You in my arms. I’m willing to bet that you would feel wonderful in my arms.”
The “veil” of seduction disappeared.
As if she sensed it, she faced the stove, and this woman was almost as convincing as a temptress as he was a Brazilian Lothario. Instead of feelings of distrust, his interest in her ballooned to the point that he almost didn’t ever want to learn who she really was or what she looked like.
“What’s wrong? Not the answer you were expecting?”
“No.” She shrugged. “It’s not.”
“Either way, how does it sound?”
“Kind of nice.”
“Maybe I was serious.”
“Maybe I’d be interested.”
Still smiling, he rubbed his hands together. “So, what’s for dinner tonight? It smells good.”
“You’ll never guess.”
“I’ll take that challenge.” He looked around the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “Let’s see…Ethiopian food?”
“Nope.”
“Brazilian?”
“Colder.” She faced him again, a smile molding the fabric to her face. “I’ll give you one more guess.”
“Only one more? How about…food from Mauritania?”
“What?” Her eyes opened wide. “How could you guess that? I was just finishing a soup called Harira. We’ll have a little for an appetizer, and you’ll love it. I promise.”
“I love almost everything you make.”
“Give the peach coffee a rest.”
“Serve it to me from your mouth next time.” Before she could respond, he added, “I’ll set the table.”
While he arranged their place settings, she brought over small bowls of soup, followed by plates of rice with fish steaks and vegetables covered in a rich tomato sauce. They remained standing until he realized she was waiting for him. Too hungry for a debate, he sat so she would ease down onto her chair.
“This one,” she pointed to the rice and fish, “is thieboudienne. There’s also a white version, but I like the red version with the tomatoes and the okra and just…everything.”
He reached for a fork.
“Wait! The soup’s first!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Laughing to himself, he shifted course and grabbed a spoon. “I was excited. It was all the talk of fish and tomato sauce and okra.”
“Maybe I should be a saleswoman.”
“I’d give you all of my money.” He sampled the soup, and there wasn’t a thing, outside of the peach coffee, she’d made that he didn’t want to consume like a starving man. “Wow, Sayeda. That is incredible.”