I swung my legs over the bed, sliding into the pants. They were a little short but did the trick. I stretched, my body aching in the best way possible. I was still too out of it to really process what had gone down this afternoon. I mean, yes, sex. And more sex. But also words uttered. Body parts touched. Moans and sighs and promises of things.

I followed her trail out into the kitchen, where she stood over two steaming mugs. The groceries we’d picked up earlier were spread out on the counter: bok choy and cucumbers, and tomatoes so juicy they looked like water balloons about to explode, a container of fresh pasta, and some hand-rolled pretzels.

“Thanks.” I grabbed a mug and leaned against the counter, watching her organize and sort.

“So…,” I started.

She glanced at me, a small smile on her face.

“Would you want to hang out tonight?” I asked it at the exact same time as she said, “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

She laughed. “Yes, let’s hang out. As long as it involves eating some of this food.”

“I’m game.” I blew on the tea, inhaling its sharp peppermint scent. “What were you thinking of making?”

“Well, I have fresh pasta, tomatoes, basil, goat cheese, and some arugula, and that baguette I made you lug home.”

“It’s not soaked through?” I asked.

“I think we can make it work,” she said, pressing tentatively on its crust.

“That sounds incredible. You tell me where to start, and I’ll sous-chef for you.”

Franny set me up with a cutting board and a sharp knife, and I set to work chopping tomatoes into small cubes and tossing them in a large bowl. Next to me, Franny washed the arugula and basil, the latter of which she handed off to me to be minced into small pieces and added to the tomato.

With the two of us working together, it wasn’t long before we were setting dishes out on the table, a heaping bowl of fresh pasta with a no-cook tomato sauce between us. Franny had whipped up an arugula salad with lemon and olive oil, and she’d torn the bread into bite-size pieces and toasted it to get a bit of crunch. She poured some wine into a carafe and grabbed two tiny old jam jars from a cabinet. Outside, it was still pouring. Franny shut off the AC and pushed open the windows, letting in crisp air and the sweet smell of rain on concrete. “It’s actually kind of cool out there,” she said. “The air feels good.”