Theo shot out a “You got it” before looking at me as if I had the final approval of this soiree he was planning.

“Steaks sound good,” I mumbled awkwardly and pointed to the door. “I’ll walk them out.”

When I got back to the apartment Theo was leaning against the counter drinking a bottle of Shiner Bock and staring out into space.

“That was an abrupt departure,” he said, and I just nodded, because now I felt guilty that I’d been short with him all day.

The garlic was still sitting there, untouched. And I decided to show some grace and grabbed the press. Except that when I pulled off a couple of cloves I noticed they were too big for it. “What kind of mutant garlic is this?”

He grinned and came over next to me.

“I ordered online and that’s what they sent. It said that it’s Elephant garlic. I agree it’s a little freaky. But here,” he said, grabbing a smaller knife than the one I had. He cut the clove in half then handed me a piece. I put it in the press and squeezed. He was so tall he could stand behind me while he showed me. He probably had a bird’s-eye view from up there. I was grateful that the knife-handling moment was over, because this much proximity to Theo would almost for sure end with a visit to the emergency room.

“Like this?” I asked, my voice high and a little hysterical. It was annoying how cool and calm he was while I was ready to stick my entire head into the freezer.

“That’s great.” The praise went through me like an electric current.

“Are you going to be here for the stylist tomorrow?”

“No.” I felt him shake his head behind me, his chin grazing me when he moved. “I already saw her.”

“You did?” I glanced up at him and found him grinning at me. It almost knocked me out. He smiled so much in Texas, big ones that made a dimple on his chin pop. It was freaking annoying.

“That red sweater you loved so much was from her.”

“I didn’t love your dumb sweater,” I lied through my teeth. “It just kept catching my attention because your chest is the size of a billboard and that bright color was hurting my eyes.”

“That’s too bad, because the stylist wants to ‘capitalize on my physique’ so there are lots of tight, brightly colored sweaters in my future.” He leaned in again and I squeezed the seltzer can in my hand. “Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Did I scare off your friends?” He turned away from me when he asked.