“Ah, I found the chick lit shelf—double stacked and hidden behind the literature?” he asked.

She smiled. “Caught red-handed.” He seemed to be checking out all her stuff, as if trying to figure out who she was. That had to be a good sign—unless she was found boring. She didn’t have any deep dark secrets—except her chick lit shelf.

“My sister likes romantic comedies too.” A warm curry scent began to emanate from the kitchen. “Smells good. I’ll set the table.” He entered the kitchen and opened a cabinet.

“Not there, that’s the pantry!” she yelped, pointing to another cabinet. “That’s the dish cabinet.”

“Too late. Interesting pantry items.” He pulled out sneakers from the bottom shelf.

“I make a fabulous sneaker souffle, you should try it sometime,” she said. The kitchen felt too small and too hot with Jake in it. It was impossible not to bump into him while passing. They both smelled of suntan lotion and warm summer days.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He winked. “But seriously?”

“To remind myself to work out instead of snacking. And I don’t cook all that often, so it seemed like a good space to use.”

“Does it work?”

“Not particularly,” she said. “Do you want to open a bottle of white wine? There’s one in the fridge. Or there’s some beer in the fridge.”

Jake opened the white wine and poured two glasses.

“All right, dinner’s ready. Let’s sit,” she said.

He pulled out a chair at the white round table. She took the chair with her back to the couch. His presence seemed to fill up the entire room. Jake had this magnetism. He seemed so confident and yet friendly and easy-going, radiating a zest for life. She needed to pinch herself to make sure that this was happening. Biscuit circled round and round and then curled up at Jake’s feet.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said and indicated he should serve himself first.

“Biscuit’s my boy. He’s ever hopeful I’ll drop some crumbs.” Biscuit’s tail thumped when he heard his name.

He took a bite of the chicken curry. “Wow, this is good. I was worried when you suggested reheating a frozen meal.”

“Was that the reason for your look of panic?”

“I’m a guy. I’ve some basic requirements, like good food. And I eat a lot, so when you said there’d be enough, I had my doubts.”

“Then I should be flattered that you were willing to risk it?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “But it’s still a pretty low risk calculus, given that I could order more food later—especially since I’ve yet to try all the takeout menus that you gave me.”

“You know how to flatter a girl.”