When Joseph Park popped up to take credit for the dish, her feed exploded.

He took a video of her dancing to Korean hip-hop and posted: The face behind the voice. The moves behind the jams. #givesajam #goodgirl #wherewereU #askingforafriend

Liza looked at her profile. She had over a thousand new followers in twenty minutes.

“Dorsey? Are you ready to taste?” Joseph asked.

“I’ve been ready for a long time,” Dorsey said. His eyes were not on the steaming bowl, but on Liza.

Liza crept toward him, careful not to spill the contents of the wooden spoon. She nestled between his thighs and lifted the long-handled spoon to Dorsey’s lips. He parted his mouth and tasted the first bite. His eyes closed. “Mmmm, damn.” Dorsey swallowed. “That’s missing something, though.” Liza’s shoulders sagged. Dorsey reached behind her and pulled the bottle of fish sauce off the counter. He then poured nearly half the contents of the bottle into the bowl, splashing it everywhere, then mixed it in with the wooden spoon. “Try me again.”

Liza held the spoon up again, and he took a generous portion and rolled his eyes. “Good lord, that’s delicious.” Dorsey took the spoon from Liza’s hand and held it up to her lips. “Taste,” he said.

She parted her mouth tentatively, and Dorsey wiggled the spoon. “Open for me.” He coaxed and when she made a soft slurping sound, the spoon trembled in her mouth and the softest whimper escaped his lips. The soup was delicious. So warm and perfect for the still chilly March weather.

“It’s amazing.”

“Thank me later!” Joseph headed to the stairs. “I’ll be back down in five.”

“Thank you, Joseph,” Liza said. Dorsey’s friend was a breath of fresh air. She was surprised by her immediate fondness for him.

“Call me Park.”

“I’ve always tried to make this myself, but it never comes out this good,” Dorsey told Liza.

“I have a golden-brown thumb. It’s like a green thumb but for cooking,” Park called as he disappeared up the stairs.

“Don’t take credit for my masterpiece,” Liza teased.

It was insane how quickly their spoons clattered against the bowl. Liza met Dorsey’s gaze. He still looked hungry.

“Done eating?” she asked.

“Not even started,” Dorsey pulled an old iPod and speaker out of a messenger bag, placed them on the kitchen counter, and hit play. “Shall we?” he asked. He poured enormous glasses of dark red wine that clinked as he padded barefoot to the living room. He placed the glasses down carefully on a wooden slate and pressed a button on a gray remote. Instantly, a fire sprang to life in the chilly room. “Dim the lights,” he said aloud.

Liza smirked as the lights immediately turned down.

He sat wide-legged on the carpet and patted the soft spot near him.