His hand left mine only to reach into his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door, and then stretched his arm toward the inside to signal me to walk in.

“We’re going up the stairs,” he said.

My heels clanged against the iron steps as I slowly climbed to a small landing. At the top, Jared edged past me to use his keys once more. He stepped ahead of me this time, holding the door open.

I walked into a spacious bi-level apartment decorated in grays and blues. It was dimly lit and the blinds were drawn, setting off the glow of the numerous candles lit around the room. Chinese panels and manuscripts from different parts of the world hung on the grey cinderblock walls, illuminated by track lighting. He didn’t have enough furniture to fill the space—or maybe it was simply clutter free—everything was in its place. The entire room was immaculate. The air was saturated with different spices and flavors, and the small round table displayed empty wine glasses and white plates.

“This is your apartment?” I asked, looking up the wooden stairs leading to the loft.

Jared stood behind me, sliding my coat from my arms. “Is that okay? I thought it would be the best place to talk,” he asked, a bit anxious.

“No, it’s great. It’s amazing...you’re cooking?” I asked, preoccupied with my surroundings.

“Something like that. Try not to get too excited.” He tucked my hair behind my ears. “Have a seat, it’s almost ready.”

He took the flowers from my hands and whisked them to the kitchen, filling a vase with water. He reappeared, vase and flowers in hand, placing them in the middle of the table.

Jared brought a serving dish to the table and forked out a slice of meat.

“Pot Roast?” I asked.

“Well, there are other things—,” he gestured back to the kitchen.

“No, no, it’s just that…pot roast is my favorite. My father had a close friend that always invited us to dinner when I was little, and his wife made this amazing pot roast. It’s been a long time since I’ve had it, but it smelled a lot like this.”

Jared made a strange face as if he didn’t know how to react to my little anecdote, and then returned to the kitchen. He brought out a bowl of steamed vegetables, a plate of dinner rolls, and a baked potato…all of them favorites of mine.

“You thought of everything,” I said, bewildered at the food sitting on the table.

“There’s an Angel Food cake in the oven,” he said, sitting across from me.

“I love angel foo—,” I cut myself off when I realized how redundant it would be to say the words. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Jared said with an uncertain half smile. It sounded more like a question than an answer.