She drags her finger through the gravy in the pan, sucks it off her skin. There’s nothing inherently sexual about a chef tasting their food, except when that chef’s cheeks are pink from the heat and the neckline of her plain black cotton tee reveals just the top of her cleavage, an inch, nothing more.

And I’ve suppressed a mild attraction to this chef since before I met her. She’s turned something innocuous into me wondering what that sauce might taste like complemented by her skin.

Sophie takes a pinch of salt from a ceramic jar and sprinkles it over the dish. “Try it now.”

I pull out two roll ups from under the counter and pass one to her. She smiles a tight-lipped thanks and I don’t think she’s let me off easy about my past behavior. “I do it to my brother, too,” I say, unfolding the cloth napkin and leaning my hip against the counter. “My managerial experience started in the womb.” She laughs, once, a quiet ha, that I see more than hear but it feels like a win.

I hold my fork over the food, but I can’t bring myself to break up the perfection of her plating. Even if it is poutine.

“You should take a picture of this,” I say. “For your Instagram.”

She huffs, annoyed, but says, “Good idea.”

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and I step out of frame while she takes a few photos from different angles, some videos, and tinkers with filters.

“Thanks.” She smiles at me over her shoulder, her mouth wide, her cheeks round. I’ve never seen a smile like this on her before, the uninhibited kind. I didn’t know she even had this kind of smile in her, but that’s my own fault.

She steps aside, nudging the plate toward me again.

“In high school I made my brother take weightlifting with me.” I laugh at the memory of my then-gangly brother on the bench next to guys on our high school’s football team. He’d already had plenty of experience in the weight room because he was on the baseball team, but he was never going to be able to compete against the guys in that class. “I was worried that he wasn’t confident enough and I thought getting stronger would help.”

She piles dishes into the sink. “Did it?” she asks. I didn’t think she was paying attention.

Finally, I stab some fries onto my fork, making sure to snag some of this alleged cheese. I’ve never been a huge fan of animal-based poutine so I’m not sure what she thinks she’s going to do with this.

Sophie stops what she’s doing to watch me.

“Not really. I ended up benching more than him and he tried not to let it get to him, but I think it did. He can definitely bench more than me now though, so that’s a win. For his masculinity at least.” I shrug and take a bite. “Oh my god.”