Dinner, This Time

"Have dinner with me," Adrian said.

Elena remained beside the sofa, her coat folded over her arms.

"When?"

"Whenever you can arrange it."

"That's a remarkably open calendar for a man who schedules breakfast."

"I'm trying to be flexible. Don't make it more difficult."

The corner of her mouth moved.

He stepped closer, stopping before he crowded her.

"Saturday?" he asked. "Somewhere you like."

She studied him.

"Let me think about it."

He disliked the answer intensely.

He nodded anyway.

When she had gone, he called the property manager and canceled the preparations for the apartment. Then he sat at his desk with his phone beside him and achieved very little.

Her message arrived the following evening.

The plumber came. The monster in the radiator has been evicted.

He smiled before he could stop himself.

Good. Was it expensive to relocate?

Very. It wanted a courtyard apartment.

He deserved that.

The next message took longer.

My sitter can stay Saturday evening. I could have dinner here, if you'd come. I think I'd rather be somewhere familiar.

He typed three different answers before settling on one.

I'd like that. What should I bring?

Something you can cook.

He looked toward the kitchen with genuine alarm.

On Saturday, he arrived at her apartment carrying groceries and a bottle of wine. He had spent forty minutes in a shop selecting tomatoes, then discovered at the register that the pizza dough he needed was in another aisle.

Elena opened the door in dark jeans and a soft green top.

Her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

For several seconds, he forgot the groceries.

"You found it," she said.

"I've been here before."

"I meant the food."

"With assistance."

She took one bag and let him in.

Mia was on the rug building a house from blocks. A young woman Adrian recognized from preschool pickup sat beside her.

"Tessa's taking her downstairs for dinner with her cousin," Elena explained. "Then she'll bring her back for bed."

Mia looked up.

"Are you sleeping here?"

Elena nearly dropped the bag.

"Adrian is making dinner."

"Can he?"

"That remains to be seen," Adrian said.

Mia considered the supplies.

"Don't burn Mommy's pan."

"Thank you for the confidence."

Once the apartment emptied, Elena leaned against the counter.

"You look nervous."

"I'm assessing the equipment."

"It's an oven."

"It has several opinions about temperature."

She laughed and took the dough from its bag.

For the first half hour, things went well.

They stood side by side at the counter. Elena showed him how to stretch the dough. He accused it of resisting reasonable instructions.

When he rolled up his sleeves, she stopped speaking halfway through a sentence.

He noticed.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

She returned to slicing tomatoes with unnecessary concentration.

He let himself enjoy that.

Then he tried to transfer the pizza onto the heated tray.

Half of it folded under itself. Cheese fell onto the oven floor.

The smoke detector began screaming three minutes later.

Elena opened the window while Adrian waved a dish towel beneath the alarm.

"It's sensitive," she said through her laughter.

"It's vindictive."

They salvaged something that resembled a folded map.

Elena set two plates on the tiny table and cut away the blackest corner.

"I've eaten worse."

"That's not encouraging."

"You should have seen my first attempt at lasagna. Daniel used a spoon."

His name settled between them.

Elena's smile faltered.

Adrian took a bite of pizza.

"Was the spoon necessary, or was he making a point?"

She looked at him.

"Both."

"Then I respect the technique."

Her smile returned, slowly.

Dinner became easier after that.

They talked about the worst apartments they had lived in. Adrian's contribution was a university flat with a leaking roof; Elena pointed out that a flat his family owned hardly qualified as hardship.

He conceded the argument.

She told him about stealing her mother's high heels at twelve and falling down two steps at a cousin's wedding. He admitted that Gabriel had once caught him practicing a speech in a mirror and applauded from the doorway.

"Did you throw something at him?"

"A sock."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-one."

She laughed into her wine.

He wanted the evening to become a habit.

At eight, Tessa returned with a sleepy Mia. Adrian remained at the table while Elena helped her daughter into pajamas and listened to a detailed account of a cousin's broken toy truck.

He heard a story being read, a small objection to bedtime, a kiss.

When Elena returned, she had changed into a faded sweatshirt.

"Tomato sauce," she said, indicating the green top hanging over a chair. "Apparently I needed an apron too."

"I have flour on my watch."

"A useful reminder of your achievements."

He stood to help with the dishes.

She passed him a towel. Their hands met, and this time neither pretended it had happened accidentally.

Adrian set the towel down.

Elena looked up at him.

The kitchen was small. He could hear the refrigerator shuddering behind him, the traffic through the open window, his own breath.

"I've wanted to do this all evening," he said.

"Only this evening?"

He touched the side of her face.

"No."

She moved closer before he lowered his head.

Their first kiss was gentle for perhaps a second.

Then her fingers caught his shirt, and the careful distance he had maintained for days disappeared.

He put one hand at her waist and felt her draw a breath against his mouth. She kissed him back with a hunger that made him forget the cold window air and the unfinished dishes.

When he lifted his head, her eyes remained closed.

He brushed his mouth across hers again.

Then he felt her trembling.

"Elena?"

She stepped back, one hand covering her mouth.

Tears gathered before he understood what had changed.

He let his hand fall.

"Did I—"

"No." She shook her head immediately. "No, you didn't do anything wrong."

He waited, his chest painfully tight.

"This is his sweatshirt," she whispered.

Adrian looked at the faded lettering.

He had not known.

"I put it on without thinking. And then you kissed me, and I wanted you to, and for a moment I forgot everything."

She wiped at her cheeks, angry with the tears.

"I loved him."

"I know."

"I still do."

The answer hurt. He could not pretend otherwise.

But he looked at the photographs on the wall beyond her shoulder and understood that she had brought no rival into the room. The man had already been there. Adrian had entered a life that had existed before him.

"I know," he said again.

"I don't want to feel this as though I'm doing something cruel."

He moved the chair out for her.

She sat, and he sat opposite.

"Do you want me to go?"

Her head lifted sharply.

"No."

He held out his hand across the table.

She took it.

They sat until her breathing steadied.

Then she rose and came around the table. He stood to meet her, uncertain until her hands settled against his chest.

"I wanted that kiss," she said.

"I noticed."

A small laugh escaped her.

She touched his jaw.

"I want another one."

This time, she kissed him first.