Prince Charming Part 1
Part 1
THE APARTMENT FILLED WITH WARM DIM LIGHTS that softened the hard edges of the twilight hour. The rustic lights bounce off of the sculpted edges of crystals chandeliers, high polished chrome-accented knobs, and handles creating an ethereal romantic glow in the stark white kitchenette that was painstakingly remolded to look effortless and perpetually clean, a replicated picture that was torn right out of Architectural Digest®. The playful prisms cast the room in an otherworldly glow.
Softly in the background, an antique gramophone whispered velvet ballots as it’s needle bounced up and down on the well-played vinyl disc…
I must have been something that lovers call fate…I saw them all just couldn’t fall till we met…It had to be you…I wandered around an’ finally found the somebody who….and even be glad just to be sad thinking of you…
Its static and scratched skips gently hummed intertwining with the stringed instrumentals that cut into the vocals of the rich crooner as he sang on.
The air was perfumed with the sweet smells of salt, peppers, and an array of heady spices. Fresh vegetables sizzled as they hit the pan and the heavenly smells wafted in the air. Lamb seasoned with balsamic vinaigrette and rosemary roasting in the overpriced oven that was never meant to be cooked in played on her senses. He poured her a generous second glass of wine as they talked and giggled over the hissing and pops of the pans.
“No one has ever cooked for me like this” she sighed, heady with wine on an anticipating empty stomach.
“And why not?” he asked raising a teasing eyebrow. His voice was just as velvety as Russ Columbo’s who peppered the air once again with a new ballot, if not, more so. She felt as if every word he spoke wrapped her up in warm sweet butter.
“I’m not sure… well maybe,” she said with a slight flirtatious shrug “it’s because I’ve never met anybody who could cook.” She laughed earnestly as she took a deep sip from her wine glass. The rich buttery flavors of summer danced on her tongue and easily made their way down her throat. She continued with an edge of self-pity, “But then again when do I even have the time to meet new people anyway.”
He smiled lifting the lid on one of the pots. “If that were the case then we wouldn’t have the need for FindEm©.” he was mater of fact in his statement as he whirled about the kitchen.
That’s where they connected, on FindEm© a dating app that catered to busy professionals who wanted more than a wham, bam, thank you! It was nice. No pressure to meet up right away. And you could stay on the app until you were both comfortable meeting in person; if it ever progressed there. They did. After two weeks of constant texting and the occasional phone conversation, which felt weird to her but he seemed to like it better, they finally decided to take the leap and have their first date at her apartment. Well, because his was in the midst of renovations. He offered to cook, his way of making it up to her for putting her out, was the way he phrased it. “Next date will be at mine, and you’ll have to cook.” He teased over the phone. She admitted cooking was not in her wheelhouse the way numbers and contract writing was, but that she knew how to order the best Chinese takeout in the city.
He had shown up with his arms filled with groceries.
“All this for one dinner?” She gaped in astonishment.
“But of course, what kind of dinner do you eat?” He was confused by her surprise.
“Janis’ Tabletop Select©.” She sheepishly admitted. It was an easy no fuse dinner to pop in the microwave on nights she got in after a long day and ordering takeout was too much of a hassle.
He definitely knew his way around the kitchens as if it were second nature to him. He hadn’t asked where anything was, just instinctively found his way to them. Not that she would have been any help.
Now standing over the gas burner expertly stirring the sauce, he unwrapped the dishcloth that was used to mediate the scolding pot handle, and flung it over his broad shoulders, stretching his arms across the marble countertop he fed her a sample of the silken liquid, careful not to lose a drop. “My goodness!” She exclaimed. “What heavenly creature are you?” He wiped the corner of her lip and licked off the escaped sauce from his thumb. He chuckled softly and turned down the flame.
“Celestial intervention has nothing to do with this,” he checked the flames on the stovetop and adjusted the nobs as not to overcook the ensemble, “this is my grandmother’s recipe from the old country.”
“Well heaven or not, her genes were definitely inherited well.” They chuckled.
He flicked his wrist over with such an elegant gesture she could not help but be struck with his polished mannerisms taking in the stern look of his handsome features as he studied the face of his watch. He was old fashioned like that, still wearing a patent leather wristwatch with a gold face. His slicked-back black hair shined and he seemed to glow as if he were an apparition from a dream playing before her eyes.
“Okay,” he said crossing the kitchen and opening the oven, “we are ready to plate our small feast.” He peeked at her over his should just to make sure her eyes were trained on him. They were. He smiled knowingly and pulled out the tray.
Pulling the foil from the glass casserole dish he revealed a golden brown rack of lamb that glistened in its juices. He cut through the rows expertly as if they were nothing more than sticks of butter sliced with a warm knife. He plated the decadent course beautifully as if he were expecting Gordon Ramsay himself to walk through her oversized Australia hardwood doors and exam his presentation.