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10.08.2015
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Girlfriend? Her face was flushed at that word, but she was keeping herself busy, stirring some kind of sauce on the stove. The chicken was in the oven, actually.
When she looked up, her eyes fell on the bottle of wine, and she couldn't help but frown slightly.
Ken would smirk before taking the bottle of erath and looking at it.
"I don't want to get drunk or anything- wine is for the flavor. And I thought maybe you and I could hang out a little tonight. Get to know each other more."
"Sure," she said with a furrow of her brows. Where on gods green earth was he GETTING the ALCOHOL? She offered him a concerned little smile, but didn't say anything else.
Instead, she turned around, focusing on the cooking. She was making enough for Mik to have some, too, but she had a feeling he wasn't invited on this date. "I've got some garlic mashed potatoes, some chicken in the oven... wine will go well with that. Right?"
She didn't really know wines. She worked at a diner, not a fine restaurant.
She shrugged, tilting her head up to let him kiss her on the cheek. He was standing right behind her, and she smiled, softly. "It doesn't really matter to me," she told him, turning from the sauce to the potatoes, made just as her mother used to make them.
Thinking about her parents always made her smile. She remembered how they would have date nights, with Mom in the kitchen and Dad bringing home a bottle of wine. How closely remniscent this was made her heart skip a beat in her chest.
Even if she was a little distracted.
"The wine is fine, I'm sure. And once I get everything to the right temperature, I can go put the rose in my room." She glanced up at him with light blue eyes, her hair loose around her face.
His parents....were not so lucky. Not that he knew what she was thinking, but with her being so kind as to make him a meal he couldn't help but go there too. His dad would come home and kick up his feet, asking for a beer. Then shouting for one. If one didn't come soon, someone was getting a bruise. Then, Ken would be ordered to rub his feet through his socks while he watched boxing.
Ken could still smell them, if he thought about it hard enough.
Good thing she was cooking.
"Alright." He nodded, looking down at her. "You are...comfortable, with me calling you my girlfriend, right? I don't wanna like, push you..."
"I don't really know what that means," she admitted, but didn't lose the smile that was still plastered across her face. She looked happy, and if his thoughts were somewhere dark, hers were the exact opposite. She couldn't help but think about how beautiful everything was, in that moment. Her timer, a little apple beside the stove, went off, and she backed up a bit to look at the chicken in the oven.
It was coming along nicely, and when she opened it, the smell of Italian seasoned chicken and mushrooms came wafting out.
"I mean, I get the basics of it, sure, but I don't... Really know what that means." She closed the oven again and turned back to the potatoes and the liquid dressing for the chicken. "I've never had a boyfriend before. And I mean... If I'm your girlfriend, then you're my boyfriend, right?" That WAS how it worked, right?
He would step back to let her work, leaning against the counter and nodding.
"Yeah, I would say so. I've never really had a serious girlfriend either so we're sorta in the same boat. But I think it means we remain exclusive. We don't...become interested other people, or look for that. It's not all about sex, it's about having a unique connection....I think."
"So it's different than dating because you've already decided whether or not you have that connection?" She asked, her brows furrowed as she continued to cook the different things on the stove.
She had cooked for the Pod before, and while it was rarely intricate or advanced recipes, she seemed fairly decent at the art.
What was she supposed to say to him? He had been so kind to her. And she appreciated that... greatly.
"Kenny," she called after him, trying to offer him a smile. "You know, dinners almost done, and you said that wine would go great with the chicken. Why don't we sit down together and eat?"
She would reach out and, if he let her, take his hand.
"I don't think you're supposed to chug wine," she told him softly, trying to lighten the mood back out.
It was only a few seconds later that she pulled the chicken out of the oven and starred gathering two plates, two nice glasses, and the buttered toast to complete the meal.
"Well, since buying the director a new desk I've been a little broke. You've never tasted wine at the level of this cheapness. It's not so much wine as grape flavored water."