Page 103 of Love on Deck

I thanked the Uber driver and got out of the car, hanging up the phone so I could tip the guy and find my apartment. It was the first night this week I hadn’t planned to see Lauren, but maybe now that didn’t have to be the case.

I sent her a text.

Jack

My trip was delayed. Any chance you want to come over? I make a mean spaghetti dinner.

Lauren

The car isn’t ready?

Jack

My ride was delayed. He can come tomorrow, though.

Lauren

I can give you a ride tonight.

Jack

Are you just trying to get out of tasting my spaghetti?

Lauren

You caught me. What time should I be there to pick you up?

I stared at the message. She was an actual angel.

Jack

Thirty minutes? I’ll feed you first, though. Consider it partial payment.

Lauren

What’s the rest of the payment?

Jack

You’ll see.

Lauren

See you soon. ??

Yes, please. I showered off the work grime—it was mostly mental, obviously, but the ick factor was there—and threw a pound of hamburger on the stove with some chopped onion and garlic. This was the one thing I could make reasonably well, and I wanted to dazzle this girl. Maybe a touch of oregano, too, or was that overboard on the spices? I was planning to mix it with jarred sauce, but don’t tell anyone.

When the knock came on my door a little while later, Farmhouse Fixer was playing on HGTV, sauce was simmering on the stove, and the pasta was almost done boiling. I buttered and sprinkled garlic salt on a few slices of bread, then tossed some asparagus in the oven with olive oil, salt, and lemon juice.

I opened the door to see Lauren in jeans and a black jacket, her hair held back by a sage green headband. She’d never definitively said she wore her hair down for me, but it hadn’t been arrested into the tight knot since we gotten together, either.

“Smells good,” she said, kicking off her shoes.

I leaned in and hugged her. “Yeah, you do.”

“Stop.” But she was grinning, and her cheeks were turning pink.

“Come on, Spreadsheets. It’s almost time to eat.”