Steamed

I’d found it.
    “You know what?” I said to Josh. “Let’s not talk about the murder anymore, okay? It’s all going to work out.”
    “I’m sorry. I’ve been talking your ear off about this and the restaurant and Garrett. You must be bored stiff. I guess I just needed to get some of this off my chest. Thank you for listening.” One week of social work school, and I was already a highly skilled therapist.
    “No, don’t apologize. I love hearing about restaurants. I’m completely obsessed with food, which is probably why I thought Eric would be a good date for me. He was interested in restaurants. But we know how that turned out.” I rolled my eyes.
    “So, I guess this means you’re single, then?” Josh asked adorably.
    “Very single. Yes.” I got that nervous feeling that happens right before you get kissed for the first time... was he going to kiss me?
    Yes.
    Josh leaned forward and gently placed one hand on the back of my head as he moved in for the sweetest kiss ever. What a relief that he kissed as well as he cooked. It was always such a disappointment when a first kiss was seriously flawed: a monstrous tongue darting in and out, saliva everywhere. Nauseating. Unfortunately, common. I’d dumped people after the first bad kiss. If the kissing is bad, you’re pretty much guaranteed that any other physical pursuits will be a letdown.
    Josh eventually pulled back and whispered in my ear. “You know what, Chloe?”
    “What?” I asked, a little too breathlessly.
    “I’m starving.” Josh said. “I’m sorry, it’s just I haven’t eaten much today.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have offered you something. I’m a rotten host,” I apologized.
    “You,” he said as he kissed me again, “are a wonderful host. It’s just that I don’t usually get to eat when I’m working.”
    “I’m not sure what I have. Probably leftovers and scraps. If I’d known I was having a chef over, I’d have stocked up,” I teased him. We went into my tiny kitchen and peered into the fridge. I was dismayed to find nothing I’d consider offering to a man of such gourmet taste. “I don’t have much.” I pushed a wilted head of lettuce out of the way to reveal a one-inch cube of cheddar.
    “Here, I’ll find something for us to snack on.” Josh placed his hands on my waist and moved me gently aside. “Can you grab a plate for us?” he asked as he busied himself pulling jars and Saran-wrapped items from the depths of the refrigerator. Within minutes he had created an antipasto-like appetizer of three cheeses, pickled vegetables, stuffed peperoncini, sliced apples, crackers, a few raspberries, and some stray deli slices. Now, if I’d arranged exactly the same ingredients on the platter, it would’ve been nothing more than a group of mangled food bits; Josh, however, performed magic.
    “Here we go, my lovely one,” Josh said, placing the platter on the kitchen table.
    “I don’t know how you put this together. I didn’t know I had half this stuff left in the fridge.” We sat down together and talked while we ate.
    “So, Ms. Chloe Carter, tell me about yourself,” Josh said with a look of sincere interest.
    And I did. We talked for over two hours. After debating whether or not to portray myself as a pulled-together social work student with a clear plan for my future, I decided to put the truth out there and see where it led. I confessed that I was a bit muddled. Josh was slightly amused but supportive; he didn’t show the slightest hint of disapproval.
    Of course, we talked food. I would’ve assumed that Josh had grown up eating like royalty or at least like ordinary French people, same difference, but he’d existed on frozen dinners and canned vegetables until he’d left home to go to culinary school on a scholarship. He’d lived in a pretty rough section of South Boston with his parents and a sister, Angela, who was eight years older than he was. Josh used to bake with his grandfather quite a bit, but making pies and cakes was the extent of his cooking experience until he announced his intention to become a chef. “I’m not even sure how I decided that’s what I wanted to do. I just knew it. No one in my family got it... well, except my grandfather, who said, ‘You’re gonna cook your ass off, kid.’ ” After graduation, he worked his way up at a number of Boston restaurants until he eventually got the job at Magellan.
    “All of your girlfriends must’ve loved the fact that