Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales #2)(5)

“You’d have better luck asking my grandmother. It’s fun to do it once in a while, but I’d be bored stiff if I had to make sauce all day. Anyway, I thought I’d make salsa. I don’t think you’d be bothered to make it by yourself, even if it’s super easy.”

“You betcha. Frozen pizza is my best friend.”

I step inside his apartment. It’s tidy—no beer cans littering the carpet or sweatshirts cushioning the sofa—though I’m certain it’s because I’m coming over that Jason took the trouble to clean up. Bubbles, a stray kitten Jason adopted from the shelter, ambles over the floor, pauses and stares at me for a second, and pads toward the kitchen before I can say hi.

“Why did Todd take off to Boston?”

“He has to present a paper at a panel conference.” Jason starts toward the kitchen, and I follow him. “I expect he won’t be back until next week, actually. His girlfriend is in New York, so it’s much easier for him to take a coach down there than to fly cross-country from here.”

“Ah, the long-distance thing.” I should know. The long-distance thing is really difficult to work with. After Gabriel went back to Australia, we kept up communication for a few months, then it died out when he found another girl. I was sad to break up with him, but I guess when it takes thirty hours by plane, it’s super hard. That’s why I decided to stay in Portland, even though I didn’t really want to be so far away from home.

As I look for the cutting board, Jason’s arms go around me. “I’m so glad you're here,” he murmurs, nibbling my ear. “You know, even though those tomatoes look really amazing, I’d rather have you for dinner.”

I turn my head and we share a long, passionate kiss. I want him, I do. Ever since I got my job at the coffee shop and Jason started preparing for his qualifying exams, it has been weeks since we’ve been together.

A pitiful meow interrupts us and we break apart. Bubbles stares at us with huge, reproachful eyes. His tail gives an indignant thump on the floor.

Both of us laugh. “Someone is hungry,” I say. “Honest to say, so am I. Let’s have dinner first.”

Jason shrugs and sighs in an exaggerated manner of a stage actor. “Grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches?”

“Ooh, yes, please.” I love ham and cheese sandwiches, especially when the cheese is hot and bubbly and melting.

Moments later, we’re stretched out in front of the TV, munching away on sandwiches and salsa. The sandwiches are heavenly, and the tanginess from the salsa balances out the richness of the cheese. Even Jason admits that it was a better idea to have some food first.

The TV channels, though, leave more to be desired. We flip through the channels, going through tons of shows that make me yawn, until a hot red-haired guy holding a dark-haired woman, both astride on a horse, shows up on the screen.

“Outlander!” I stab my tortilla chip in the direction of the guy who’s playing Jamie, the heart-melting Scottish highlander from the eighteenth century who falls in love with a twentieth-century nurse. “Isn’t it awesome they adapted the book for TV?”

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re still obsessed over that book.” Jason’s voice is affable, but I think there’s just a small amount of derisiveness in it. Oh well. I suppose it’s too much to ask for a guy to appreciate—I mean truly appreciate, not out of politeness—the fantastic escapism that a romance novel offers.

“It’s a classic,” I say, pretending to look offended. “And strictly speaking, it’s not a romance. There are too many elements in it to be labeled your typical romance novel.”

“Okay, whatever you’d like to call it, but I just don’t get it. The girl gets thrown into centuries back in time, where they don’t have electricity or running water. When you’re used to modern appliances, how are you going to tolerate going without them? Can you give up those comforts for the dashing hero who probably has outdated, sexist views?”

Realistically speaking, of course not. But . . .

“We’re talking about a novel here, not realistic non-fiction. It’s the story that counts.”

“Yeah, but if you can have a gorgeous, caring guy in the twenty-first century” —he points at himself with a smirk— “why would you choose an anachronistic man, even if he looks good with his shirt off?”

“I get it.” I throw up my hands in a you win gesture. “You just can’t stand the sight of me drooling at another guy in front of you.”

“Come on, baby, you know me better than that. Hypothetically speaking, you’ll never choose a guy from the past over me. Anyway, there’s no point arguing over a TV show. Let’s move on to something more important.”

He puts a hand on my thigh, right where the remnant of the mud splatter is.

“Just a second.” I stand up. “I’m freaking stinking—let me take a shower.”

“What stink?” He leans in and kisses me. “Seriously, I don’t smell anything. Except you.”

I hesitate, but then I remember that I brought my brand new, hot pink Victoria’s Secret lingerie, which I’ve been saving to wear for an occasion like this.

“I really need a shower.” I push him away and head to the bathroom. There’s a slightly annoyed look on his face, so I manage what I hope is a seductive grin. “But I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”