Jared was cooking when I got to his apartment Saturday night. Whatever he was working on smelled good, but I doubted it would taste as good as it smelled. I’d been burned before. Scents can be deceiving.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, handing him the bottle of wine I’d picked up earlier.
He pulled the wine from the paper bag and studied the label before answering my question. “Quinoa with mushrooms, kale, and sweet potatoes.”
I was glad I’d wolfed down a burger earlier. At least he hadn’t made any comment about the wine. I thought for sure he’d criticize my selection, but he didn’t.
Dinner was actually quite nice. The food wasn’t terrible (although the wine really helped) and Jared was very relaxed. He was also very touchy-feely, putting his hands on me whenever he could, moving from a
