II. Lasagna Confessions
Their kiss at the doorstep had been a promising surprise. Not that anything was certain to happen, thought Jason, but a kiss was a better start than shaking hands. During the day, while pondering about tonight, shaking hands had been his worst image.
A sexy pair of brown leather pants clad around her butt. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her body as she walked in front of him. Ellen moved with the same unusual elegance that had mesmerized him before, when he would secretly watch her at university. Her missing leg swung subtly as she walked, covered by the supple leather around the stump’s contours. She wasn’t wearing a shoe. Her one foot was bare and elegant, with shorter, straight toes and pink polished toenails.
- “Don’t expect too much,” she apologized in advance. “I love cooking, but I didn’t really have the time today to fix something good.”
- “You had my expectations run high yesterday,” he teased in reply.
- “It smells good, though!” he added after seeing her look back and frown with pretended insult. The same game of teasing seemed to continue by itself.
He looked around her room. It was simple, but tasteful, with many small accents revealing the hand of a woman.
- “Sit down,” she smiled, “make yourself comfortable. I need just another minute in the kitchen. Pour us some wine meanwhile, ok?”
She watched him as he sat down on the couch.
- “That is, I hope you like wine?”
Jason smiled. Beer was his normal drink.
- “I’ll try
your
wine.”
- “You’d better, I spent money on that bottle,” she replied, smiling.
Jason poured two glasses and had a sip of his. It was really good, he thought, even for a guy without taste for wine. While Ellen turned to her cooking, by the kitchen block in the corner the room, he got up and had a look at her bookcase. He loved looking at people’s books. It revealed a lot of who they were, what their interests were. Ellen’s collection did indeed.
Browsing through them, he saw a lot of psychology stuff. No surprise. Then quite a bit on politics, which he found interesting. Her novel collection was pretty particular; 19th century Russian literature, modern Latin-American - Garcia Marquez, Isabel Allende, Vargas Llosa, and then some authors he had never heard of. German looking names. Finally, in the bottom right he saw some stuff that made him curious. A collection of books on erotica and sexuality. Quite a bit. He saw Nabokov, Marquis de Sade and some ten volumes of work that looked like non-commercial releases. He browsed through the book titles, the author’s name not ringing any bells really. Birgit Sundholm.
- “You do that too, I see,” said Ellen from the kitchen.
He looked up, feeling almost caught.
- “Yeah, it’s a habit.”
- “A nice one,” Ellen replied. “I do it everywhere I can. Love it.”
- “No detectives,” Jason remarked.
- “Oh, I do read them. I just don’t spend any money on buying them.”
Ellen looked back, almost pouting.
- “So, is that all you noticed? Makes me feel common.”
Jason chuckled. Her collection was far from common. And he knew she was pretty aware of that.
- “Saw you have quite an erotica section. You write any yourself?”
- “A forward question so shortly before dinner.”
- “True,” Jason smiled, “we’ll keep it for desert then.”
She grinned at him from the kitchen, meanwhile moving stuff to the table.
- “Ok, dinner’s ready.”
He saw her put plates, cutlery and a salad bowl on the dinner table right behind the kitchen block.
- “You bring the glasses?”
- “Yup.”
Jason took them and the bottle with him, watching something come out of the oven that smelled great. He sat down opposite her. Ellen smiled and took her chair as well.
- “Hmm, this looks smashing,” Jason said.
- “Lasagna and some green salad and tomatoes. Help yourself.”
She took her glass, raised it and smiled into his eyes.
- “Here’s to ...?”
She paused for a moment.
- “Boy scouts honor?,” Jason suggested with a grin.
Ellen giggled. “Ok, to the scout who saved me. Cheers.”
- “Cheers.”
All through dinner, they never once had to look for something to say. Subjects switched naturally, and they loved to tease and challenge each other in a way that expressed interest. He could see from her laughs and smiles she was enjoying him. What he said. How he was. And Ellen did like him. Behind his smart and astute, almost macho image there was a sort of honesty that she found charming. Also, he didn’t seem bothered at all with her different physique.
Jason loved Ellen’s sharp and confident perception, her almost confronting curiosity, her perfect sensing of how he thought and felt about things. He knew he was intelligent; studying mathematics required sharp analytical skills, and Jason possessed them, he knew. All through childhood he had always been smarter than any of his classmates or friends. Felt smarter too. But tonight, this woman was showing him very different types of intelligence. It seemed as if she could look through him, as if she was a step ahead of even his thoughts. Her relaxed self confidence was exciting. Jason found her terribly sexy.
He took a last bite of lasagna, then looked at her. No need to tell her this was a great meal. She already knew.
- “Desert?,” she inquired, lifting her eyebrow.
He chuckled and nodded, remembering too. He had only mentioned it in a sideline, but her eyebrow lifting told him she had not forgotten. Ellen got up from the table.
- “It’s supermarket stuff I’m afraid. I didn’t have the time to do any home made desert.”
She opened the fridge and took out the Haagen Dasz ice cream. He peeked, watching her agility as she balanced on her one bare foot. She did look smashing in those leather pants, he noted for the second time. He watched her switch the plates and put the desert on the table. Seated again, Ellen served ice-cream for the both of them.
- “Hmm, looks good,” he said.
- “If you want more, just take,” she smiled, starting to taking a bite.
He took one himself as well, watching her lips smooth over the spoon. She had a sexy mouth.
- “So, about that question I asked earlier,” Jason said, curious.
Ellen looked up from her spoon.
- “I saw a lot of erotica work, and some of it didn’t look like stuff you bought somewhere.”
- “Your observation might be correct, yes,” she teased.
- “Who was the author again? Some Swedish sounding name.”
Ellen nodded. “Birgit Sundholm.”
- “Yes, that was her. Is she? Swedish? I’ve never heard of her.”
