Would it be weird to say that? Will I sound like a guy whoâs trying too hard?
I choose not to say anything. Comparing her to a shampoo commercial canât be a normal compliment, and I really donât need to dredge up any more reasons for her to think Iâm lame.
Instead of taking a chance on being a creep, I dive straight into the pile of things I would like to figure out between us.
âI didnât know you two were roommates,â I begin to explain. âI didnât know that Dakota would be at the bar. Iâm sorry if me leaving there embarrassed you in front of your friends. I really was looking forwardââmy throat is dry and I may cough midsentence but keep goingââto spending time with you. I donât know how much you know about Dakota and me, butââ
Nora holds a hand up. I shut my mouth and pour a splash of milk into the bowl of beaten eggs and open the fridge again. Nora walks over to the stove and turns down the heat. Thatâs probably a good thing.
She looks at the floor and then up at me. âI know you didnât know. And I had no fucking idea that you were the guy she was talking about. She never told us anything about you that would even make me begin to think that you knew her at all. She didnât even mention your name.â
And when she says that, thereâs something in her tone that Iâm not sure I want to figure out. She lifts herself onto the counter a few feet away from me. Her feet dangle over the wooden cabinets.
âBut Iâm not mad or anything.â Her tone is flat, paper-lying-under-a-pile-of-books flat. âSo donât worry about it. I get it and itâs fine.â
Nora is being incredibly understanding, but she has that look glazing over her face again, and itâs disconcerting. The one where she looks bored enough to pick at her nail polish.
Oh, and what do you know, there she is, one thumb beginning to pick at the other, trying to chip away her black polish.
âWe arenât back together,â I tell her.
The sting of Dakotaâs confession still burns at me, nagging at my mind.
Nora grins, looking up from her hands. âIt wouldnât be any of my business if you were.â She shrugs her shoulders as if I just told her the sky is blue, and I cock my head to the side.
The eggs are cooking now, hissing at me from the steaming pan, and the cheese is nearly melted, so I grab her veggies and a slice of ham from the deli bag.
âMeat.â She makes a disgusted face. âAnd lunch meat, at that. I was starting to get a little too impressed. Good thing you brought out the Hillshire Farms.â
When she laughs, I realize I donât think I want to let her change the subject. I want to know why she thinks my relationship is none of her business.
Were we not out together last night? Everything was fine for five minutes, before you-know-what hit the fan. Also, this meat isnât your typical packaged lunch meat. Itâs cut from the deli. I pay an extra three dollars a pound for that difference written in red ink on a yellow stickerâthis is worth mentioning.
âThatâs how you stay so fit, then?â I point to her body with the spatula that I just used to flip the omelet. âNot eating processed lunch meat?â
She nods, shrugging her shoulders. She scoots a little closer to me.
âNo, I donât eat meat, but I still have to watch what I eat. I could easily gulp down this entire bag of cheese and I may do just that,â she says, pointing to the cheese on the counter.
I finish up her omelet, then drop it onto a paper plate and start cooking up my own. All the while I watch as she mentally adds another demerit to my score sheet, that list that women make inside of their heads when they first meet a guy.
Cuteness: 8 points. (Realistically anywhere between 6Â and 10. I would say Iâm a solid 7.5.)
Height: 8 points. (For some reason, at five-foot-eleven, IÂ get eight points.)
Cooking skills: 5 points.
Using lunch meat in his omelet: â2.
Paper plates: â1.
Iâm electing to ignore the fact that I had to lose at least ten points for last night. More than likely, Iâm close to a two-point average right now.
âBut I realized as I got older that to stay in shape, I have to work a little harder than most people