The Collector | 18+

【33】Too Big a Commitment

The next interruption came shortly after noon, and I realized I'd forgotten to tell Yuko I wouldn't need my lunch brought to me. But instead of her, it was Ulrik who came carrying a large tray. Mortified to be treated as though I was on my deathbed, when truly, there was nothing wrong with me, I watched him come down the stairs from the other side of the room.

Since it was too late to tell him to turn around, I made some room on the messy desk for the tray. When he set it down, I confusingly looked at the two plates on it, as well as the two glasses of white wine, two slices of cake, and two everything. I didn't have time to compute what it meant before he dressed it all in a cleared corner of the desk and grabbed the stool to sit on it, facing a plate.

"Thank you... But you don't have to eat here, you know. I don't even have to eat here, Yuko thought it—"

"It's alright, I don't mind."

But I mind.

Deciding to stay silent instead, I pushed away my things and moved closer to him. It looked delicious, with creamy spaghettis, roasted broccoli, and grilled salmon topped with a sauce that smelled of lemon and dill. I was hungrier than I thought I was, it seemed, as my stomach let out a discontented growl.

"Wow, Yuko outdid herself," I let out, already salivating.

I made myself a forkful with a little of everything, and when the flavors imploded in my mouth, I nearly moaned. Damn, this was something else. Living with Gigi meant I was used to stellar cuisine. My boo was a splendid chef, and I was never disappointed when she cooked. But this? This was spectacular. Everything was well-balanced, the broccoli was crunchy just right, the salmon was cooked to perfection, the sauce was a little sour and tasty, the pasta al dente and its cream flavorful...

By all means, this was a simple meal, not some kind of ridiculous Michelin star French dish. But it turned out that even simple dishes could be mind-blowing when done right.

"Damn, this is good," I admitted. "Yuko joked that you kept her around for her cooking skills, but I might start believing it. Is she seeing someone?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"I might marry her just so I can get more of that."

He smiled amusedly, his eyes remaining on me as I engulfed another serve of deliciousness. While I chewed it, still not over how perfect it was, I noticed something wasn't right. He was being coy about something.

"What?" I asked, still chewing.

"Nothing. I'm glad you're enjoying it."

But it wasn't "nothing," I could tell. I swallowed and insisted, "What's going on? What am I missing?"

"Shortly after she fetched your tea tray, Yuko wasn't feeling very well. So I sent her home to rest."

Slightly confused, I squinted my eyes at my plate. This meant—

"Marriage might be too big a commitment, but I'll cook for you whenever you want, kjære."

He looked very proud of himself, very cocky, and I couldn't do anything but stare at my plate, wishing I could stop saying the wrong thing all the time. I wasn't sure how to back out of this, and I wasn't immature enough to take everything back, anyway. I loved what he'd cooked, he was aware of it, and now I had to live with the knowledge that this man was even closer to being perfect than I'd thought.

"I should have been clearer when I said you can't keep calling me 'love,'" I said instead. "'Kjære' is included in the pet name ban."

The corner of his lips twitched with a contained smirk. But he said nothing and nodded instead, digging into his own plate. The wine was perfectly paired with the dish, and when I asked for it, he told me its provenance. But the information—some place in the south of France—quickly slipped my mind. It was probably too expensive for me, anyway.