Me Too

29

As Sofia and I come into our apartment, she holds my hand, dragging me along. "Cameron is going to kill us."

I set my packet on the counter. "You mean appreciate us."

We spent maybe an hour over at his house, helping. We left when Sofia got hungry. We stopped at the store and got groceries for the house so that we aren't starving. "Oh, right. We're so helpful."

I smile and sigh as she heads around into the kitchen. "Hey, Sofia?" I lean over the counter between the cabintry.

She removed her coat and set it on the other end of the countrer by the door. "Yeah?"

"How about I make you dinner? Since we didn't make it to our date, why don't I cook for you, and we can have a nice night out here?" I offer shyly. I feel as awkward as if I'm asking her on a first date. I think this is how you should feel, you should never be too comfortable with your partner. I want to always feel like a kid with a crush, trying to impress her. That seems as perfect as love can get. The purest form of love.

Sofia beamed. "Yeah," she whispered, forcing herself to be louder, "I'd really love that, Chloe."

Sofia is the cook out of the two of us. I bake. I burn everything unless it is cake. "Can I make whatever?"

She nodded permissibly. "Whatever you're craving, honey."

I smile and lean towards her, my lips thin. "Will you put on a dress for me?"

"You want me to wear a dress?" Sofia asked, gently laughing.

I purse my mouth. "Yeah. I do."

"I'll put on a dress if you don't burn dinner," Sofia wagered.

I gape my mouth. "That's not fair."

"Oh," she mocked me, pouting. "Poor little Dovey."

"I hate you sometimes," I snark.

She puffed out her bottom lip. "You hurt my feelings."

I quickly slide on the my stomach on the counter and I catch a kiss on her thick lips. Triumphantly, I smirk and raise an eyebrow. "Fine, if I don't burn the food, you have to wear that beautiful black dress you had on in New York."

"And what will you be wearing?" Sofia asked, wiping my affection from her chin with her finger tip.

I think for a moment. I didn't like the outfit I had a few days ago; it wasn't anything that would make her proud to call me her woman. I want something that will make her see me as someone who she wants to be with. "You pick. I am choosing dinner and your outfit, pull something out for me to wear and I will."

"And if I pull nothing out?" Sofia asked, dangerously poking at my thoughts.

"Then I will be eating in lingerie of my choice- we all know I have enough of it." I push off the counter and wait for her response to my deal. She will be in a dress tonight.

She blushed and rolled her eyes, looking at the counter. "You in a teddy? Maybe some lace? A sight I would love to see, if we're being honest."

"I'm sure you would." I push off the counter, my idea planned in my head. "Alright. Well, how about you go over and talk with Mrs. Abbott seeing as you two are fast friends, and then when you come back, change, and we will have a perfect date?"

"Perfect? Oh, now I'm excited," she sassed.

I unzip my jacket. "I'll start stripping if you don't leave, Sofia."

"Teasing me with what I want, how clever." She dragged her heeled black boots across the hardwood.

I watch her careful steps as I take off my boots and set them against the wall. I cross my hands over my waist and pull my sweater off. The house is too hot for it anyways. I am left in my tank top. "Go, Sofia."

"You're so beautiful," Sofia moaned playfully, kissing me and feeling my hips before letting go and leaving the apartment.

I have two hours to make this and to set the table. We're not having dinner. We're having cake.

I shut the door and started hunting our kitchen for the groceries we just bought not even five minutes ago. I get in the fridge and get a bottle from the back of the top shelf- my fingertips barely reach it.

I can read exactly what the French label says, it warns that it contains alcohol and was brewed in 1929 in Italy, but was bottled in Paris and shipped to Canada where I bought it from Blake at the Vancouver bakery Sofia and I went on our first date at. I kept it hidden from her so that we could have cake and wine on our first anniversary, but now is as good a time as any. I really want to impress the love of my life. This is how I did it the first time, this is how I am doing it this time.

I don't use recipes, I never have. I throw things in and I leave them as is. I pour probably twelve to fourteen ounces of Cabernet into the silver mixing bowl of red batter. This is the only way she will eat cake, or drink liquor.

I've never seen my girlfriend enjoy any other alcoholic drink. We've had beers with Thomas, we've taken shots in Mexico, we've even tried authentic Italian wine in Vienna that I really enjoyed. She didn't care for the taste or the next day migraine of any of them- she was absolutely miserable after the bar hopping in South America two years ago before I was legal to drink- I was her designated driver and I kept her from going home with any men.

At the time, I assumed she was straight. And I took a shot every time I thought of her stripping as she flirted with everyone in that bar. Let's just say, for being underage, I was black out drunk the next morning. Ryan nearly lost his shit on me when the pictures resurfaced a few months after that international adventure. After thst, I didn't touch alcohol again until the party where I lied to everyone, and I haven't seen Sofia ever drink like that since then.

I have to blame Sabrina for how Sofia acted that night. My girlfriend has more class than that. She was just upset and someone gave her that first shot- after that, she was done for.

Thanks to a few experiments, she found a suitable drink for a healthy stress reliever every so often and she never pushes herself over the limit anymore.

I stir in the light alcohol and I preheat the oven. If I recall, it takes a while to bake. I will have enough time to do my hair, fix my make up, and change while it cooks. Forty five minutes plus twenty for it to cool puts dinner time at 5:45.

She's going to either love the thought, or she'll hate me for starving her and depriving her of actual food.

If Susan hasn't killed the love of my life, Sofia will probably be back in just a few minutes- and when she gets back, I'll take her to our room away from the kitchen, she'll find my dress, she'll put hers on, I will get the cake, pour our glasses while she does her hair, I'll dim the lights, pull the curtains, and I will have a beautiful date with Sofia.

My idea of a perfect night summed up into one pageant queen answer.

The door handle began bowing.