Chapter 38

2.2K 109 9
                                    

Lucas' POV

Hey Lucas

Chantelle's response comes almost immediately.

How are you?, I ask.

I'm okay. You?

Doing okay as well.

I pause then double text her.

Do you want to come over for dinner Saturday night?

As much as I know I need to take things slow, I also miss her a lot. I want to see if we can begin to be normal again.

I'd love that, she replies. What can I bring?

Just yourself.

I'll bring dessert and some wine, she says. I was definitely expecting that. She's never been one to show up empty handed.

My address is 4007 Market Street. Does 6pm work?

That works for me.

We say goodbye and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Saturday should be interesting.




The remainder of the week goes by fast and before I know it, it's Saturday morning. Tonight I'm making a grilled flank steak and garlic roasted potatoes for my dinner with Chantelle. I don't have anything I need so I make a quick run to the farmer's market.

By the time I get home, it's about noon. I definitely bought more than I needed to. Along with the ingredients for dinner, I also bought some fresh flowers to brighten up the dining table as well as some fresh lavender for the downstairs bathroom. Somewhere deep down is the need to impress Chantelle.

I get started on the marinade for the steak. I want it to sit in the fridge for a few hours before cooking. It's pretty simple to prepare. I throw two large cuts of steak into a ziplock bag then throw in some soy sauce, brown sugar, balsamic vinegar, mustard powder and a pinch of red pepper flakes. I seal the bag then put it in the fridge.

After that I get to cleaning. I clean the bathroom on the first floor then place the lavender sprigs on the sink. It's simple but smells pretty good. I also spray the toilet bowl  with cleaner, scrub it down then flush it. After finishing the bathroom, I wash my hands then hit the living room.

It's already pretty clean. I just rearrange the pillows on my couch then place all the remotes on the coffee table. I head upstairs to my bedroom area to straighten up my bed. I have no reason to believe that Chantelle will see this part of my apartment but while I'm cleaning, I might as well get this part too. I put my pile of laundry that's been sitting on my dresser for a week away then straighten up my bathroom.

After I'm content with the way my place looks, I head back into the kitchen to continue making dinner. Time has flown by and Chantelle is going to be here in a couple hours. Once I have the potatoes prepped and seasoned, I place them in the oven. While they're cooking, I take a couple place mats and plates out and place them on my dining table. I also put down some silverware and water and wine glasses. It's nothing fancy but it's inviting. I think about setting a couple of candles too but decide that's too much. I'm already going overboard with this whole dinner.

Once it's 5:00 I take the meat out of the oven and begin to cook it on a cast iron grill pan. I want it still warm when Chantelle arrives. As the meat is cooking, I open the large windows in my living room to let out the smell. I absolutely hate when my entire place smells like food.

I flip the meat halfway through then get out a bowl for salad. I dump in some arugula then squeeze some fresh lemon juice and drizzle olive oil over it. I also add some freshly grated parmesan and salt and pepper. Once the salad is done, I put it on the table then pull the meat off the stove. I place it in a serving container and put that on the table too. Finally I take out the potatoes and place them on the table. Everything looks and smells really good.

It's 5:45pm when I realize I still haven't changed. And I smell like a meat factory. I run upstairs and hop in the shower. I scrub the most important parts of my body before hopping out of the shower five minutes later. I opt for some light wash jeans and a gray knit sweater. It's simple but not overly casual. I spritz on some cologne then take one more look in the mirror before heading downstairs.

As soon as I reach the bottom step, my doorbell rings. She's here. 

UnarmedWhere stories live. Discover now