Oh, Pineapples.

22: Have you seen Lori Harvey?

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"Dumb conversations, we lose track of time, have I told you lately I'm grateful you're mine?"
              –Bruno major, 'nothing'
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We're. That was the first time I allowed myself to imagine I could acknowledge him and I as a unit, and usually it did, but now it did not completely phase me.

He stopped, seemingly trying to recollect himself as he still looked down. "You're right," he chuckled in defeat.

And soon, he busied himself with preparing the food.

"So we're done with the whole Ratatouille bit?" I teased.

"Oh, trust me. We wouldn't really get anything done," a tinge of blush appeared on his cheeks.

"Well you better hurry up, I'm starving." I sat on the bar chair at the side of the kitchen island.

"Patience is virtue, love." He took out a jug of cucumber water from the fridge and settled it in front of me. He then placed two flat ceramic platters on table top, served the food—which smelled even better combined as the wisps of steam emanated from it and I couldn't wait to eat it.

"Dig in," he sat across me from his own chair.

To say the food was delicious was an understatement. It was like something I had eaten in a more–than–pricey french restaurant when my dad had made an attempt to bond with me over dinner.

After probably three mouthfuls, I asked, "so where'd you learn how to cook?"

"My granny, my mum's mother. She's Pakistani but she's always had an interest in french food and french culture. So when I was a small lad, we'd cook together. So now I just have all these mental recipes," he took a sip of his cucumber water.

"Is that so?" I shoved another forkful into my mouth. "So is that what you wanna do? Be a cook? I mean besides your dad's businesses?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't mind owning a small bistro." he stared into the air, at nothing in particular.

"For real?"

"Yeah. How about you? What do you see yourself doing in the future?"

"Well I wanna go to fashion school, although my dad prefers I major in law." I twisted a fork in the food.

"I can see why you would want to be a fashion designer,"

"Why is that?"

"It's the way you dress. It's quite different, I mean in a really good way. I've seen a fashion show before and I think that's the way you dress."

I couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, you wanna be me so bad." The corner of my lip turned upward. He just face palmed.

"This is probably the best time to remind you once again that you don't give me compliments," I offered.

"Yes, of course. How could I forget?"

I was done with my food, much to my dismay, so I decided take it to the sink and run some warm water over the dirty dishes and after a while, Javadd stood up and  handed me his own.

"You really want me to wash your plate?" I raised an eyebrow.

"No, love. I want you to wash my platter." He grinned.

"You're in a terrible position to be messing with me. I have a sink full of dirty water."

"You won't do anything," he dared.