Spam | SKZ ✓

43

This time, when the knock echoes around me, I don't rush for the door. I take a second to collect my emotions (and my hormones), taking a deep breath before opening the door and coming face-to-face with Minho.

He's wearing a baseball cap and mask again to hide his face, and he has a few bags in his hand, presumably full of the ingredients he plans to cook with.

In his other hand, outstretched between us, is a rose.

I stare down at the flower, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt as I take it from him and hold it against my chest. I frown when I feel the stem, and realize the flower is plastic.

His voice is slightly muffled behind his mask as he speaks. "I have a feeling you wouldn't be able to keep an actual flower alive, so I got you a fake one to keep forever."

I stare at him, his eyes squinting at me. I can tell he's smiling.

"Can I come in? This stuff is heavy," he says, gesturing to the bags in his hand.

"Right," I say, shaking my head to break myself out of the trance he's already put me in just by giving me a flower and staring at me the way he always does with those damn beautiful eyes.

"Oh," he says behind me as I close the door and turn to look at him, eyebrows raised in question as I lean over and place the flower on the small table I keep my keys on.

"What?" I ask, and I see his eyes are locked on my outfit. I hold my arms out, smiling at him as I give him a twirl. "I clean up good, yeah?"

Minho doesn't respond, turning away from me to put the bags onto the counter, then pulling his hat and mask off and walking past me to set them on my little table next to my flower.

All too suddenly, he's right in front of me, hands reaching out to gently grasp my face. My breathing becomes more shallow feeling his skin on mine and staring into his eyes that are staring at me like that.

"You look incredible," he says, grinning down at me in that genuine way that crinkles his eyes and puffs out his already-defined cheeks.

"Have you looked in a mirror today? Because hot damn," I say, taking his hands in mine and stepping back to get a good look at him.

I can tell he had a similar thought when getting dressed for our date today: that he wanted to impress me and make me physically drool over him. He's wearing a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone until nearly halfway down, his chest deliciously exposed. He's wearing black slacks, but it's those slacks that really hug every part of his legs. I swear his thighs look like they're about to rip through the fabric.

His hair has been styled, and I can enjoy the beauty of it now that his hat is off. He's styled it in that way that exposes his forehead. I have never been so attracted to a forehead in my life. I'm so whipped for this man and I'm absolutely not ashamed.

"I don't know how I'm going to get any cooking done," he says, rubbing his thumbs against the backs of my hands. "How am I supposed to take my eyes off of you?"

"The ever flirty Minho strikes again," I say, letting one of his hands fall away from me as I dramatically press the back of my hand against my forehead. "However will I breathe normally when you say things like that to me?"

He grins at me again, a tiny laugh rumbling in his chest. "You gonna help me cook or you just gonna be my moral support?"

I grimace. "The last time I cooked, I may have accidentally caused a small fire."

He nods, and I can tell he's not surprised. "How about you chop stuff while I cook the chicken and rice?"

"I'm the best chopper you'll ever meet," I say, showing off my arm muscles. "Those veggies don't stand a chance."

Minho runs his hands over his face. "I'm definitely not going to be able to focus. You're being extra cute today."

"I was expecting an insult," I say, feigning surprise. "I'll take any and all compliments though."

"Your wish is my command," he says, pulling me closer to him by my waist. "I told you I'm much more charming in person."

"As you've said about a hundred times," I say, lightly hitting his chest and keeping my palm pressed flat against him after. "Now shut up and kiss me so we can get this food started. I'm going to starve to death and then I'll haunt you."

He doesn't need to be told twice; he leans in, his soft lips pressing against mine in a lingering kiss that doesn't last long enough. He pulls away, smiling at me again and I am sure I'll never get used to him smiling like that because of me.

I pull away, making myself busy by pulling out the dishes we need: knives for cutting, a pot for the rice, a pan for the chicken and vegetables to cook, a cutting board so I can cut said veggies and other odds and ends. I think I grab a few too many things because I can hear Minho chuckling in amusement behind me. I grab my frilly white apron that makes me look like a sexy French maid and, keeping my back to him, gesture to the strings that need to be tied around my waist.

"Please?" I ask, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling like an idiot when I feel his fingers brush against my lower back as he ties the strings. Could I have done that myself? Easily.

But why would I do that when I have a chance to have Minho's fingers brushing against me like that?

"Cut the white onions and garlic into tiny pieces," he instructs me and I can't help but love the way he sounds so full of authority. "Then cut up the green onion but set that one to the side for now."

"Yes sir," I say, sending him a mock salute as I pull the ingredients out of the bags. He brought the array of ingredients, and he also brought a bottle of wine.

Fancy ass man trying to get me drunk again, I see.

I decide not to comment on the wine; I'm sure he also vividly remembers the last time we were drunk together. It was the first time we had kissed.

Very memorable indeed.

I smile to myself as I get my little area set up, moving everything I need to put next to my cutting board.

Minho gets to work as well, doing fancy things with the knife that I know would end up with me cutting my fingers off if I tried.

"I actually get to taste your cooking," I say, smiling to myself as I keep my eyes trained on my little job I've been given. "You're pretty famous for your cooking skills, you know."

"It's nothing special," he says. "I just know enough basic things to make me look like I'm doing more than I actually am."

"I'll be the judge of that," I say, shrugging. "You brought seasoning and stuff like that, right? My collection of spices and sauces is embarrassing."

"Yes," he laughs. "It's in this bag that you didn't look in."

I frown and realize there was another bag tucked beneath the others.

"Were you hiding that from me?" I ask, gasping dramatically. "Did you not trust me to see what you're going to use?"

"I want it to be a surprise," he says, looking over at me. "Plus, this is a top secret recipe. No peeking allowed."

"I've seen you naked," I pout, picking up my little pile of diced up onion and dropping them into the bowl I set aside for Minho to grab when he's ready for it. "I deserve to know."

"I'll teach you one day," he says.

"Only if you let me see you naked again," I say, ignoring the look I can see he's giving me out of the corner of my eye.

"Pervert," he says and I grin at him.

"And proud of it."