Romance Test

Sweet and Flavourful

Emilia flees to the loo, planning to then move to the washroom to hyperventilate and avoid mirrors. It turns out all his facilities are just one large room, all chrome and white and black, square tiles on the walls and floor, as if to reinforce the whole Alice in Wonderland vibe Emilia is currently struggling with. Quoting Carroll, 'When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!'

Everything around her is pristine and soulless, just as the hall and the drawing room she's caught a small glimpse of. If his bedroom is the same, she won't make it across the threshold, that's for sure. Maybe he's not planning to invite you to his bedroom, Milly. You know nothing about casual sex. By just standing here, panting and sweating, you're probably breaking at least three rules of the hook-up protocol.

Emilia washes her hands and finally dares one look at herself in the mirror. Her hair stands around her head in its usual semblance to a labradoodle's fur; her lipstick has long been digested in her stomach; there's a bit of mascara under her eyes. Emilia cleans it up; remembers that she'd left her bag in his hall, together with her pathetically empty make-up bag; and with a forceful exhale, like before jumping into a pool, she steps out of the bathroom and looks around.

There's a door at the end of the hall, which she assumes leads to his bedroom. The drawing room and a small library slash study have an open design; with a dining area divided from the rest of the room with a sort of a tall bench, pieces of modern art and plants arranged on it. The flat must cost a fortune: it's shockingly spacious, and the ceilings are tall – but once again, nothing here bears any sort of a personal touch, except for the cookbooks filling the shelves. Some are dedicated to culinary art and history. There are biographies; and she assumes all of these people must have either invented a liqueur, or figured out a new way of cooking parsnips as a side gig to wars, politics, and assassination.

"Daniel?" she calls.

He appears in a door frame on the other end of the room and gives her a wave.

"This way," he says. "I'm getting us pudding."

"I don't think I can eat anything else," she says and heads his way. "After all the pasta we've had for lunch, I don't—"

She doesn't finish her sentence and freezes with her mouth half-open. She takes it back, there is a place in his flat that is definitely 'him.' The kitchen is massive; three of its walls and the island in the middle are all working surfaces; and every possible pot and pan one can imagine is arranged on shelves or simply hanging on the wall like in the film about Julia Child. Everything is neat, elegant, and well-organised - but clearly used often. Just by looking at his countertops Emilia can tell that he likes pears, since he's got three kinds sitting in wooden bowls; that he prefers big knives; and that he uses fresh herbs in his cooking, which he grows in mismatching but still somehow stylish pots.

The fourth wall, from the floor to the ceiling is one large unit of cabinets with glass doors. On narrow shelves, Emilia sees more than a hundred pieces of vintage or antique dishware. Plates and saucers on neat little stands, cups, milk jugs, sugar bowls, tea pots, glasses, goblets, baking dishes, gravy boats, and occasional bone china figurines - all arranged in perfect rows, according to some unknown to Emilia system, but clearly looked after and loved.

"Wow," she exhales.

She looks at him in astonishment, and he gives her a small smile.

"Like I said, cooking is a hobby as well." He steps to a fridge and opens one of its four doors. "I'm having tiramisu. Care to join me?"

The cheeky glance he throws her over his shoulder tells her he knows her answer. Emilia climbs on a tall stool near the island. She might ask for a mountaineering rope next time, and he'll need to pull her up.