This one life

Play with fire

I'm like the gasoline, you light the match
Ain't no one else who can burn me like that
So I cross my heart, kill my desire
This is what you get when you play with fire

"Play with fire", Nico Santos

She is sitting on the bar and I can feel her eyes on my back while I am placing the salmon onto the baking sheet and then into the oven. When she returned from her car, I showed her the guest room, which is right next to the living room, and she returned from there after a quarter of an hour or so. In the meantime, I have marinated the salmon, wrapped the sweet potatoes and changed into a clean shirt. She has watched me ever since, and we keep a light conversation while I am working.

„Ich wusste gar nicht, dass du kochen kannst."

„Wer sagt, dass ich kochen kann? I am merely trying to survive..."

"Surviving on salmon fillet with sweet potatoes, are you?"

I nod. What can I say? Of course I can cook, but there is no need to boast now; she will have plenty of opportunity to taste the salmon tonight.

"I call that more than surviving...", she reflects and I can hear the smile on her face with my back turned towards her.

"You haven't tasted it yet", I interpose, and add the wrapped sweet potatoes to the oven.

I have chosen to make one of my favorite dishes because it is something I do really well and it only requires some preparation, but once everything is in the oven, it's a snap. All I need to do now is make sure the salmon and leeks don't get too dry, which means adding some more white wine or cream once in a while.

"True", she admits, "but if it is horrible, I can still tuck in on the desert..."

I turn around to look at her with surprise. Desert? Damn, I didn't even think of that!

She looks at me for a second, and the expression on my face must be all too obvious, because she starts to giggle and says: "There is no desert, is there?!"

Er schaut wie ein Ochse bei Gewitter, wie er da so steht und ihm klar wird, dass er vergessen hat, einen Nachtisch einzuplanen. Ich versuche ihn zu beruhigen, und versichere mehrfach, dass bestimmt niemand böse ist, wenn es keinen Nachtisch gibt, aber meine Argumente stoßen auf taube Ohren.

„Hast du wenigstens eine Vorspeise?", frage ich irgendwann, während mir vor Lachen immer noch der Bauch weh tun und ich mir die Tränen aus den Augenwinkeln wischen muss.

Er ist aber auch zu süss, wenn er so verdattert guckt. Fast tut er mir leid, aber nur fast.

„Natürlich!", empört schaut er mich an, muss dann aber selber lachen.

"Okay, point well taken", gibt er zu und strahlt mich an.

"I was so occupied with the mushroom soup and the salmon that I did not think any further... must be because of a certain person that drives me out of my mind!"