Symphonic

Who’d have thought that after two rather tentative dates, involving two rather nondescript meals out, he would suggest, no, insist that he cooks for me tonight.

But what he’s doing isn’t cooking, it’s not even showing off. What he’s up to is more akin to orchestration, where he’s playing all the instruments, with precision, with passion, with perfection. Watch him. Watch him closely. Watch his nostrils flare, almost imperceptibly, sniffing his ingredients, while flicking an eye over to me, sitting quietly sipping my wine. I feel he’s getting as much pleasure from his ingredients as he is from seeing me.