Something To Talk About

"What do you mean I'm cooking dinner?!" Ryan exclaimed as he kept pace next to me on the sidewalk, "Just a quick question...Are you deaf? Because I'm pretty sure I made it clear that I don't know how to cook."

I flashed him a warning look.

"Sorry, but I really don't feel like having to call the Las Vegas Fire Department tonight..."

"I'm going to teach you, Ryan," I smiled, "I'll make sure you don't burn the place down."

"You have your work cut out for you," He sighed, but reluctantly agreed, "I'm telling you Danya, there's not much hope for me in the kitchen."

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"I promise it wont be that hard," I assured him as he looked over the island where the groceries had been splayed upon arriving back in his beautiful dark marble and stainless steal kitchen, his eyes wide, "Baby steps."

He laughed shaking his head, "Alright, just tell me what I need to do."

I took a decent sized pot off of its hook above the island and began filling it with water.

"You..." I smirked, "Can go put on some music."

"That I can do," He nodded, "Any requests?"

"Your favourite," I decided, "You can teach me about music and I can teach you how to cook."

"My favourite?"

I nodded and saw a little smile creeping across his lips before he walked over to the stereo in the living room.

I soon learned what the smile was for as Panic! At the Disco started playing.

"Funny," I laughed when he joined me at the stove.

"You know, its weird," He began, watching me turn up the heat to max, "We've played these songs so many times that I really started to hate them, and now that I've had two months away from them, I sort of miss them."

"They are pretty good," I shrugged, "A million teenage girls cant be wrong, can they?"

"I find myself wondering that sometimes too..." He shook his head and picked up the remote for his stereo as I contemplated the subtle hint at insecurity that he'd let slip out.

I was about to wonder what a guy like Ryan could possibly have to be insecure about when the unmistakable opening bars of Love Me Do by the Beatles replaced The Only Difference on the stereo speakers and a smile broke across my face.

"A Beatles fan?" I raised my eyebrows, "Apparently you are a hippie."

"I prefer environmental activist, actually," He informed me casually, as he leaned over me to get a look at the stove, "So are you going to teach me something, or what?"

"You bet I am."

While the Beatles played through their greatest hits in the background, I walked Ryan through one of the easiest and yummiest meals he'd ever make. Fettuccine Alfredo with chicken.

"It's so pretty..." He said looking down at the two big bowls of pasta I was setting on his table, "I can't believe I made that and didn't burn the place to the ground."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're pretty handy in the kitchen," I assured him as we sat down to eat, "And now, you can make dinner for your girlfriend sometime and impress her."

"Nah, she'd never eat this stuff," He rolled his eyes, "No carbs for Keltie."

"Well, sucks to be her, then," I smirked and stuffed a gigantic bite of pasta into my mouth, mumbling, "Ryan, you can make this for me when ever you want."

"Deal," he laughed, "And you have a little bit of Alfredo sauce on your cheek."

"Well, that's embarrassing," I giggled getting up to grab a napkin, but he followed so when I turned back around, he was only a few inches away and he took it right out of my hand.

"Here," He held my face with one hand and softly wiped my cheek with the other, and smiled down at me, "There you go."

"Thanks," I whispered blushing at his closeness and the silence that followed, not the fact that I'd had food on my face.

"So, um," Ryan shook his head suddenly, and took a step backwards, "Let's eat..."

"Good idea," I breathed, waiting for my knees to regain their strength before following him back to the kitchen table.