Chapter TwelveNic
Tomatoes, onions, red wine, bay leaves . . . what the hell am I forgetting?
I’ve scanned my pantry twenty times now, racking my brain to make sure I’m not missing any ingredients for my date with Elle tonight. Not that that’s really possible. I’ve already made three separate grocery runs, just to be safe.
I don’t normally cook for other people. Not ever, really. I cook for myself all the time, but it’s never been a skill I’ve wanted to use to woo a woman. Hell, I don’t woo women at all . . . at least, not in my personal life.
But from the moment I decided to take Elle on a proper date, I knew it had to be special. And cooking for someone—in my own home, no less—is definitely not something I’ve ever done for a woman before. But when the idea popped into my head, I knew
