“That smells heavenly,” she says, padding into the kitchen. “Anything I can help with?” “Maybe grab the plates?” I point to a cabinet. “I guess I should have asked how you like your steak. Any preference?” She scrunches up her nose. “I’m not really a steak person.” I pause. Fuck. I didn’t even think about that. She bursts out a laugh. “I’m kidding. I love steak. The bloodier the better, please.” Oh, thank fuck. “A woman after my own heart,” I tell her, dropping some extra butter on top of each slab of meat.
