They say the kitchen is the heart of the home. For me, it was a battlefield—and I was losing to a pot of boiling water.
“Wow,” a voice said behind me, warm with amusement. “Ya steamed it up, huh?”
I spun around, half-blinded by the fog that had completely clouded my tiny kitchen. My glasses were useless. My face was damp. The windows had gone opaque with condensation, and the pasta water was frothing like a volcano threatening to erupt.
And there he was—Jason, my next-door neighbor, leaning against the doorframe like he’d just stepped out of a rom-com. Tousled hair, charming smirk, and a towel slung casually over his shoulder. He was holding a mug, probably headed back to his apartment before my steam monster hijacked the hallway.
“Just trying to cook,” I mumbled, waving at the air like that would fix the situation.
He grinned. “Trying being the key word?”
“Wow. Rude.” I turned off the stove and lifted the pot, only for the lid to clatter to the floor and unleash a new wave of hot fog.
He stepped in, chuckling. “You alright? Or should I call for backup?”
“I’ve got this under control.”
My smoke detector disagreed.
It let out a single beep of judgment from above. I glared at it.
Jason reached up and tapped it lightly. “False alarm,” he told it, like they were friends. “She’s just steaming the entire block.”
I groaned and dropped into a chair. “It was supposed to be romantic. I was going to cook this nice pasta, light a candle, open some cheap wine—cute date night for one, you know? But now it’s just… humidity and chaos.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Date night for one?”
I shrugged. “Don’t judge. I put on real pants and everything.”
He laughed, that easy kind of laugh that made you forget why you were embarrassed. “Honestly? I respect the effort. Pasta and wine sounds better than my frozen burrito.”
There was a pause—just long enough to feel it.
“Wanna join?” I said, surprising even myself.
Jason blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I mean, I already steamed the place up for us. Might as well turn it into a two-player game.”
He smiled, stepping all the way in. “Only if I get to stir the sauce.”
Ten minutes later, my kitchen looked less like a sauna and more like an actual place where humans might consume food. Jason helped open the window, I salvaged the sauce, and he found a pack of garlic bread I forgot I had—because apparently, he was part bloodhound when it came to carbs.
We sat across from each other at my tiny table, wine in mismatched mugs because I broke the actual glasses last month during a clumsy attempt at dancing while cleaning.
“This is really good,” Jason said, mid-bite.
“You’re just being polite.”
“No, seriously. I like my pasta a little overcooked. Makes me feel like I’m at a real family dinner.”
I smiled. “I did that on purpose, obviously. A culinary choice.”
He leaned back, cradling his mug. “You always cook alone on Fridays?”
I hesitated. “Lately, yeah. Used to do it with someone. Then that ended, and I didn’t want to stop doing the thing I loved just because they’re not in the picture anymore.”
Jason nodded slowly. “I get that. I used to cook with my sister before she moved out of state. Now it’s just me and microwaveable mediocrity.”
We laughed, the kind of laugh that sits between two people like a bridge.
He looked around. “Your place is nice, by the way. Cozy.”
“Translation: small.”
“Translation: charming.”
There it was again—that comfortable vibe. Like we’d done this before. Like this was the tenth dinner, not the first.
“You’re not too bad yourself, you know,” I said, teasing.
He mock-bowed. “Thank you. I take pride in being a slightly-above-average surprise dinner guest.”
There was a pause, but this one was different. Charged. Curious.
Jason leaned forward, eyes a little softer now. “So… if I bring wine next Friday, will you steam it up again?”
I laughed, nearly snorting into my mug. “Wow. Smooth.”
He grinned. “Hey, it worked.”
I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Hmm… I’ll allow it. But only if you promise to handle the garlic bread. You clearly have a talent.”
“It’s a deal.”
We clinked mugs, wine sloshing over the side, and just like that, a lonely Friday night turned into something else. Something better. Unexpected. Warm.
Not perfect. Not planned.
But real.
And a little steamy.
