Dinner and Conversation

You step into your kitchen wearing nothing but boxers and your new button-down shirt, left unbuttoned. Clara follows, wrapped in your bedsheet like a makeshift toga, her auburn hair charmingly mussed from your earlier activities.

"Let me show you how Matt cooks," you say, opening cupboards with the easy familiarity of being back in your own body, in your own space. You gather ingredients—arborio rice, dried porcini mushrooms, shallots, white wine, chicken stock—moving with a confidence that feels both natural and newly appreciated.

Clara perches on a barstool at the counter, watching as you chop shallots with practiced efficiency. "So about these introductions," she says, tightening the sheet around her chest. "I was thinking we should coordinate our story."

You pour dried mushrooms into a bowl of hot water to reconstitute them. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we need something simple but believable. Met through David a few weeks ago, instant attraction, started dating recently?"

You nod, adding a generous knob of butter to a heavy-bottomed pan. "And Mia?"

"My beautiful Irish friend who had to return home unexpectedly for a family emergency. Indefinite stay." Clara runs a finger along the rim of the wine glass you've poured for her.

The butter sizzles as you add finely chopped shallots. "What about David? He knows the truth."

"David will play along. He has as much reason to keep this quiet as we do." Clara takes a sip of wine. "Can you imagine him trying to explain what he witnessed?"

You laugh, the sound deeper from your chest than you've heard in days. "Fair point."

As you begin adding rice to the pan, toasting it until translucent, Clara's expression grows thoughtful. "What about your job? Didn't Matt have one before all this?"

"Graphic design freelance work," you reply, stirring continuously. "I can pick that back up. Most of my clients are online anyway."

You add a splash of wine to the pan, the **** hissing as it hits the hot rice. The aroma fills the kitchen—rich and promising. Clara inhales appreciatively.

"What about your colleagues?" you ask, beginning the methodical process of adding stock, one ladle at a time. "Zara seemed suspicious."

"Zara's always suspicious—occupational hazard of being an executive assistant. She'll accept the cousin story." Clara slides off the stool and moves behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist, her sheet-covered front pressing against your back. "But we should practice being a new couple in public. All those first-date nerves and getting-to-know-you conversations."

Her lips brush the back of your neck, making your stirring rhythm falter momentarily. "Are you trying to distract the chef?"

"Is it working?" she murmurs against your skin.

"Risotto is a demanding mistress," you reply, though your body is definitely responding to her proximity. "Requires constant attention."

Clara's hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping just below the waistband of your boxers. "So does this relationship, I think."

You manage to maintain your focus on the risotto—barely—as her explorations continue. By the time you're adding the reconstituted porcini mushrooms and a drizzle of truffle oil, her sheet has slipped dangerously low.

"Almost done," you announce, voice slightly strained. "Just needs to rest for a minute."

Clara steps back, retrieving her wine glass. "Perfect timing. I'm starving." The way she looks at you makes it clear she's not just talking about food.

The risotto turns out beautifully—creamy, aromatic, with the perfect al dente texture. You serve it in deep bowls, grating fresh Parmesan over the top.

Clara takes her first bite and closes her eyes in pleasure. "Oh my god, Matt. This is incredible."

"Told you I had hidden talents," you reply, enjoying her reaction almost as much as the food.

"I'm discovering that," she agrees, reaching across the counter to touch your hand. "To new discoveries."

20:15 | Tuesday 5 August 2025 | Your Flat, Putney