Something is happening
And it started happening when you walked by
Something is happening
And it's changing everything, do you know why?
Herman's Hermits – Something Is Happening
His fondness for food preceded him, almost as much as his reputation did.
So many of his memories involved food; the corned beef his Mother had served on Wednesdays, the hot dogs his Father always bought at the game, family barbeques in his brother's back yard, the steak he always ordered in Prego. For the most part though, providing meals were regular and in generous portions, he was happy.
He was frequently irritated by women and their relationship with food; it drove him mad, they way they picked at salad instead of eating a proper square meal or complained of being fat before wolfing down a candy bar. Jess however, was a woman who knew how to 'chow down'.
When she'd first arrived at the Precinct he put her down as yet another skinny obsessed girl but, after a few weeks of sharing her bed, realized that she was almost as fond of food as he was. While she was careful about what she ate, it was more a choice of quality rather than quantity. She always ordered dessert when they ate out, groused if she missed lunch and welcomed whatever dish he served up in the morning.
She'd offered to take him for dinner on the way home from the Precinct but he'd grimaced, shaking his head. "Seriously Jess, it was nasty," he'd lamented as they walked through the parking lot, "I might never eat again!"
Laughing, she'd joked "That'll be the day Flack", before suggesting take-out from his favorite Italian deli. His stomach had heaved more than a little at the prospect of fast food and he'd felt the color drain from his face.
She'd frowned, about to comment when he'd continued, "I saw rat, I saw blood, I saw snot…I swear, I feel violated!"
Rubbing a gentle hand over his belly she'd chuckled kindly, "You're such a baby!"
o-o-o
He always enjoyed spending time at her apartment; decorated in relaxing shades of brown and blue it was airy and cool. The furnishings were soft and comfortable, the fridge was well stocked and she was always more laid back with her own things around. As they walked through the door she steered him into the bedroom, hanging up his jacket before pushing him towards the bathroom, "Shower Flack, it'll make you feel better. I'll see what I can do about dinner".
She was right; as the water flowed over his body he began to feel a little better, although wasn't clear if it was the actual act of cleansing or just the indulgence of using her shampoo. As he stood, absentmindedly trying to decide if his skin was 'positively radiant' like the shower gel promised, he couldn't be sure if a figure lurked in the doorway or if it was just the light. Finding a neatly folded fluffy towel when he stepped out of the cubicle and then jeans and a t-shirt, left over from a previous sleepover, lying freshly laundered on the bed only further accelerated his recovery.
Pulling the t-shirt over his damp hair, he padded into the next room; an airy open plan living room with a narrow galley kitchen on one wall. He'd poked around the kitchen as he waited for coffee to brew and knew it was well stocked, with appliances and gadgets as well as ingredients. He'd thumbed through the row of recipe books that sat neatly on a low shelf, impressed by the variety. While he didn't see her as the type of girl to spend money on a kitchen for show, making coffee and reheating take-out had been the limit of culinary skills she'd exhibited over the months. If they ate in, she either called to place an order or cheerfully tucked into his cooking (which extended to most variations of 'breakfast'). It came as a surprise therefore, to see her move around the kitchen with poise and ease; slicing and stirring, producing delicious aromas.
"You're cooking" he stated, a little dubiously.
She didn't move from the stove, just threw a knowing look over her shoulder, retorting "Nice work detective!"
Moving to hover behind her, he surveyed the scene; something roasted in the oven and risotto simmered in a low pot, two places had been set at the counter and chips had been poured into a bowl. As she reached into a cupboard overhead and began methodically removing packets, he leant back on the counter to observe with intrigue.
She continued with her project, allowing him to watch her every move, until the chocolate batter was transferred to a pan and then the oven. Reaching into the fridge she turned, handing him a bottle and smiling sweetly, "Could you open the wine please Don?" She brushed his lips with hers as he nodded, wordlessly.
As she served up steaming platefuls of pumpkin risotto he wasn't surprised to feel his stomach rumble in appreciation. He couldn't recall many times he'd actually missed a meal; even on waking from the bomb blast coma, his nurse claimed his first mumbled words were to ask for a meatloaf dinner. He was grateful however that she opted for a meat-free meal; he hadn't forgotten the images of the day that quickly.
She didn't really try to hide the eyebrow she raised in amusement when he accepted a second helping. But, as she positioned a knife over the brownie pan, couldn't hold back guffawing as he growled in disgust at the portion size, "Jess, I'm a growing boy!"
"Appetite back then?" she asked, cutting a more generous slice.
"Yup" he came back, the tips of his ears pinking but nodding happily, "Appetite back".