Author's note: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I love how you all seem to pick something different to like. This story has created a little firestorm on another site. It's a relief to come here and see people enjoying it so much.

Niakbor – hmm…villains…I'll think about that.

Mooning – but interruptions are a writer's best friend!

Mykel – I "know what I'm doing?" Boy, do I have you fooled! LOL!

Here's another chapter so I can maybe read a few comments at work. And some of you think I'm posting so often for your benefit! Six more chapters and it will slow down a bit though. 

Chapter 24

He knocked on the door feeling all at once over-dressed and foolish. Before coming, he'd changed his shirt, then after an hour of switching back from jeans to pants, he'd somehow found himself in an actual suit. Now, standing before the door of Lois' apartment, he knew he'd overdone it. This was all wrong, even though he was sans tie. Just before the door opened, he toyed with the idea of speeding home and changing. He could probably make it before she finished opening the door…

The door was thrown back to reveal Lois in a short green dress in some kind of shiny fabric that hugged her every curve and showed all of them off to the height of perfection. The color brought out brilliant flecks of green in her hazel eyes and he stood there stunned. She had dressed up too.

"Clark?" Are you okay?" She reached up and, for some reason unknown to either of them, touched his cheek. Her finger was coated in flour and it left a long white streak along his jawline. Seeing it, she panicked.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, Clark, come in. Come in. I'll get a cloth to…uh..." She pulled him over the threshold, leaving even more flour on his sleeve, and ran to look around for a clean dish cloth amid the wreckage that had been her kitchen. "This stupid flour is like a pack of gophers – it multiplies and keeps popping up all over the place."

Clark followed cautiously. He had really expected her to be casually dressed, but now, at least, he was grateful he had changed after work. The word "date" was flying around in his thoughts like something he wanted to bat away and forget. But it was applicable. She was dressed for more than just a casual get-together for dinner, and for much more than a simple evening with a friend.

The smells from the kitchen that assaulted his nostrils were very strong, and some were unidentifiable. He had no idea what they could mean, but, as he passed the small table, he noted the two candlesticks set out on the table and the fact the table was set for dining. She hadn't just flung out a few paper plates and a couple of forks.

For all of the long talks with Oliver, he still found it hard to believe that she would go this far, after all this time, just to impress…him.

She'd found the cloth and was wiping at his sleeve. "Lois, it's okay. You'll only make it worse with something damp and you're going to get it all over your dress." Licking his lips, he looked her up and down again and asked, "Lois, you know they do have these things called aprons?" Her dress had spots of flour all over it; he just hadn't noticed it at first.

"It wasn't on the list...Yeah, right. It sort of does turn to paste when you add water. Weird." Then she reached up to wipe the flour from his face at the same instant that he grabbed for the cloth.

It was perhaps the first time in weeks they'd really looked into each other's eyes. Because of their forced closeness at work, they'd been avoiding the intimacy that looking directly at one another provided. They'd played it safe, respecting each other's personal space to the nth degree.

But now, their hands touching so near to his face, both of them reached back into their memories to a moment long ago at the wedding of a friend. A moment that had been interrupted, and Lois had backed away from him.

This time, she did the same thing with no provocation, but a great deal of nervousness. She handed him the cloth and stepped back, saying, "Well, Smallville, ready to be amazed at my latest talent?"

He cleared his throat roughly. "Talent, huh?" He sounded dubious.

"Yeah, here." She handed him a bottle of red wine. "It's supposed to go with this."

"And what is 'this'?"

"You'll see in a minute. Now, go open that and I'll bring in your surprise."

He went to the table and gratefully noticed there were water glasses as well as wine glasses in place. At least she knew him well enough to know that wine would not be what he would want with his meal. No doubt, the wine was for her. She did seem more anxious than he'd ever seen her tonight.

As he uncorked the wine, she brought in a bowl of mashed potatoes, complete with huge lumps, followed by a basket of hot, slightly burnt, dinner rolls. Then finally she set in the center of the table a platter piled with something resembling a steaming hot mush of dark brown dog food. His first thought was "Shelby might think that appetizing." It was all Clark could do to keep a straight face.

"Ta daaaaa!" she proclaimed and giggled. Clark knew what the next words would be as she proudly told him the name of the main dish. "Boeuf Bourguignon!"

She had watched his face carefully. She'd expected surprise, doubt, even abject fear. But somehow what she was seeing was completely unexpected. It was that look, the look that Chloe had so aptly described as the "puppy dog" look. It was back. She'd missed it for so long.

"Sounds good," he said automatically his eyes never leaving hers.

"We'll see. This is the first time I've made it on my own. It might be awful. Recipes are funny things. There are all these abbreviations like 'tsp.'

She pronounced it "tisp," and, again, Clark managed to keep the smile from his lips, but he knew his eyes would betray him, if she looked too closely.

"I mean, what the hell kind of abbreviation is that? Tsp?" She suddenly looked worried. "I'm just hoping I got them all right, but I'm not really sure on some of them. There were a few things that were iffy, and down at the school, they had all that stuff measured out for you before you started. So, don't just be like, oh, I don't know…I mean, you're totally allowed to hate it, Smallville, because I don't want you to—"

"Lois, how about we try it first and then decide?" He pulled out her chair for her.

"Yeah, right. Good idea."

Once they had both taken their seats, Clark began ladling out helpings of all the dishes Lois had prepared. As Clark poured the wine, Lois jumped back up to light the candles.

It was a missed opportunity and he recognized it as such. He could have lit those candles with his heat vision and the act would have told her his secret right then and there. But the moment was gone like so many others when he had hesitated.

Lois saw his balled fists lying on the table and his downcast eyes, and she drew the wrong conclusion. She thought he was dreading that first bite of her celebrated new adventure into the world of cooking.

"Clark, if you really don't want to try it, I'll forgive you." She looked at her own plate. "But this soldier is going in!"

"No, no. At the same time, then?" he said with a smile, and she nodded. They both took a bite.

Clark swallowed his, trying hard not to make a face, but Lois began sputtering, and got up and ran for the kitchen.

"Lois, are you all right?" he called, following her.

He found Lois wiping at her tongue, and drinking water from the faucet with her cupped hands. "Clark, that was the most god-awful stuff I have ever tasted!"

"Oh, Lois, it's not that bad. It's a little spicy, but—"

"A little spicy?! Oh, come on! The East India Trading Company didn't have that much spice! How could anyone call that something anyone anywhere in their right mind would want to eat? Yechh! That is totally inedible!"

Clark laughed. "Does this mean I can phone for some pizza?"

"Officially? Yes!" And she drank some more water from the tap.