Mac and Cheese

I watched her as she analyzed, the nutrition label on the bottle the teriyaki sauce.

She turned to my direction. I quickly looked away and picked up a can of tuna; hiding behind a woman pushing a cart.

My heart raced not knowing what to say when I approach her.

*

We met a month ago at a friend’s Friday night party. We had nothing in common. But when I told her about my love for macaroni and cheese, she bragged about her recipe using three different kinds of cheese.

I bragged about my recipe that included bacon bits.

Her style was an old-fashioned way on the stovetop while I used a slow cooker.

The host of the party interrupted us and took her away.

She was gone.

About half hour later, I searched for her. I wanted to ask her number so I could message her in a week or two for coffee.

She was talking to a guy when I finally found her. They seemed to have a good time as their laughter filled the room.

I slipped out the front door and left.

*

Trying to talk to someone you are attracted to, can put you in paralyzing fear.

I couldn’t find the courage to approach her.

Maybe she was sending me a message that night that we had nothing in common but an old-fashioned recipe we inherited from our grandmothers.

I contemplated if it was a good idea to introduce myself and say something like, “Hi it’s me. The guy at the party you traded mac and cheese recipe with.”

No that sounds corny.

Why would she want to talk to me anyway? For someone who was pretty like her, she wouldn’t have the time of day for me.

I decided to forget about her.

I moved toward the end of the aisle passing by the spaghetti, marinara and tomato sauce as I planned my grand escape.

I spun my cart around. A loud sound of crunching metals filled my ears.

I found her eyes locked on mine. She stood a couple of feet away from me.

“Liam … it’s nice to see you again.”

“Hi Emily,” I replied shyly.

“You disappeared at the party. I didn’t get a chance to give you my contact number so we could trade recipes.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt. You were talking to that guy.”

“Oh … him. He’s a job recruiter,” she said apologetically.

“I’m sorry for taking off without saying goodbye.”

She took out her phone and asked, “Do you have pictures of your mac and cheese on your Instagram?”

I gave her my account. A few seconds later, I saw her name. I followed back. Then immediately, she messaged me with her phone number.

“Wow, your mac and cheese look yummy,” she said looking at her phone.

“If you’re not busy, I’d be happy to share it with you. I started one in a slow cooker just an hour ago. It should be ready by now.”

I glanced at my watch. It was 7 pm.

“Perfect timing. It’s dinner time for me. Where do you live?” Emily asked.

“A few miles away.”

“I’ll bring a bottle of wine,” she said.

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