Scary the First Time
#10 of Reader's Choice
Scary the First Time
"A lot of things can be scary, the first time," you give Malcolm a wink as his expression shifts back to embarrassed. "I think it'd be a good thing to show off your,talents."
"Uh," Malcolm clears his throat and then back up against the front of the stove. "It's ... just that I don't know if I'm good or not."
"There's only one way to find out," you say and step a little closer, almost muzzle to muzzle. You bring your paws up to his hips, but he catches them and softly pushes them back down.
"Let's see how dinner goes," he says then smiles. "Maybe afterwards, we can talk some more about those stories."
You pout a little as Malcolm softly pushes you back. The tiger chuckles and turns back to the stove to make some adjustments. "I hope I'm not being too forward," you say, worried you might have spooked him a bit.
"It's ... actually kind of a nice change," Malcolm replies as he opens the standing pantry beside the stove and pulls out a jar of pasta sauce.
You're a little surprised when he takes the pre-made sauce and pours it into a saucepan. You assumed that by 'amazing things' he'd be using something a little less conventional. Your eyes fall to his backside again, looking at his striped tail and filled out dress slacks. With a smirk, you move your paws up to his rear and take pawfulls of his rump.
Malcolm jumps and squeaks at your sudden touch, but then pushes his backside against your paws. You give his cheeks a squeeze and he murmurs before he turns to face you again, pulling out of your grasp. "After diner," he says. "Go sit, let me cook."
You chuckle and walk over to the couch and sit down. You watch as the tiger pulls various things from the pantry and the refrigerator. He adds various spices from shakers and liquids from bottles to the pre-made sauce. Before long, the whole apartment is filled with an aroma that makes you realize just how hungry you are. The sashays of the tiger's backside as he works also reminds you of your other unslaked appetite.
After about fifteen minutes of work, Malcolm walks over to the coffee table and sets a plate down in front of you. It was just plain spaghetti with a slightly darker shade of red on the pasta sauce, but the aroma made the simple looking meal seem much more than the sum of its parts.
Malcolm returned to the counter and opens one of the bottles of wine you bought, pulling two scotch glasses out of the cabinet and walking back over. He pours some wine into the glasses and then sits down beside you.
"Sorry about the lack of wine glasses," he says as he slides one of them over by your plate. "I'm afraid I don't entertain much."
"It's okay," you say, then pause as Malcolm lifts the lip of the coffee table up and the surface lifts toward the both of you. "That's pretty neat."
"Saves money on a dinette set," he says then looks over at you. "Well, tell me what you think of the pasta."
You give him a nod then twirl some of the spaghetti on your fork. You take a bite of the starchy noodles coated in the red sauce and your tongue starts to dance. It's sweet and bitter at the same time. Sharp and subtle, but it lacks something.
"What do you think?" Malcolm asks as you swallow.
"It's really good, but I think it needs salt."
"Salt? Oh no ... I've invited over one of those types," Malcolm jokes then laughs.
You smile as you consider your reply.