According to his schedule, in eight minutes Natalie should be sipping a glass of Sancerre, watching him supreme oranges with his Shun Dual Core Kiritsuke knife.
Instead, he’s staring at a pink-haired stranger in men’s underwear and a faded Obama hope T-shirt with the sleeves cut off.
“Nat’s not here. She’s running late,” she says, not opening the door any farther. “I can put the food in the fridge. There’s a bar down the block where you could hang out till she gets home.”
Seconds of wasted time tick away in his brain, growing louder. Standing in the hallway, holding one hundred and seventy dollars’ worth of high-end perishable groceries, he considers abandoning the plan. Calling an Uber. Rescheduling for another evening when all the elements of the concept can come together seamlessly.
But that would be failure.
“Absolutely not,” he says. “This requires thirty minutes of prep plus fifty minutes cooking time. I need to get started now. And it’s raining.”
Tonight, after the mousse au citron, Josh Kestenberg and Natalie Ferrer-Hodges will transition from the confusing messiness of casually dating–question mark to full-fledged relationship–period.
Exclamation point.
No, period. More tasteful.
“If I do you this favor and let you in—”
“？‘Favor’？”
“—then you’re going to atone for your rudeness earlier today and help me make my quota.” The corner of her mouth tugs into the tiniest possible grin but her eyes are not smiling. A little dimple forms on the left side of her cheek. “I’ll need a forty-dollar donation. I take credit cards.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” It’s not often that Josh feels three steps behind.
“Glad you finally asked! With the support of wildlife lovers like you, the Nature Conservancy is establishing ‘Bobcat Alley,’ a protected greenbelt where native wild felines can roam and—”
“That was you?” Josh sets the grocery bag down on the stoop.
“Un-fucking-believable, right?” There’s a full Cheshire cat grin on her face now. Nothing coy about it.
“You’re extorting me?” He steps forward, towering over her. “Is this some kind of scam you pull?”
“Yes, I pretend to live in apartments all over Brooklyn in order to guilt my roommate’s angry trust-fund dates into making recurring charitable donations.” Recurring? Fantastic, he’ll be on a mailing list for the rest of his life. “Do you want to hear the talking points about the bobcats?”
“No.”
“Thank you for helping to build a future where bobcats thrive,” she recites by rote. She opens the door wider, letting him follow her into the building’s vestibule. “This is like the cold open of a Law & Order episode, letting a strange man into my apartment. You could tie me up with an extension cord and steal our laptops or something. But now you’ll be the last name on my donor log, so if I go missing, you’ll be the first suspect.” She stops for a breath at the foot of the stairs. “I’m Ari.”
“Josh Kestenberg.” His hand twitches in an automatic handshake response but he curbs the instinct. “I have a lot of prep to do, so you’ll have to tie yourself up with the extension cord.”
“Arianna Sloane,” she adds, like she gets extra credit for also having a surname. “And don’t threaten me with a good time.” She gestures at the stairs. “You first. I don’t want you staring at my ass the entire way up to the third floor.”
Josh rolls his eyes and starts to haul the bags up the first flight. As he passes her, he smells cheap weed that reminds him of his whiny vegan classmates in his anthropology seminars at Stanford. Josh takes the stairs two at a time, hoping to get far enough ahead of her to make further interaction impossible, but she’s right behind him.
“If you’re a cook,” she says, “shouldn’t you be at work right now?”
“I’m a chef. I spent the last two years in Europe. I develop recipes.” He’d freelanced at Bon Appétit on two occasions, thank you very much. “I just got back to New York.”
“I don’t know if I’ve seen Nat consume anything other than paleo bowls and Huel shakes,” Ari says.
“She hasn’t tried my food yet.”
“How long have you two been ‘together’？ I mean, you’re a cook—”
“Chef.”