greeted him breathlessly. Glancing at her watch, she became flustered and exclaimed, “Goodness! I didn’t realize it was so late!”
Leopold took in her messy hair, red face, and anxious expression. Her usual torn jeans and cotton top, despite being protected by an apron, were dotted with stains that could have been blood or, more likely, tomato sauce.
“You look like a three-ton tank’s driven over you,” Leo said.
She smiled, unoffended, and brushed the tangled hair away from her face with a not-very-clean hand. “Thank you, Leo. You, on the other hand, look impeccable, as ever.”
Leopold thanked her with a slight nod and walked into the apartment, curiously looking around. He hadn’t been there since the party, and he noticed that everything was much tidier now. Yet small touches, such as a book on the table and some open magazines scattered about, a vase stuffed with flowers, the dog snoozing in front of the lit fire, and the faint smell of food wafting from the kitchen, gave it a homely feel that his own apartment lacked.
“What’s the emergency?” he asked, quite relaxed.
“I wanted to show off,” Cat admitted. “So I borrowed Fiona’s book of Venti deliziose ricette italiane thinking it’d be easy, but this stove hates me, it’s conspiring against me. I’ve followed the instructions to the letter, but everything comes out more disgustose than deliziose .”
Leopold noted her desperation with amusement. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” he said, and his neighbor led him there, dragging her feet.
The kitchen looked like a battlefield: tomato sauce splattered on the walls, bits of vegetables on the floor, and utensils and used dishes of all shapes and sizes all over the place. “Goodness me. Did you do this all by yourself?”
Cat sighed, ashamed, as he examined the recipe and the various ingredients strewn around the room. “I think I can do something with this.”
“Really?” Catalina instantly brightened, and Leo felt as if the sun had just come out in the middle of the chaotic kitchen.
“Go and take a shower. I’ll sort out this code red.”
“Not on your life, Leo,” she protested. “I can’t leave you on your own with this mess. You’re my guest, and I can’t let you do everything. I’ll order a pizza.”
Leo put his hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Catalina.” His tone of voice made it clear that he wouldn’t accept any objections. “Go and have a long shower. There’s no need to rush.” Then he turned her around and, with a delicate slap on her backside, directed her toward the kitchen door. She turned indignantly and glared at him, but didn’t protest. All things considered, she was tremendously relieved that he was going to take control of the disaster zone.
Heeding her neighbor’s advice, she took extra time to wash her hair, where much of the tomato sauce had ended up. After blowing it dry, she put on some basic clothes.
CHAPTER 7
When she returned to the kitchen, she could barely believe her eyes and briefly even wondered if she’d got the wrong apartment. Everything had been tidied up, the floor was freshly mopped, and a delicious smell emanated from a pair of saucepans bubbling cheerfully on the stove. Leopold was stirring the food with a wooden spoon; he’d rolled up his sleeves and tied a clean apron around his waist. Catalina decided he was one of the most attractive men she’d seen in her life. “It’s a miracle!” she exclaimed, amazed. He looked at her without saying a word. Despite how tired he’d felt a few hours earlier, he’d decided that going to his neighbor’s place had proven to be a good choice. It was strange, but cleaning up the mess that Catalina had made and making supper had relaxed him—he loved cooking, and it was much more enjoyable doing it for someone other than himself. As usual, his neighbor was wearing the slightly hippyish clothes that suited her so much, her honeyed hair shining and her face lit up with
Leopold took in her messy hair, red face, and anxious expression. Her usual torn jeans and cotton top, despite being protected by an apron, were dotted with stains that could have been blood or, more likely, tomato sauce.
“You look like a three-ton tank’s driven over you,” Leo said.
She smiled, unoffended, and brushed the tangled hair away from her face with a not-very-clean hand. “Thank you, Leo. You, on the other hand, look impeccable, as ever.”
Leopold thanked her with a slight nod and walked into the apartment, curiously looking around. He hadn’t been there since the party, and he noticed that everything was much tidier now. Yet small touches, such as a book on the table and some open magazines scattered about, a vase stuffed with flowers, the dog snoozing in front of the lit fire, and the faint smell of food wafting from the kitchen, gave it a homely feel that his own apartment lacked.
“What’s the emergency?” he asked, quite relaxed.
“I wanted to show off,” Cat admitted. “So I borrowed Fiona’s book of Venti deliziose ricette italiane thinking it’d be easy, but this stove hates me, it’s conspiring against me. I’ve followed the instructions to the letter, but everything comes out more disgustose than deliziose .”
Leopold noted her desperation with amusement. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” he said, and his neighbor led him there, dragging her feet.
The kitchen looked like a battlefield: tomato sauce splattered on the walls, bits of vegetables on the floor, and utensils and used dishes of all shapes and sizes all over the place. “Goodness me. Did you do this all by yourself?”
Cat sighed, ashamed, as he examined the recipe and the various ingredients strewn around the room. “I think I can do something with this.”
“Really?” Catalina instantly brightened, and Leo felt as if the sun had just come out in the middle of the chaotic kitchen.
“Go and take a shower. I’ll sort out this code red.”
“Not on your life, Leo,” she protested. “I can’t leave you on your own with this mess. You’re my guest, and I can’t let you do everything. I’ll order a pizza.”
Leo put his hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Catalina.” His tone of voice made it clear that he wouldn’t accept any objections. “Go and have a long shower. There’s no need to rush.” Then he turned her around and, with a delicate slap on her backside, directed her toward the kitchen door. She turned indignantly and glared at him, but didn’t protest. All things considered, she was tremendously relieved that he was going to take control of the disaster zone.
Heeding her neighbor’s advice, she took extra time to wash her hair, where much of the tomato sauce had ended up. After blowing it dry, she put on some basic clothes.
CHAPTER 7
When she returned to the kitchen, she could barely believe her eyes and briefly even wondered if she’d got the wrong apartment. Everything had been tidied up, the floor was freshly mopped, and a delicious smell emanated from a pair of saucepans bubbling cheerfully on the stove. Leopold was stirring the food with a wooden spoon; he’d rolled up his sleeves and tied a clean apron around his waist. Catalina decided he was one of the most attractive men she’d seen in her life. “It’s a miracle!” she exclaimed, amazed. He looked at her without saying a word. Despite how tired he’d felt a few hours earlier, he’d decided that going to his neighbor’s place had proven to be a good choice. It was strange, but cleaning up the mess that Catalina had made and making supper had relaxed him—he loved cooking, and it was much more enjoyable doing it for someone other than himself. As usual, his neighbor was wearing the slightly hippyish clothes that suited her so much, her honeyed hair shining and her face lit up with
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