Pretty Delivery
I stare anxiously at my phone. “Still no notification!” If only I knew when my package would finally arrive! I’m looking forward to it like a little kid waiting for Christmas. Cooking is my passion. Ever since I moved out on my own, I’ve been wielding the wooden spoon. At first, I tried simple dishes, but over time, I gained more and more experience. Cooking is like sex: you can try everything, and then decide what you like best...
Right now, a Bolognese sauce is simmering on the stove, destined for my dinner tonight. I always cook a bit more than needed so I can enjoy the leftovers for the next few days. “Tomorrow, I’ll make lasagna out of the rest of the sauce,” I decide. “Or maybe Pastitsio? I’ll decide spontaneously...”
Two days ago, I ordered some new kitchen gadgets: a Santoku knife, new cutting boards, and a honing rod. “Sharp is always good...” Once again, I glance at my phone. The delivery estimate says, “Delivery between 2:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m.” Why don’t they have better tracking, like one of those fun apps where you can watch the delivery van’s progress on a map? Excited, I look out the window. My living room gives me a perfect view of the entrance to the neighborhood. The delivery van has to pass by here. I’ll see it, and then...
Ding dong!
“It’s here! It rang my doorbell!” I leap off the couch and hurry to the front door. Just a few seconds separate me from my new grown-up toys. I press down on the door handle and slowly pull it open.
“Your package!” comes a charming voice.
Standing at my doorstep is an attractive young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, looking at me with bright blue eyes. Her shoulder-length, purple hair frames her charming face, dotted with a few delicate freckles across her nose. She’s wearing a white polo shirt with the delivery service logo on it. Her long legs are wrapped in tight jeans, held up by a black leather belt, emphasizing her figure.
I stand in the doorway, frozen, electrified. Our eyes lock for what feels like an eternity, though it only lasts a second. A small smile spreads across her face, captivating me immediately with its mix of sensuality, playfulness, and carefree charm.
“Yes... yes, thank you!” I stammer.
She hands me an electronic tablet to sign for the package. I awkwardly nudge my package to the side so I can step out of the door. As I move a little closer to her, a gentle breeze carries her scent my way. The fragrance is a delicate mix of white flowers, jasmine, and rose, with a touch of amber that gives her scent a deeper, sensual undertone.
“Please sign here!”
I sign for the package with trembling hands. She subtly glances at me, from head to toe. I realize I haven’t shaved and probably look like a scruffy pirate. But she doesn’t seem to care, as her eyes move past me, lingering toward the inside of my apartment.
“Thanks!” she says.
She takes back the tablet. I straighten up, trying to recover from my slouched posture, but the presence of this stunning woman has clearly left an impression on me – or rather, on my body. To my horror, I realize there’s an obvious reaction happening right in the middle of my pants. Her grin widens. She’s noticed, and she knows I can’t resist her spell.
“I have to get going,” she says, stepping back.
“And I need to finish making dinner,” I respond.
“Is that what smells so good here?” she asks.
Only now do I realize that the aroma of my cooking has filled the hallway, the scent of homemade Bolognese sauce permeating the air.
“Yeah. Spaghetti Bolognese tonight.”
“My favorite dish!” she replies with enthusiasm.
“Mine too…”
“Do you always cook for yourself?” she asks.
“Yes. And you?”
“I can’t cook. But there are other things I’m much better at...” she says with a playful smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Her words leave me intrigued. What other things? I wonder, but I don’t know how to invite her inside without sounding desperate. Then again, the way she’s looking at me suggests she already knows what she wants.
“Would you like to join me for spaghetti Bolognese tonight? I’d love to get to know you better,” I offer, trying to sound casual.
“Eight-thirty?”
“That works.”
“I know where to ring now...” she says, winking as she turns to leave.
“By the way, my name’s Cathy,” she calls back.
“Tom. My name’s Tom,” I stammer, feeling a bit awkward.
“I know. It was on the package,” she teases with a grin before getting into her van.
As she drives off, I find myself waving after her, already longing to see her again.
