Prank Date [✔]

Part 8

"No, thanks, I can do it." I took the pot from Lisa and nearly dropped it at its unexpected weight.

"Careful." Lisa grabbed the pot. "Come on. Get washed up. I promise I won't steal your silverware while you're in the bathroom."

Reluctantly, I let go of the pot and rushed to the bathroom for the quickest shower in the history of humankind.

* * *

When I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling halfway human again, the smells of vegetable soup and chamomile tea drifted through the apartment.

Hesitantly, I entered the kitchen.

"Hey," Lisa said. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm fine." My gaze wandered over a bowl of soup, a cup of tea, and a plate with crackers Lisa had placed on the breakfast bar. Obviously, Lisa felt quite at home in my kitchen. I furrowed my brow. I knew she meant well, but I was still irritated at this casual invasion. After living alone all of my adult life, I was used to fending for myself.

"You didn't need to do all that." Since I had moved out of my parents' home when I was eighteen, no one had ever cooked for me, not even soup. Certainly no one had ever seen me so vulnerable and out of control.

"I know. But I feel bad about letting you drink so much last night."

"Letting me?" I squinted at her. What was that supposed to mean?

Lisa rubbed her neck. "Not that you need my permission or anything. But I should have warned you about how potent our Cabernet is, especially after you tried all the other wines. If you're not much of a drinker, it can hit you hard."

Now you tell me. I rubbed my temples.

"Sit and eat. You'll feel better once you get something in your stomach."

Lisa pulled back the chair for me, and I sat. There was no polite way of saying no after Lisa had gone to all that trouble to bring me food.

I nibbled on a cracker and then tried a spoonful of soup. "This is good." Another spoonful landed in my mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Yes. It's my mother's recipe. She made this soup for me whenever I was sick. It always made me feel special and cared for."

With the spoon halfway to my mouth, I stopped and stared at Lisa. Was she saying she wanted me to feel special and cared for too? I shook my head at myself. They were barely more than acquaintances. Lisa was just feeling guilty because it had been her wine that had gotten me drunk.

"Thanks for the soup." Ifinally said.

A tiny smile appeared on Lisa's lips. "You're very welcome. Oh, by the way, we parked your car across the street. Two of my seasonal helpers drove over with me and dropped it off."

"Thank you. Please tell them thanks too." I couldn't remember when I had last needed to say thank you so often in a row. I wasn't sure I liked owing Lisa so many favors.

Kuma sauntered into the kitchen and shifted his weight on his hindquarters as if preparing to jump on the chair next to me.

"Don't you dare, Mister!" I glared and waved the spoon at him. Then my gaze softened. "Oh, God. Poor Kuma! I forgot to feed him when I got home last night. He's probably starved."

When I pushed back the chair to stand, Lisa stopped me with a touch to my shoulder. "You finish your soup. I can feed him if you want."

Making me breakfast, feeding my dog ... what next? Lisa's casual intrusion into my well-ordered life left me uncomfortable.