By the time Helen's voice calls out from the kitchen window, I've forgotten that's why I was out here giving Tiffany the tour of the property to begin with.

"Sounds like it's dinner time," Tiffany says when Helen's voice breaks up a perfectly good kiss.

We've walked the perimeter of the section of land that the house sits on, I showed her the man cave-- including the BMW GS-1200 motorcycle that Tiffany tells me she's not sure she wants a ride on-- and I showed her where my neighbor's garden crosses the property line while it was safe to do it with said neighbor currently busy trespassing in my kitchen.

I've given Tiffany a retelling of my life story, since she's heard it all three times already on the phone, and she was just telling me about her first kiss which, naturally, led to her latest one, when Helen started yelling at us to come in and eat.

"Do you think she's going to stay and watch a movie with us after dinner too?" Tiffany chides me with a light elbow jab to my ribs as we head inside.

It's pretty obvious that I'm none too impressed with Helen's timing for being neighborly.

"She's lonely," I say out loud, more to remind myself to have patience than to explain the obvious to Tiffany. "I think she's excited to have another woman around. She always loved it when the girls were out to visit but now she's pretty much stuck with just me. I think she needs better company than I provide."

"I'm sure you provide excellent company," Tiffany assures me as her arm wraps around my waist.

I sure as hell plan on providing this woman with excellent company, I think as I pull her against me as we walk.

Of course, I'd been planning an entirely different level of excellent tonight than eating fried okra with the neighbor like we're still being chaperoned.

"Oh."

The shock in Tiff's voice as she walks through the French doors a few steps ahead of me has me quick to see what made her stop so quickly.

The lights are off in the house. There's a warm glow coming from the formal dining room on the other side of the kitchen and as we move closer I can see the table has been set with good China that I don't own.

Candles light the room with a soft flicker from the centerpiece as well as a pair of sconces on the wall that I don't think I ever had candles in before.

There are only two place settings on the table, I notice, and not a sign of the woman who took it upon herself to not only prepare a meal she knows I could never make myself, but also to donate her own good dishes and silverware to the effort.

"OK, I forgive her for the okra." I find Tiff in the kitchen, inspecting the contents of the pots left warming on the stove.

My kitchen has never smelled this good.

"Pot roast," Tiffany points at a roasting pan as she rifles through drawers till she finds pot-holders and serving utensils, "mashed potatoes, gravy," she lists, pointing at each dish as I take the pot holders and take things to the table.

"Okra," she wrinkles her nose and waves at the skillet on the stove top in a manner that clearly indicates I shouldn't bother moving it.

"Salad," she adds as she reads a note on the counter and turns to the fridge to retrieve a bowl.

"Ooh," as she takes the bowl of salad out of the refrigerator and hands it to me to take to the table, she leans in and inspects something under a sheet of tin foil. "Is there such a thing as blueberry shortcake?" She asks before closing the door of the fridge and joining me in the dining room.

"Blueberry shortcake?"

"That's what it tastes like." She gives me a little smirk.

"Did you stick your finger in the dessert?" I demand playfully as I begin plating her dinner for her.

"Well, I'm not confessing to anything mind you, but if that's going to be an issue for you, you need to let me know before I get unpacked."

Dinner is delicious. I had no idea Helen actually knew how to cook all the vegetables she grows on my property.

I snuck some of the okra onto my plate when Tiffany wasn't looking. When she saw it there next to the potatoes, she gave me a hurt look, "Am I going to have to learn to make that stuff?" She wanted to know.

"Don't worry," I promised, "I won't miss it if it's not there."

After dinner, I clear the table while Tiff dishes the blueberry shortcake into a couple of my plain cereal bowls from the cabinet while I carefully wash Helen's good China-- after Tiffany told me not to put it in the dishwasher.

We stand in the kitchen, continuing our conversation while we enjoy the dessert, commenting on our surprise that Helen hadn't brought dessert cups for us as well.

We found them sitting next to the coffee maker as we set the bowls in the sink.

"Do you want to watch a movie or are you ready for bed?" I ask after breaking a long kiss.

Tiffany looks up at me, her arms wrapped around my waist, her lips puffy and pink from kissing.

I'm not sure if I want her to say yes so we can make out on the couch in the den like kids or if I want her to beg me to take her to bed.

Her tongue darts between her lips and licks along the seam thoughtfully as she looks up at me.

Please let her beg me to take her. Bed, couch, right here on the kitchen island, anywhere.

"Well," she draws out thoughtfully, "that depends on whether we're both going to the same bed or not?"

I don't need to be told twice.