I’d never heard of puppy chow before Willow mentioned it while talking about comfort food, her hand going to her chest and her eyes closing over that half-smile the way she does when she talks about something she really loves. The satisfied look imprinting the words on my memory, a detail I knew it would be smart to remember. One of the many details I learned on our trip to Vegas, along with the almost-imperceptible freckles across her nose, the birthmark behind her left thigh, the ever-so-slightly odd way she pronounced the word ‘aromatic.’

I had to look up what the dessert even was: Chex cereal mixed with melted chocolate and peanut butter, powdered with a layer of confectioner’s sugar. It made me smile, thinking of the chef for whom no béarnaise sauce was quite good enough, having an affection for sugar-coated cereal. It felt like both another page revealed in that complex character, and another mystery to unfold.

I wondered who had made it for her during her childhood that she loved it so, whether it was the mom she missed, or some beloved grandparent or aunt she had stayed with on weekends. I wondered if that simple snack reminded her of something, of late nights watching movies with her sister, perhaps, or of being treated after doing her chores. Maybe it had been comfort food for the sake of emotional comfort, an easily made sugar hit that dulled the pain of some sad event, a comforting sweetness when she wanted to wallow in self-doubt. A food like that had to have some emotion behind it, some memory, and I wanted to know, to understand, so that I might get even closer to her.

That’s why I decided to make it for her as a surprise—if only to see that half-smile again.

It’s late when I get home, around nine, carrying a grocery bag of cereal and the other ingredients. Willow would be at her shift now, so I leave her a text asking her to come over when she’s done. It wouldn’t surprise me if she said no—nobody understands better than I do the need to rest after a hard shift in a place like Knife, plus it’s only been a couple of days since we spent every waking second within grabbing distance of each. But she texts me back just a short while later.

Sure. But I’ll smell like the kitchen.

I feel a rush inside of me, lust already stirring at the answer, then quickly type back.

You can shower here.

Her reply is quick.

I’ll bet I can.

I spend the next few hours tidying up—not that the place is messy, but more for something to do with the sense of unfulfilled action tingling in my muscles. I rush order a few flowers to soften the man-cave look of the vast apartment, put some chairs out by the pool, in the perfect spot to look over the city, and spend way too long trying to figure out what kind of drink might go with puppy chow. Then, I poor myself a glass of whiskey and try to relax.

Around midnight I open the door to a surprised-looking Willow and try to hold back the smile that seeing her brings out of me.

“Hey,” I say, pulling her toward me for a kiss. When she pulls away her eyes are still wide and shocked. “You ok?”

“Yeah…” she says, looking around. “I just…I thought I had the wrong house. I thought maybe this was a modern art museum or something. This place is huge.”

I laugh gently as I close the door behind her.

“You should see the one in Spain. Come on,” I say, putting a hand on the small of her back, a little closer to her ass than it needs to be, “I’ll give you the tour.”

For the next fifteen minutes I lead her around the house, giving her the backstory to the artworks that adorn the walls, the different reasons I love each of my sports cars, talking her through the custom designs of each handmade piece of furniture. Willow coos and smiles throughout like a kid in a candy factory. Usually I take a little pride in showing things like this, the things I’ve worked for all my life. It satisfies my ego. But this might be the first time I’m showing these things simply to make Willow smile, simply because that face she makes where her lips part and her eyebrows go up to show she’s impressed is impossibly cute.

“Why are those shutters curved like that?” she asks when we’re in the dining room.

“Oh, well see, this is the western side of the building. The thing about California evening light is that it has this really precise, clear quality, coming from over the Pacific. So when you have straight shutters it kinda cuts through in a really direct, harsh way, and I was concerned the house would be too angular as it is, so I had these shutters custom-made with a slight bend and rough edges to make it more—why are you looking at me like that?”

Willow laughs a little and shakes her head.

“I know how you are in a kitchen, but I didn’t realize you were that particular about everything.”

I laugh as I move my hands around her waist, pulling her toward me a little to look right into the brown swirls of her eyes.

“I just know exactly what I want,” I say, staring as deeply into her as I can.

She blushes a little before glancing down.

“Well, I kinda feel like a mess, standing here in my dirty work clothes surrounded by all this engineered perfection.”

“If you’re a mess, you’re a beautiful mess. The kind of beautiful mess a guy like me needs,” I say, before taking a long, slow kiss from those rose petal lips. When we break apart her expression is soft, tender, and I can tell her mind is working overtime to try and read between the lines of what I just said. I decide not to let her dwell on it. “Come on,” I say, taking her hand, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I lead her back through the house, her curious pleas only making my playful expression more gratified, until we’re out at the pool. Willow scans the skyline, the glowing blue of the water against the darkness of the night, until eventually she sees it and half-gasps.

“You cooked for me?” she says, as I lead her to the small table at the edge of the railing, beyond which the drop of the Hollywood Hills merges with the twinkling city lights.

“Not sure you would call it cooking,” I say, flaming her curiosity even more.

I pull out a chair and she sits down, eyes focusing on the silver dish cover as if she might see through it if she concentrates hard enough. I light the candles I set out and then make an elaborate gesture of putting my hand on the bell, enjoying her eager anticipation one last time before pulling it away dramatically.

“Oh!” she squeals, mouth opening wide with delighted disbelief. “Puppy chow! Are you kidding me? This is the best!”

I shrug nonchalantly and sit on the chair beside her, facing the skyline.

“How did you know?” she asks, surprise turning to bemusement. “I mean…I never told you…”

“You mentioned it while we were in Vegas—offhand, but you mentioned it,” I say, still enjoying the wonder in her face.

She pulls the bowl near, taking in the smell a little like it’s a gourmet broth, then delicately takes one and puts in her mouth, finally showing me what I wanted to see all the while I was making it. That semi-orgasmic, almost spiritually satisfied look she gets when she’s tasting food she likes.

“Oh my God…” she says, chewing slowly. “You have no idea how good this is; how many feelings this brings back. Did you try it yourself?”

She picks another up and holds it out for me. As I take it from her fingers and pop it into my mouth I nod, unconvincingly.

“It’s…um…yeah.”

Willow laughs.

“God…I can’t believe the Michelin-starred chef Cole Chambers just made me puppy chow.”

I laugh along with her and put my arm on the back of her chair, hand on the soft curve of her shoulder. “I wasn’t sure what we should drink with it,” I say, drawing the cooler beside the table closer to us. “Is beer ok?”

“Beer’s great,” Willow says, as I twist the top off a bottle and hand her one.

I grab another bite of the food and open a bottle for myself, turning my gaze out to the cityscape and feeling my soul fill at having Willow beside me.

“So how was your shift?”

Willow finishes swallowing and tilts her head.

“It was good. Hell of a crowd tonight, and apparently the highest tip count this month. Although we did get somebody sending back the gazpacho soup because it was cold.”

I laugh and say, “Been a while since that happened.”

“I think Leo still hates me, the Basque burgers are selling great, and the success of escargots continues to confuse the hell out of me even though…” Willow trails off, then turns to me, her face a little anxious now. “Listen, Cole…I know this is probably awkward, and sudden, and maybe kinda…soon. And maybe your head isn’t in the same place as mine, or you feel like it’s not the right time, or…I don’t know. But I just…can I ask you something?”

For a moment my stomach lurches, like my body is already expecting the worst. Is she quitting Knife? Did she get offered a job at another restaurant, or something back home in Idaho where her family is? Or did Leo say something awful to her at work today? If he did, I’ll fire his ass so fast it’ll make his head spin. My fist involuntarily clenches and I have to work to relax my hand, clearing my throat and forcing my expression to remain calm.

“Of course,” I say, keeping my voice neutral despite the turmoil I’m feeling inside. “What’s up?”

Willow drops her eyes for a moment, then looks back up and focuses her gaze on mine. “I just…I’d like to know…what are we? I mean, maybe it’s crazy of me to say that considering how long we’ve been seeing each other, or whatever it is we’re doing. But, the puppy chow, Vegas, all the time you seem to want to spend together…I don’t know. Am I reading too much into this? I’m a little bad at interpreting the signals when it comes to men.”

I watch her a moment, then angle myself a little more toward her, lifting a palm to press against her cheek.

“Remember that first night we went out together?” I say. “Our ‘business meeting’?”

Willow looks aside, a little embarrassed.

“Every time I prep a Basque burger.”

I laugh gently.

“I mean when we were still at the concept bar, talking. Remember what I told you the secrets of great food were?”

“Sure,” Willow says, looking up a little as she tries to recall. “Make it look good, make people pay a lot for it, and make people want more.”

“Well, I missed something. I didn’t tell you that those secrets can also be applied to great sex, too.”

Willow stares at me as if I’m crazy for a second. “Pardon?”

“Think about it,” I continue, “Looking good, making someone chase a little, leaving them with just enough that they don’t regret it…except you disagreed with me. You said that it had to mean something, that there was more to it than superficial pleasures, that for it to be truly great it had to satisfy. I mean, I know you weren’t talking about sex, about relationships, but to me there’s always been a thin line between food and love. And you’ve convinced me. On both counts.”

“I…” Willow says, breathing deeply as she’s overwhelmed. “I don’t even know what to make of that.”

I take her hands in mine.

“I’ve spent my life eating fine foods—even this past week I must have had a dozen meals that cost a fortune and tasted like heaven. But ever since then, what I’ve craved more than anything are those burgers you cooked. I mean, they’re good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s the fact that you made them for me, and with such passion. What just thinking about them makes me feel. Same as this puppy chow right here does for you,” I say, grabbing one and popping it in my mouth, Willow’s lips turning up at my words. “It’s this simple: What I really want is you.”

We look at each other in the night, the turquoise glow of the swimming pool casting lines of light across her face, accentuating the soft curve of her cheek until it almost aches for me to see how beautiful she is. Her eyes lock onto mine, as if seeing something new for the first time, and her smile answers me before her voice does.

“I really want you too.”

Our faces move closer, so slowly it’s almost imperceptible, close enough for me to see those freckles in the dark—as if kept secret just for me—close enough to smell the sweet cocoa on her breath, close enough to feel the air crackle with the electricity between us…

Then a piercing xylophone tune breaks the magic. Willow pulls her head back, startled and frustrated as she pulls her phone from her pocket.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head as she checks her phone. “Just a friend.”

I shrug easily and grab my beer again while Willow mutes her phone and puts it aside. She smiles apologetically, brushes a strand of hair over her ear, then takes more puppy chow. That electric moment has dissipated, but the tension between is now replaced by something calm and relaxed, something that feels solidly connected in the best way possible.

“How are things going in Vegas?” she asks. “Did you—”

She cuts herself off when the phone vibrates loudly on the metal table.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I put this on silent,” she says, flicking through her phone a little more, then setting it down again.

“It’s going well. I took your advice about the indoor herb garden—though I still don’t know if it’s really the right choice.”

Willow shakes her head with a grin. “It’s the only choice—that’s the problem when you have a restaurant in the middle of a desert. It’s either the indoor garden or coordinating bi-weekly delivery of fresh herbs from around the country along with the rest of the—”

She stops again, noticing my eyes going to the bright light of her phone.

“Maybe you should take that,” I say. “Seems like it might be important.”

Willow anxiously looks at the phone, then back at me.

“Do you mind? I’m sorry. This timing sucks.”

“Please. Go ahead.”

She takes the phone and disappears into the house, and I turn toward the city lights. When Willow returns about fifteen minutes later, she almost clatters the chair over as she tries to pull it out.

“Whoa,” I say, helping her steady the chair and watching her sit, stiff and straight on it. “Everything ok? You look a little…”

“I’m great! Everything’s great…absolutely,” she says quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear rapidly. Her smile looks a little forced now, disappearing as she grabs at her beer like it’s a life raft. She drains it quickly, and then pulls the bottle away from her mouth, gasping for breath.

I watch her for a second, her cheeks flushing a little. “Another?” I suggest.

She nods eagerly and I pop another open for her.

“You sure everything’s ok?” I ask.

“Of course!” Willow says, before taking a long drink of her beer. She waves at the air. “It was nobody. Just a friend. Tony. He’s gay.”

I smile at the notion she might think I’m jealous of a male friend.

“Cool,” I say, nodding at the puppy chow. “How’s he doing? Long time no talk?”

Willow takes one quickly and starts talking, as if uncomfortable with the silence now.

“Um. It’s just…it was nothing. He’s just worried about…something,” she says, rubbing her cheek as she speaks. “He wants me to meet up with him tomorrow morning, to talk. I guess.”

I put a hand on her leg.

“Well I’ll make sure I wake you up early enough, then.”

Willow lets out a short, awkward laugh, and struggles to meet my eye.

“Actually, I should be getting home now. I have some things I need to take care of.” She stands up. “Nothing to do with you, with this. I mean this was amazing, really. The house, the puppy chow…everything. Thank you so much. Sorry I have to run.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say, standing up with her. She still seems skittish, and I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it? You look kinda spooked. Maybe it’s something I can help with?”

Her forced smile is a little more sincere now.

“Thanks, but no. It’s just…a Tony thing. Anyway, I’ll be fine. Let’s do something again soon, okay? And I promise I’ll have this all sorted out by then.”

“Hey,” I say, lifting her chin to me. “Stuff happens. You think I don’t know that? And you don’t have to take a burden all on yourself. I’m here.”

Willow looks at me, less jittery now, melting a bit in the honesty of what I’m saying.

She nods at me and says, “I know. I know you are. It’s just that this is about—”

“Tony—yeah, I got that.”

She laughs a little, and so do I, the awkwardness melting away.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just a me and Tony thing, I guess.”

“Stop apologizing,” I soothe, bringing her face to mine for a soft kiss. “I’ve waited long enough to find you. I can wait another day.”