on the way [kate]

Another lazy puff of smoke wafted out from between Noah’s lips as his tattooed hands made quick work of chopping mushrooms. The radio was playing in the background -- or, foreground, really, at this volume -- to which the American was bobbing his head and swaying his hips with little rhythm. He paused his knife work to withdraw the joint from between his lips, exhaling properly in a concentrated stream to his side. He wasn’t technically supposed to smoke in the shared areas of the apartment, but what Emma and Harri didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt -- right?

There was a knock at the door. Noah set the knife down and made his way to it. Right before he grabbed the handle he remembered the ‘no smoking inside’ rule and hid the suspicious-looking cigarette behind his back, opening the door in the same moment he coughed into his shoulder.

As he brought his attention to the person on the threshold he almost choked again. “Uhh,” he stared at the petite brunette in the doorway. “Hi,” he said -- he recognised her, she was Emma’s (very pretty, off limits) friend -- Kate -- with a funny smile on his lips. “You uhh, looking for Emma?” he asked, belatedly noticing her muted demeanour; his smile slipped from his features and he chewed on his lip instead. Hopefully this wasn't more breakup stuff. He'd heard bits and pieces between Emma's party and the subsequent times he'd come home from work to find Kate hanging out with his flatmates. “She’s out but-- you can wait here, if you want? I’m just making some lunch. Come in.”

He abandoned the door, letting her close it behind her, as he moved to the radio to turn the volume down a bit, automatically taking another drag before realising Emma’s friend might tell Emma. “Uhh, let’s… not mention this to Emma?” he grinned cheekily, pleading, tapping it out on the tray.

The New Yorker strode back to the kitchen and picked up his knife again. On the flour-dusted bench were three pizza bases rolled out fresh, with bowls holding various ingredients. If he was making fresh pizza, Noah liked to make a few different flavour combinations. He saw the brunette come closer out of the corner of his eye as he chopped some peppers. “You want some?” He put the knife down and picked up the tomato sauce, beginning to spread it over the bases.


@Kate Baker

Kate had been hanging out with Emma a lot, especially since her birthday, and because she was still spending a decent amount of time in London (despite temporary accommodations--that she was looking about changing to permanent ones), it was nice to feel like she still had a support system here. Would have been great to have that during the rocky part of her marriage, but she had been self-isolating and had known exactly what any of her friends would say if she’d disclosed her marriage woes to them. Perhaps that was another reason she had so highly idealized her relationship with Charlie over anything else. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter, she’d told herself. They wouldn’t understand.

Maybe they understood more than Kate was willing to admit. She exhaled, heavy up against the door she’d just knocked on, in her leggings, sneakers and baggy sweatshirt (prime drinking attire, obviously) and waited for Emma to answer the door.

Normally, her friend wasn’t home from work yet at this time in the afternoon, but it was a Saturday, so if she was going out Kate assumed (at this point in their friendship, perhaps presumptively so) that she would have been invited. Unless she was going on a date or something, and in which case, she’d definitely be showing up at a later time to press her for details. Investing in someone else’s dating life right now besides her own might’ve been a good idea.

She smiled wide, all teeth, expecting to see her lovely friend standing at the threshold as the door unlatched and saw Emma’s roommate, Noah, instead. With something behind his back. It was pluming smoke from back there and she could smell that it wasn’t a regular cigarette. Kate’s eyebrow rose. Emma was very much on the straight and narrow, as she’d told Kate, so she wondered if she was aware of her roommate’s habits--not that she was about to rat anybody out and stir the pot.

She’d met Noah at Emma’s party and had known he existed before that, but she hadn’t had any one on one contact with him, really. He seemed nice enough. Kate slipped through the entrance to her friend’s apartment without another thought and closed the door behind her. “Um, yeah, sure. No mentions to Emma. I try not to bring it up, myself.” Kate offered a nod and followed him to the kitchen to locate the source of the smell--fresh vegetables?

“Oh, yeah, I mean. I would love some, if you’ll have extra.” She beamed at him. Pizza sounded delicious. “Do you… cook? Often?” Obviously, he did, if he was here alone in the middle of the day doing it without any (expected) girls to impress.

“Oh, you partake?” he grinned, disbelieving; Kate looked too squeaky clean to be into anything other than like, rosé, he thought, but he also knew not to judge a book by it’s cover.

Noah spread sauce over each of the bases, then picked up the cheese and sprinkled that across -- careful to achieve the optimum ratio of cheese-sauce-base. “Yeah?” he smiled, “For sure, I usually get full after two,” he joked, his full lips curling up into a teasing smirk.

Did he cook often? It almost hurt his feelings that Emma had failed to talk about him so much that Kate didn’t even know what he did for a living, but he supposed -- from what he’d heard -- the other American had plenty on her plate (no pun intended) as it was. “Uh, yeah, I’m-- it’s kind of my job,” he said, not unkindly. “I work at a restaurant,” he expanded, careful not to big himself up too much in case she expected a Michelin star meal.

“What toppings you want?” he asked, gesturing at the myriad of bowls in front of him. He began tearing some prosciutto and laying that on one of the pizzas, then adding some arugula. His eyes drifted over her as she pulled one of the bar stools out to sit at the bench; even in around-the-house kind of clothes she looked good. He glanced down quickly at his own attire -- basketball shorts and a t-shirt -- and felt confident he wasn’t pulling it off quite so well.

He grabbed the feta and cut off a wedge to crumble over the top, before chopping up some dried figs to add to his first creation. “You and Emma gonna have a girls night?”

“Yeah, I. Yeah, I do.” She smiled at him sheepishly. Kate supposed it was a little weird she smoked, because she didn’t wear… baggy tie-dyed t-shirts or long crew socks with basketball shorts. Almost Noah’s outfit to a tee, actually. She pressed her lips together to avoid laughing. Her first experience hadn’t been a very good one (thankfully Charlie was there to make sure she didn’t keel over) but Kate was learning tips and tricks as she went.

She did laugh, though, when he told her he usually got full after two. “Two slices? Two pizzas? Guess if they’re mini pizzas that isn’t so bad, but.” Insecurity crept into her chest. His job? Was he like a chef at a restaurant where the portions were dime-sized and covered in strings of sauce nobody knew what they were? “Oh. Like a. Chef?” Kate asked and cleared her throat, retrieving a barstool from under the kitchen counter to take a seat with one leg stretched out at a weird angle. “I like to cook, too, but I haven’t. Been like, trained or anything. Just with la chancla when I messed up.” She grinned. “Like a. Flip flop to the head or the ear or whatever.”

“Um, surprise me. Whatever you want,” Kate shrugged. When she thought a little more about it, she was pretty hungry. She hadn’t fed herself today, really, so it would be nice to get some food in her stomach before she drank any more. Thanks to a charm, she pulled a bottle of wine out of her pocket, (the rose variety) and shook it around at him. “Do you have a corkscrew? I’m not sure how late Emma is going to be, but. Since you’re cooking.”

A girls night. More like I show up and cry about my divorce and then we get drunk and laugh at stupid stuff, but sort of. “Kinda, yeah. We’ve been hanging out a lot. She’s been good to me, since I’ve been. In short supply of company in London, lately.” Kate tried to keep it vague. She was sure Noah didn’t want to hear all about her relationship problems--they barely knew each other, apart from the small encounters in group settings they’d had before.

“Usually we just kind of. Drink and talk about stuff.” She made a face, indicating how casual their ‘girls’ nights’ almost always were, unless they went out. Then it was slightly more of an affair. For fun. “Pretty lowkey. And less expensive.” Not that money was an object to Kate, but she’d learned British people didn’t necessarily appreciate wealthier friends offering to pay for things and the like, and she preferred not to accidentally insult the few people who still liked her. So, instead of making friends with more vapid rich people (she knew enough of those, thanks to parties, publicity events and more) she was perfectly content doing “normal people” things.

Noah’s eyebrows rose in unison. “Really?” He pushed his bottom lip out and nodded. “Sick.”

“Two slices, gotta watch my waist,” he joked, twisting a little on the spot as if showing it off, then laughed. “No, I usually eat like, I dunno, the equivalent of one pizza but I don’t want all one flavour, you know?” He gestured with one finger at the bases in front of him; “Besides, these are like, baby pizzas. You’ve had real New York pizza right?” He missed it dearly, and this was probably the closest he got to, but his versions were indeed smaller than the kind he’d learnt to make in Brooklyn -- the disadvantages of not having a commercial size oven in the flat.

Noah put the first pizza in the oven, then turned back and glanced up at Kate. “Like a chef, yeah,” he smirked, sprinkling some pepperoni and mushroom on the next pizza. He looked up at her and laughed. “Damn, by who?” He’d never been hit with anything by his mother, or anyone in a kitchen -- except a wound-up teatowel on the backside but that was a different story. “Well, I learnt on the job. Jobs,” he admitted. “Started washing the dishes, worked my way up.” He stared down at his pepperoni and mushroom pizza for a second before deciding to keep it simple. He flicked his eyes back to Kate. “What do you like cooking?”

He chewed on his lip for a second, smiling through it, before giving a solid nod. “Alright. Not allergic to anything, right?” He looked at his remaining ingredients before grabbing some leftover cooked chicken, peppers, mushrooms, spinach, almonds and avocado, and assembling the pizza. “Yeah,” he paused what he was doing to reach into a drawer and extricate the corkscrew, paused again and retrieved one-- no, two wine glasses from the cupboard next to the hob. He handed everything over to her, his tattoo-spangled arms reaching over the width of the bench with ease.

Noah finished putting the third pizza together and started tidying up; putting what he hadn’t used back in the fridge and clearing empty bowls into the sink for later. Kate said she was in short supply of company and it took every ounce of willpower for Noah not to leap forward and volunteer. “Well,” he started, “Emma’s a cool chick.”

“Lowkey,” he grinned, recalling the somewhat offkey singing he’d heard from the safety of his bedroom the last time she’d been here. “Drinking and talking is good, get it all out, you know--” He grimaced and made a point of crouching to look at the oven and pizza number one’s progress. He hadn’t meant to admit to knowing anything about Kate’s relationship -- or lack of, or whatever -- because all he knew so far had come from Emma, and he didn’t want to get her in trouble.

Noah looked so passionate as he spoke about New York pizza (which, she’d give it to him--she’d heard it was absolutely delicious) that Kate feared breaking the news to him that she’d never tried it. “I actually haven’t,” She began with her best apologetic expression. “I lived in New York for a few months part time, just a little while ago, while my sister was in a ballet there.” Best to leave out the reasons she’d moved back or that her family was wealthy enough to float her multiple places of residence at a time. For now. Of course she’d be honest if he asked her any further questions.

“My aunts. My dad’s mom. She doesn’t visit much now, luckily, but. Mostly them.” Kate grinned. Her mother wasn’t exactly the type to lash out violently, but she did have quite a few family members who erred on the side of toxic tradition, so avoiding la chancla was unfortunately never guaranteed for learning girls. “They’re dang good cooks, so it was mostly worth it.” Kate smiled at him and leaned on her palm, propped up by her elbow on the countertop. She remembered talking to him at Emma’s birthday and being refreshed that someone cared enough to whisk her away from those entirely overstimulating boys--Danny and Jeremy, if she recalled correctly. Kate could feel her batteries draining every second she’d spent around them.

“I don’t know how to cook much without practice except for Mexican food, some easy Italian food, and a few traditional English dishes. I can do, like, hippie stuff like salads and smoothies and stuff too, but Mexican food is what I grew up learning how to cook. My family’s from Mexico,” She added. Her first and last name as they appeared on paper right now didn’t exactly assist anyone to intuit that information.

Kate took the glassware and the corkscrew from him and set to work. “No, no allergies,” She confirmed with him absently as she concentrated, trying not to let the bottle slip and fling glass and wine all over the floor. When she’d been married to Charlie, she always made him open wine bottles for her. She wasn’t great at it.

Task clumsily completed, Kate looked obviously pleased with herself. “Sorry if you don’t like girly wine,” She apologized for her choice in beverage, though she didn’t exactly know why as she hadn’t purchased for his benefit, and slid his glass over the bench to him. Her face fell slack as he talked to her about getting it all out. Oh. Emma must have given him some kind of inkling, or maybe he’d been in his room while she vented to her friend. Kate hadn’t thought of that.

“I…. oh. Did she tell you?” Contrasting to her petite stature, she took a gigantic drink of wine after asking and finished annihilating almost half her glass with another. “I know you guys are close and stuff. I just, it’s. I don’t talk about it a lot with anyone, and Emma has been. A real confidant for me. She’s great.”

“You what?” Noah’s face contorted to show his disbelief. He was about to reason (internally) that perhaps she’d never been to New York, but then she revealed that she’d lived there and he was horrified all over again. “You lived there and you didn’t get pizza?” She at least had the decency to look apologetic about it, but he wasn’t mad -- if anything he thought she was missing out. “Not even once?” He glanced down at the two prepped pizzas he had ready to go in the oven when the first one was done. “This won’t be as good but, wow, you gotta try it next time you’re there.”

“Oh, right.” He couldn’t imagine his Mom or his Grandma or literally anyone in his family hitting him -- not properly, especially. He was kind of hoping Kate was exaggerating for dramatic effect but he decided not to ask and find out. He nodded. “Well you can cook for me next time,” he smirked. She listed her repertoire and he smiled. “Maybe you can give me some tips -- I can impress the boss,” he offered, raising an eyebrow at her. “I cook Mexican at work, but I grew up on like, Italian and some Jewish food even though my family aren’t Jewish. Think it’s a New York thing, I dunno.”

Noah watched Kate out of the corner of his eye as she opened the bottle -- considered pausing what he was doing to offer her some assistance but not wanting to treat her like she couldn’t do it because she was a girl. She popped the cork out finally and poured. His mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Is there manly wine?” he teased, reaching to take the glass from her. “Thanks.” he mumbled, taking a sip.

Fuck, he hadn’t meant to bring that up. He especially didn’t want to drop Emma in it. “Uhh, no, she— she hasn’t told me anything apart from you breaking up with your boyfriend.” Well, she’d told him Kate was going through a breakup, way back in March, he thought it was, and Noah had filled in the gaps. “Must’ve been serious?” he ventured, given that it was now June and she was still upset about it. He could sympathise, he supposed, but—

“Holy shit,” he murmured as she drained half her glass. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. He wondered whether to admit to overhearing other snippets of conversation in between sneaking to the bathroom or kitchen from his bedroom while they occupied the lounge, but thought better of it. He waited a beat before turning and bringing the first pizza out, sliding it onto the large board on the bench and getting the second pizza in the oven before coming back to start cutting the cooked one into slices. “Emma is great,” he agreed, picking the conversation back up. “She helped me out when I broke up with my ex too.” He grabbed two plates and put a slice of the fig and prosciutto pizza on one for Kate, passing it over to her.

“No,” Kate replied, practically laden with trepidation. She had to laugh halfway through her frown, though, because he was placing such high value on pizza. Pizza wasn’t Kate’s favorite, if she were being totally honest, but she felt a weird kind of need to impress Noah, whether it was with her cuisine choices or who she was as a person. The small interactions they’d had led her to believe that he was a good person--Emma probably wouldn’t hang around him if he wasn’t--and she could use more friends right now, even if they were going to be far away. Her gut clenched as she thought of being isolated with only her family in California. Perhaps it was best to keep her foot wedged in the door of this part of her life.

It felt too soon to tell Noah that a major reason she’d not ventured out for a slice of New York was that she just hadn’t been hungry. Reasons Kate wasn’t eating tended to vary, but that time it had been a mixture of them.

“I’m kinda nervous to cook for you, I haven’t had any formal training. You might still be better at it than me.” She was referencing Mexican food specifically, of course. She hadn’t really learnt to cook anything by recipe, more just by watching and mimicking and eventually developing her own tastes for things. Even if the methods the women in her family used while she was growing up (and still, sometimes) weren’t the healthiest, she had to thank them for the skills they’d provided her with. It wasn’t as satisfying, not to have someone else eating her cooking, but it sure helped her survive on her own, just like so many other things she’d learned from them as a young girl. Kate offered him a smile as she daydreamed of small acts of service and said, “You’re welcome.”

He made her laugh again, the second time within just a couple of minutes, and Kate couldn’t believe herself. She felt slightly slutty. Her cheeks were flushing. She’d never been the type of girl to titter away at guys’ jokes, and she’d never fallen all over herself to look good in front of them, either. She knew that guzzling wine when she had almost nothing in her stomach was a chief contributor to her predicament, and Kate didn’t miss the comment he made under his breath. Great, he thinks you’re a giggly annoying weirdo who’s also an alcoholic. Strong start to this friendship.

Kate slowed down and took obviously daintier sips after that. “Uh, yeah, we were married, so.” Her delivery suggested this was something she could brush off relatively simply, but any functioning human being would probably understand that a few-months-fresh divorce wasn’t a subject one could easily be cavalier about. “Maybe Emma should be a therapist,” Kate shrugged and finagled a piece of the pizza he was handing over to her off the tray. She didn’t hesitate before she took a bite and wasted even less time making a noise she hoped would communicate how delicious it really was. “This is so good, I’m definitely never cooking anything for you,”

The witch laughed a third time, in true desperado fashion, but at least managed to wait until her bite was no longer in her mouth. “I’m sorry, I. Get super annoying whenever I’ve had anything to drink, so I’ll try to eat faster than I’m drinking this,” She tinkled a fingernail against the body of her wine glass. It didn't occur to her that he might've been familiar, especially since they'd spent some time together already, at Emma's birthday party.

“Okay, you need to promise me right now that when you go back you try it. I’m serious, pinky swear right now.” He held his tattooed hand out, little finger extended.

Noah smiled lopsidedly. “I’m sure you cook great.” He would try not to focus on the fact that she’d quickly agreed to do so for him, which meant they’d get to hang out again. He supposed even if Emma was there, he wouldn’t mind. In between work he didn’t have the most opportunities to meet people, so the small handful of friends he’d amassed in London could do with being added to -- he liked spending time with Emma, but she had other friends too and it wasn’t like he could just tag along with her forever. “Just go easy on the jalapeños for me,” he smirked.

Kate laughed and Noah grinned back at her. He had another sip of rosé, then another, a little larger, trying to catch up with her but struggling a little with the sweetness. He regarded the glass with a degree of judgement; “It’s definitely not manly,” he let out a light laugh. “It’s not bad though,” he added, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

We were married. Noah blanched, trying to reconcile that information without giving too much away via facial expressions. Kate didn’t look old enough to have been married, let alone divorced, too. “Wow, uh,” he cleared his throat. “I, um, didn’t realise…” he trailed off. “Shit. Sorry.” Now he really felt like a dick for bringing it up. She was acting nonchalant about it but Noah knew she’d been going through a rough time -- he hadn’t been eavesdropping, the walls were just kind of thin in this apartment, so when she was upset and telling Emma stuff he tended to hear everything if he was home. Clearly he’d missed the ‘divorce’ memo.

If Kate didn’t want to get sucked into talking about it right now though, he wasn’t going to argue. “Yeah, maybe she should,” he smiled smally, picking up a slice of pizza and biting into it. He was halfway through when she let out a noise of satisfaction. He grinned at her, pizza slice still in his mouth. He tore a mouthful off and chewed, the smirk still evident on his lips. “This isn’t even like, as good as New York pizza,” he said solemnly, gesturing as he spoke with his pizza slice.

His brow furrowed. “You’re not annoying me,” he said honestly. “But I won’t tell you to slow down,” he grinned. “We’ve got two more pizzas to get through.” With that, he finished his slice and pulled the next one out, replacing it in the oven with the last, before coming back to cut the mushroom and pepperoni one up.

His enthusiasm for New York style pizza warranted a pinky promise, even. “Severe,” Kate responded with a grin, “Pinky promises are a big deal.” She held her finger out even still, curling around his pinky (that was twice as long, almost) with her own and feeling a tangible zap between them. Like, actually. “Shit, I’m sorry, I shocked you,” Kate frowned and grabbed him, turning his palm over in hers and examining it like there was something to look for. Kate didn’t think you could see electricity unless it was in the sky, based on her limited experience with it, but somehow, holding his hand in hers and looking at it felt like it would communicate her concern.

After a minute of dragging her gaze up and down his palm, front and back, she returned his hand to him and shook her head. “Sorry, I. Don’t know where that even came from,” He could interpret whether or not she meant the shock or spending a really long time staring at him like a freak.

“Oh, come on. You know jalapenos aren’t that spicy, especially not when they’ve been cooked,” Kate frowned, and a funny little smile was playing around on the corners of her lips. He made her smile effortlessly, based on the few interactions they’d had. Such a thing was easy for her to notice, when she hadn’t been laughing or smiling in buckets the last few months. Noah was a breath of fresh air, as far as she was concerned--they seemed to naturally get along, and she felt next to normal around him.

“And it’s okay. You must not read the papers very much,” Kate said off the cuff, and then realized she might’ve revealed too much by insinuating that information about her divorce would’ve been in the Prophet. And magazines. And every other printed medium, for that matter. It was nice that Noah didn’t have any preconceived notions about her character based on that.

Kate took another nibble of her pizza and shook her head, “Mm-mm. Don’t be so hard on yourself, this is really tasty. Would definitely eat again.” She giggled with her mouth full. Attractive. She washed it down with another sip of rose and finished off her glass; she didn’t waste any time refilling it. With more wine, this time. Kate was pretty confident Noah wouldn’t pull any funny business.

“I like the sweet, girly cocktails and wine, but I also like, I dunno. Black tea and stuff. Not black coffee, though.” She pressed her lips together and thought about how she’d break the news to her new friend that she might not be able to get through another piece, let alone another pizza entirely. “Ummm. I kind of eat like a bird, but I’ll. Make my best effort. I might need to drink more to turn on my auto-pilot.”

“I know they are so you better not break it,” he said solemnly, holding her gaze. His serious expression eventually gave way to a beaming smile as their little fingers curled together -- and hers was especially little. Noah drew back an inch at the static electricity before Kate deftly took his hand in hers, delicately turning it to check for damage that wasn’t there -- but he wasn’t about to stop her. “It’s alright, didn’t hurt,” he grinned lopsidedly.

While she was distracted with his digits, he was distracted by her face. He’d thought she was pretty from the first time he’d seen her, but he was closer now and didn’t look like so much of a creep if she caught him staring. “You alright?” he smirked softly.

Kate let go of his hand and Noah went back to slicing up the second pizza -- pepperoni and mushroom -- trying not to overthink how her hands had felt on his or the way her brow furrowed when she concentrated. He left the pizza on the board for Kate to help herself to if she wanted another slice, and picked up one for himself. He gave her a look. “They are a little spicy,” he argued, half-smiling, still chewing— then swallowed abruptly when he realised how rude that was. Shit. He had a gulp of wine to wash it down. “I don’t mind spicy, just not like, so much you can’t taste the flavours, you know?” He winced belatedly at the sweetness of the wine.

The papers? “Uhh, no not really,” he admitted, trying not to look confused. Noah wasn’t a newspaper reader -- or an anything reader, really. Reading was not his thing. Still, that was an odd thing to say, wasn’t it? That her divorce would be in the papers? He tried to think back to what little snippets he’d gleamed about Kate and her ex-boy— husband. Music industry. Right. He wanted to probe -- morbid curiosity -- but something told him now wasn’t the time and place.

“Oh, I know this is good,” he grinned, “but New York pizza is like, ten times better, at least.” He chewed on his lip. “I’ll make it for you again then,“ he offered, turning to withdraw the last pizza and turn the oven off.

Sweet, girly cocktails. “Uh huh,” he smirked. “I don’t like tea. Not the kind they drink here anyway,” he shrugged. “I like chai tea. Well, it’s chai, isn’t it? Chai means tea, apparently.” He was rambling. He cleared his throat and cut up his final creation, leaning over to take her plate so he could put a slice on it for her. “You have to try this one,” he insisted with a smile, “trust me. More wine first if you want but you gotta try it.”

Kate cleared her throat after another decidedly large swallow of wine. She was getting drunk a lot lately, and every time she did she was moderately concerned with herself and her recent tendencies--she wondered if that was sort of an indicator she wasn’t actually an alcoholic. Maybe it was only habitual and due to her current situation. She supposed she’d be able to tell when she came out on the other side, and until then, she really had enough to worry about, right? Like finding places to put down roots. Finding a rabbit trail of a career that she could use to occupy herself. Kate couldn’t stand to run in the same circles as her ex forever.

“I. What? Yeah, I’m fine.” She bumbled over her words. His voice was quieter when he asked if she was alright, and her response was frantic and jarred in return. Kate wasn’t used to tender moments like this anymore, all of them were disjointed and heavy and sad. What a shell of itself her life had become.

The jalapeno conversation had her grinning again, leaning on her closed fist on the countertop, and she raised her eyebrows in jest. “Sounds like a cheffy thing to say, being so concerned with. Flavors and stuff. Maybe it’s because I’m Mexican, but like, spicy things almost enhance flavors for me sometimes? I guess it depends on the dish,” Kate conceded.

He obviously had significant training on the subject and most likely knew more about food and ingredients than she did. She had a weird thing for having relationships (any kind) with men who had specialized experience in particular areas--often shared areas, so they could teach her things. Women, too, but they ended up being on the maternal end of the teaching spectrum. It was kind of a different vibe with the opposite sex, or at least, she thought so. Slightly more disjointed, and required more leaps of faith. She thought to herself that women were probably the superior teachers in terms of efficiency and effectiveness, but men could be more entertaining trying to impart their knowledge to others. And it was hands on a lot of the time. She liked that.

Kate decided very consciously not to go into more detail about the papers. If he still didn’t know the extent of how much of a disaster her divorce had been and was, then she wasn’t going to burden him with the information. Unless she was asked. She wouldn’t lie in that case--that didn’t seem like a very good foundation to a friendship, either.

“You’ll have to teach me next time you make it. We can do like a… dual dinner. Some stuff from Mexico, I teach you that, and you show me how to make the New York pizza.” She nodded and smiled over the bar at him. “I love chai! I like it iced better than hot, but I’m from California, so I prefer all my drinks iced. Even in like, two degree weather.” Her face scrunched up around her nose and the corners of her eyes as she laughed this time, and Kate set her glass down on the counter to pick up the newest pizza and try the slice he’d plopped on her plate.

It was just as delicious as the last she’d tried, if not more, and she made sure to show him with her expression and hums of approval. “Delectable.” Kate did her best imitation of the Italian kiss thing.

“More wine always, these days. Did you have plans for after this? I can get out of here if you need to go to sleep.” It was still early, but she wasn't sure what his work schedule was like.  “Maybe Emma’s got… plans. I did kinda just like, barge in here without double checking.”

He had only been gently teasing her about how distracted she’d seemed by his hands, not accusing her of anything, so her panicky response caused him to frown softly. Noah had assumed the static shock was just a good, convenient excuse to take a closer look at his tattoos -- nothing more, why would she be interested in him? So soon after a breakup— divorce -- but now he was wondering what had been going through her mind to make her react that way.

“Well, I am cheffy,” he grinned, putting his speculating aside for the time being. “Used right spice definitely enhances flavour,” he agreed, “but some people are more like, concerned with showing off how much they can handle instead of like, what it does for the dish—” He had started gently ranting; he flashed her an apologetic grimace-cum-grin. “Sorry.”

Kate didn’t respond to his lack of newspaper reading and Noah didn’t think it was because she was offended by his zero knowledge on the subject of her divorce. It had only been a couple of months ago, if he was remembering right -- Emma had mentioned the ‘breakup’ was right before her party, and that was… in April, so… Noah hadn’t been through anything that serious, but he’d taken a few months to get over a regular breakup before, so he could imagine… kinda.

Right after he’d offered to make her pizza again he’d realised that it sounded presumptuous -- cocky -- and had hidden his face in the oven as he silently admonished himself for being such a dick. Kate either hadn’t picked up on it, or she was an expert at glossing over things. “Sure, I want all the tips and tricks,” he said, smiling back sincerely. “It’s great, right?” he beamed, eyebrows up -- glad someone finally agreed with him, everyone here preferred English Breakfast or Earl Grey -- real tea, apparently. He laughed. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to tell these guys for months iced tea is better.”

Noah watched Kate, a little anxiously, as she tried the last of his creations -- the one he’d tried to pack flavours he thought she might like into: peppers, avocado, healthy stuff like spinach, some almonds for crunch. His mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Good.”

She said more wine and Noah looked around for the bottle, topping her up before adding a tiny splash more into his glass (he hadn’t gotten as far into his). “What? No,” he shook his head, “I’m off tonight, dunno where Emma is…” He met Kate’s eyes and thought they were on the same page there, maybe. A tiny smirk crept onto his features before he banished it. “I think Harri’s on a night shift,” he added, pressing his lips together and rolling them in as he realised they were on their own until Emma returned from… wherever she was. Noah hadn’t asked.

There was a small smile growing on Kate’s lips, and the longer he talked about spicy food, the larger it became. “Uh huh,” She encouraged until he came to a stop in the middle of his very small, good-natured tirade. “Well. I can’t say I can relate to that. My cousins and I would have competitions about who could eat the biggest chunk of a chili pepper and I usually lost, but.” She shrugged. “We had to make use of the distractions we had, I guess.”

Kate realized this was misleading and probably made her sound like she’d grown up in poverty--she hadn’t--but she hadn’t exactly grown up spoiled, either. Not in the sense that she’d been given everything she asked for immediately when she asked for it. She knew that not everybody even eventually got the things they asked for, but things weren’t the important part of living, were they? Despite having to work hard and learn things about being an independent person as a child, Kate knew her perspective on all of this might’ve been skewed differently if she had grown up with less. She’d never had to doubt where food was going to come from or how the mortgage was going to get paid, only getting hit with a ratty flip-flop when she didn’t do as she was told.

“Where have I been?” Kate parroted back to him with a bigger smile still, rolling her lips together as she thought about how to put the answer to that question. “Back and forth, a little bit. I was spending some more time with my family for awhile, but I’m hanging around London some more again because I miss my friends, and. It can be… exhausting, to deal with family after a big life change like that.” Her eyes fell down to the counter and she fiddled with the rings on her fingers, none of which were her favorite one, but they gave her something to play with when she was nervous.

“I am, uh… so full,” She grinned, dopey and slightly sloshed, in her counterpart’s direction. “I think maybe it would be stupid for me to apparate right now, but I’m also tempted to like… drink more.” Kate made a face that suggested she was both humored and embarrassed by herself. She hadn’t brought another wine bottle with her, though, and this one was empty. God, she was such a silly girl; she should have declined his offer for food and left him alone.

“I guess I could walk, it’s still daylight, or. We can. Hang out for a little longer, if I’m not bothering you.” Kate hadn’t meant that to be passive aggressive, and she wasn’t fishing for compliments or anything like that, but she didn’t want to wear on her (brand new) friend if she could help it. Emma was used to her stupidity, Noah probably wasn’t.

Noah pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, half-hiding a grin. “You’d probably still kick my ass,” he offered, hoping to distract her a little from wherever her thoughts had taken her.

“Yeah,” he smiled back at her. It had been a rhetorical question but he kind of liked that she was answering him anyway. He picked up another slice of pizza -- the fig and prosciutto one -- and munched on it while she spoke. Noah let her finish, then finished his mouthful before responding; “So your family still in—” he hesitated, if only to make it seem like he had to try and remember, “— California, wasn’t it?”

He had some more wine -- noted that it was getting a little easier to drink with every sip. He glanced back at Kate. “I, uh— I haven’t been home yet, since moving here. Like I get letters and send them stuff back but...” he trailed off. “I get what you mean, the big change thing.” Except he’d had a breakup, not a divorce. “Sorta,” he added quickly. “I mean, the moving was… you know, the big thing. I’d never left the East Coast before.” Noah grabbed for his glass and had another gulp. “Cool that you’re sticking around though,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze before busying himself with putting some of the ingredients he’d used away.

“Already?” he all but complained. He was promptly sidetracked from his grief (the poor pizza, destined to be but a leftover) by her follow-up admission. Statement? Whatever it was. “Oh,” he said, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. “Well, you’re welcome to hang out, you know, Emma will get home at some point.” He needed to stop mentioning Emma if he ever wanted them to have a standalone friendship. His eyes slowly panned across to the bottle that had somehow been depleted in no time at all. “Wow,” he breathed. “Uh, we’ve… probably got something here, if you want more?”

He had turned to start rummaging in cupboards, but spun back to face Kate sharply when she suggested she walk home. “No—” he started, perhaps a little firmly, loudly, “I— just mean, no, you shouldn’t… walk,” he ended weakly. It wasn’t dark, but he definitely hadn’t made as much of a dent in that bottle as she had and he didn’t want her walking home alone drunk. Didn’t sound very cool and chill to say that though, did it?

He cleared his throat. “You’re not bothering me.” They stared at one another for a moment, then he’d reached his awkwardness quota and he went back to finding some more alcohol. “I think there’s a bottle of tequila here somewhere,” he murmured, mostly to himself, then made a triumphant “Aha!” noise when he found it, wedged behind the bag of potatoes. He emerged, holding the bottle aloft by the base, grinning widely. “Sí or no?”