Free Man Candy by Melanie Harlow

out yeast, flour, sugar, sea
    salt, and olive oil, setting them on the
    counter. Next, I found a mixing bowl and
    liquid measuring cup in a cupboard and
    ran the tap to warm up the water.
    I couldn’t stop smiling.
    When was the last time I’d felt this
    happy? Before my mom died? I couldn’t
    even remember. In general, I was an
    upbeat person who managed to find
    silver linings and didn’t tend to fret over
    things I couldn’t change, but it had been
    a while since I’d felt this good. Was it
    because I hadn’t had sex in months and
    had broken a rare dry spell? Or was it
    her?
    I thought about it as I whisked
    together the dry ingredients, then added
    the water and olive oil. I’d figured sex
    would be good with her—not only was
    she smoking hot and temperamental, but
    we’d wanted it for so long—what I
    hadn’t counted on was how much fun it
    would be. How much I’d enjoy the
    challenge of her. How much I was
    hoping she’d want to do it again later
    tonight (and for fuck’s sake, let me take
    some time with it…there were all sorts
    of ways I wanted to please her), and then
    again in the morning before she left for
    work.
    Of course, that was before I knew
    about her No Sleepover rule. I’d have to
    work on that, but not tonight. She’d only
    turn me down, and I’d learned it was
    better to let her come looking for things.
    Shaking my head, I laughed out loud
    thinking about the way I’d discovered
    her in the closet. It was so ridiculous.
    No complaints about where it went after
    that, though.
    Jaime appeared in the kitchen
    doorway a few minutes later, a bottle of
    wine in her hands and an amused
    expression on her face. “From the
    sounds coming through the floor up
    there, I thought maybe the ghost of Prince
    was down here cooking me dinner.”
    “Alas. It’s only me.” I wiped my
    hands, crossed myself, and glanced
    skyward before turning the volume
    down. “Rest in peace, brother.”
    She opened a drawer and looked in.
    “Oh good, you do have a corkscrew,”
    she said, pulling it out. “I couldn’t
    remember if there was one here.”
    “How come so much stuff was left
    when the former tenant moved out?” I
    grabbed the biggest bowl I had and
    greased it with olive oil.
    “She found a job in London, where
    her boyfriend was, and moved in with
    him, poor girl. She didn’t want to take
    all this stuff since she knew she
    wouldn’t need it, so we said it was OK
    to leave things.” She uncorked the bottle
    and poured red wine into two glasses.
    “Once she was gone, I came in and
    cleaned and organized everything. I’m
    glad it worked out for you.”
    “Me too.” I put the dough in the bowl
    and covered it with a towel. “I only had
    to take a few boxes from storage. God, I
    missed having a kitchen.”
    “So you’re a good cook, huh?” she
    asked, handing me a glass.
    I shrugged. “I’m OK. My mom taught
    me a few things growing up, and while
    she lived with me in L.A. we’d cook
    together when she felt up to it. Not that
    she ate much.”
    “Your mom was a great cook.”
    “She was.” I took a drink. “Want to
    go sit down? We need to let the dough
    rise for a while.”
    “OK.” She followed me into the
    living room, where we settled next to
    each other on the couch. The curtains
    were open, and we both stared out at the
    snow for a moment.
    “My mom actually liked winter,” I
    said. “It’s one of the reasons she never
    wanted to move away from here.”
    “You must miss her.”
    “Every day,” I said. “I feel like I
    didn’t get enough time with her, you
    know? It’s like, when you’re young, you
    can’t wait to get away from home, and
    it’s only later that you appreciate what
    your mom—or dad, or whoever raised
    you—did for you. Only later that you
    realize you should have listened closer,
    that you weren’t done learning from
    them, that you still have questions about
    life.”
    She nodded, looking over at me.
    “What would you ask her now if