"You know how to make all that?" I asked.
He laughed. "You thought I survived on cafeteria food and take-out, didn't you? There's more to me than you know, Clarity."
As he rummaged around in the freezer, my eyes dropped to the firm outline of his backside, and I shocked myself. There was no way Ford's mind was anywhere near my thoughts and I was horrified at how out of control I was getting.
"You don't need to go to any trouble." I retreated across the kitchen to lean on the opposite counter.
Ford gathered the ingredients and put them down next to me. Then he leaned in close and smiled down at me. "What if I'm excited to cook for you? Will you let me?"
Words deserted me and my traitorous body lifted a hand to finger his open collar. All I could do was nod.
Ford's breath came faster, but he reached up and opened the cabinet behind me. "Then since we're stuck in this self-imposed quarantine, we might as well relax. Would you like a glass of wine?"
I slipped into the corner between the counter and the sink. Ford followed me and reached behind me again, this time to find two wine glasses. He didn't move to release me as he uncorked the wine on the counter next to me and poured us each a glass of deep-red wine.
"Here's to Ford Bauer, crusader against corruption," I raised my glass in the small space between us.
He tapped his glass against mine and it chimed softly. "What, no more Professor Bauer?"
"You might not be a professor anymore," I said.
Ford took a slow sip of wine and then smiled as he looked at me. He leaned forward again and his voice was as rough and soft as I imagined his stubbled cheek to be. "Why does that suddenly make me so happy?"
"Well, I'm hoping you're a chef instead because I have no idea what to do with any of this," I quipped.
"Want me to show you?" Ford smiled and stepped back. He found a bowl and started thawing the scallops in the sink. Then he unwrapped the steaks and set them to defrost in the microwave.
His kitchen was small but well-equipped. The counters weren't Spartan, but they were meticulously clean, and soon he opened drawers and cupboards and covered the counters with ingredients. There were cutting boards with fresh vegetables and apothecary jars full of spices. In between his whirlwind prep, Ford rushed out to the living room and put on a record.
All I could do was stand back and enjoy the view. Ford was relaxed and his eyes sparkled. It reminded me of when we met at my father's cocktail party, before Ford knew me as a student. When he taught me how to mix up a rub for the steaks, there was no awkwardness between us.
Ford eyed the stovetop as everything sizzled. "Do you think it's enough?" he asked.
I took a long sip of wine. "I think it is an amazing last meal," I joked.
"You're right," Ford chuckled. "We might as well go all out. How about a fire in the fireplace?"
"I can do that. At least let me help with something." I marched over to his fireplace and grinned. His bare apartment was deceiving, he had everything we needed and more. The pine logs were dry, there was a neat stack of kindling, and the matches were long-handled and easy to strike.
When I turned around, Ford was smoothing a white sheet over the coffee table. "It's brand new," he said, "just out of the package." He shoved the rest of the sheet set underneath the sofa and then placed two sterling silver candleholders on the coffee table.
I helped set the table and my hands trembled as I set down our wine glasses. Ford brought in our plates and my mouth watered as he sat down on the floor next to me. Buttery scallops nestled next to spice-rubbed steaks and a crisp green salad. The breadsticks were warm and toasty from the oven.
Ford watched me take the first bite of perfectly grilled steak. My eyes rolled up to the ceiling as I savored it and a small moan escaped my lips. His fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. "So, what do you think? Can I be a chef instead of a professor?"
I murmured my agreement through a large bite of scallop. "How about you skip the chef part and just be my personal kitchen slave," I said.
His eyes darkened to midnight blue and Ford reached out to brush his finger over my lower lip. "I know I'm not supposed to say it, but I think I'd be happy being your personal anything," he said.
I laid my fork down before I dropped it. "You would?"
Ford brushed his thumb over my lower lip again. "You know, I pretty sure my department head has already left a voicemail firing me. I'm not your professor anymore."
I dipped my chin and kissed his passing fingers. "I'm not your student anymore either."
He pulled back his hand with a sharp intake of breath. "You know, even if I was still employed by Landsman College, I don't think I could let that stop me." Ford took a swig of wine. "I'd have to go to the administration and declare our relationship."
"Wait, you can do that?" I asked.