“You say that now,” Joseph replied with a smirk, sneaking in for a quick kiss. “But, full disclosure, I’m only 95% sure that steak is actually cooked to medium-rare. So… you know, there’s always a chance for disappointment.”
He waited for her to take a seat before he helped scooch her chair in, then rounded the table to take his seat across from her, all the while quelling his father’s voice in his head - The hell kind of Texas man can’t make a steak right? It was a part of his past he didn’t tend to dwell on, except in rare occasions like this or when he found himself craving a pack of Marlboro Reds. One day, he figured Emma - or Ana - would get curious and ask, about his family, about where he grew up. But since Emma hadn’t made any overtures to her own past, he figured that conversation was probably a ways off.
Besides, it really didn’t matter much. Other than his obvious defect, he appreciated that Emma approached their relationship with a similar mindset that Lydia had (when things had been good enough between them to have a relationship): live in the present. Who they’d been wasn’t as important as who they were now, even if one informed the other.
He cleared his throat a little as he took his seat, and nodded at the bottle of wine he’d set out next to the glass by her plate.
“My publisher sent that over last Christmas,” he explained. “I figured, if you want… I mean, obviously I’m not going to drink it.”
He gave a self-deprecating chuckle and shrugged a little, knowing he didn’t have to really say anything else. He’d gotten a call from one of the administrative assistants the day after the wine had been delivered, offering a profuse apology for the oversight. They’d sent an edible cookie basket the next day as a follow up, which hardly seemed equivalent, but Ana had been happy, so he hadn’t pressed the issue. The wine had sat up in a cabinet until he’d pulled it down; he’d struggled with whether or not to open it before Emma came over, ultimately deciding to let her do it.