Read Slightly Engaged for Free Online Page B

toe this fine evening. Red leather jacket, tight red T-shirt, tight red jeans, and—
    “Are those red patent-leather spats? ” I ask. Ay carumba.
    “Yes!” Raphael shouts joyously, and strikes a toe-pointing pose. “Tracey, do you love? ”
    “Hmm…” I tilt my head. “I could possibly grow to love. Where did you get them?”
    “Either I bought them off a folding table on the Bowery, or at JCPenney when I was in Missouri on business last year. I forget which.”
    “My money’s on the Bowery,” Jack says dryly, draping an arm over my shoulders.
    “Mmm, I think it was Penney’s,” Raphael says decisively, and heads toward our kitchenette toting a couple of grocery bags.
    “What did you bring?” I wriggle from Jack’s embrace and follow him.
    “Everything we need for paella, including rum.”
    “Rum goes into paella?”
    “No, Tracey, the rum goes into us. We’re making mojitos. Oh!” He smacks his head. “I forgot something at the spice market. I knew I would.”
    “What is it?” I ask, opening the narrow cupboard where we keep your basic salt, cinnamon and garlic powder. “Maybe we have it.”
    I have no idea what we have, since this has become mostly Jack’s domain. It’s not that I don’t cook, or can’t cook. It’s just that ever since he cooked for me on one of our very significant first dates, it’s become our little tradition.
    “I need saffron,” Raphael reveals. “Got any?”
    I glance at Jack, who’s lingering on the outskirts of the kitchen because three adults can’t fit within the perimeter unless one of them is a waif.
    “No saffron,” Jack informs Raphael.
    “Jack!” Did I mention Raphael’s conversational style is liberally sprinkled with exclamation points and people’s first names? “Do you want to double-check? Maybe you have a smidge left somewhere.”
    “Nope. I haven’t bought a smidge of saffron since…hmm, let me think— ever. Can your recipe do without?”
    “It can, but…well, that’s kind of like making marinara sauce without tomatoes,” he says dramatically.
    Moment of silence.
    What to do, what to do…
    Jack asks, “Would they have it at the Korean grocer?”
    “Probably.”
    “Okay, then I’ll go down to the corner and get some.”
    I shoot Jack my most grateful, loving look. The look I usually reserve for situations involving my family. Or sex.
    “Jack!” Raphael screams joyfully. “ Ohmygodthatwouldbegreat! But…are you sure it’s not a problem?”
    “Not at all.” Jack is already grabbing his keys. “We’re low on beer anyway.”
    “But, Jack, I’m making mojitos,” Raphael protests.
    “Will you be insulted if I just stick with a Budweiser?”
    “Not at all. Will you be insulted if I tell you that I don’t really like that cologne you’re wearing? It smells a little fruity. Not in a good way.”
    “I’d be kind of insulted,” Jack says, pulling on his coat. “Considering that I’m not wearing any cologne.”
    “Oops! Sorry. New coat?” Raphael immediately wants to know, buzzing over to Jack like a bee that just discovered a honey slick.
    “No, I got it last winter.”
    “JCPenney, Jack?”
    Jack looks insulted. “Barneys, Raphael.”
    “You’re kidding! You know what? It would look really great in a nice tomato red. Or royal blue, with epaulets,” Raphael pronounces, rubbing the placket between his thumb and forefinger.
    “Right. Well, I’ll be back soon with the saffron,” Jack says, and manages to extract himself from Raphael’s grasp.
    “They call it mellow ye -llow…ba da, ba da…” Raphael sings, unloading his bags as Jack beats a hasty retreat. “Mellow ye -llow.”
    The minute the door closes behind Jack, he breaks off his ditty to say, “Tracey! I thought he’d never leave!”
    “Raphael! Are you telling me you didn’t really forget the saffron?”
    “No. Well, yes,” he admits. “I mean, I didn’t forget it. I just kind of…you know, ran out of cash.”
    “What about your credit