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Part 2
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The drive to Clark's apartment seemed to take forever. Twice Lois almost turned around to return home, but she would have been stuck in the same rush-hour traffic with nothing to show for it so she persevered. It took her another frustrating half an hour of circling his neighborhood to find a place to park.
She could see lights on in Clark's loft as she got closer. He was home then. A little part of her had secretly hoped to find the place dark. Lois climbed the stairs slowly, still desperately trying to figure out what she was going to say. In a perfect world she wouldn't have to say anything of consequence. They'd sit on his sofa and watch a movie while she soaked in his calming vibes. Spending an evening with Clark was better than yoga for her blood pressure.
What if she lost that? What if she ruined the easy companionship they currently shared? Clark had assured her when he asked her out that, if it bombed, they'd always be friends. But what if that wasn't possible? Clark had admitted that he, too, was afraid that everything would change between them if they started dating. She had been relieved by that confession. It meant that Clark valued their friendship as much as she did. Surely, together, they could find some way to make it work?
"Take a chance," she whispered to herself outside his door. "You can say anything to your best friend."
Her stomach fluttered nervously as she knocked on his door. The filmy curtains over the windows distorted her view but she could see a shadow detach and move toward her. For half a second she was tempted to turn around and run.
Then Clark opened the door and his face lit up with the smile that always made her knees weak. In addition to the smile he was wearing jeans and dark gray t-shirt that was every bit as form fitting as the one he'd worn on their almost date. For a second or two she wasn't sure she could remember how to breathe.
"Hi!" She barely managed to squeak out that single syllable.
"Lois, hi!" He opened the door wider and gestured for her to come inside.
"I don't know about you, but I'm going stir crazy after just one day off." Lois entered and took the stairs slowly, willing her legs not to shake.
"What have you been up to today?" he asked when he caught up to her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Me? Oh, I went for jog. Visited the Metro Gallery. Alphabetized my spices." Lois decided it was more prudent to skip mentioning her nervous breakdown in favor of making herself sound domestically appealing.
Clark fought a grin. "How many spices do you have that you'd need to alphabetize them?"
Lois knew he was teasing her but she decided to play it straight and not give him the satisfaction of catching her outright in a lie. "I don't know. I didn't count them. More than ten, but fewer than twenty is my best guess, thank you very much."
"More than ten? Seriously?"
She frowned at him. Was he mocking her? She was too far into her story to back out gracefully at this point. "My mom gave me a spice collection from some fancy cooking store last year for my birthday. The woman is nothing if not subtle."
He raised one eyebrow in skepticism. "So you've actually used them?"
Lois hadn't, but she wasn't about to admit that. "If I wasn't using them, they wouldn't be all mixed up and I'd find the one I was looking for a lot faster."
Clark nodded, apparently unable to argue with her logic. "Sure," he said genially.
"How many spices do you have?" she asked defensively.
Clark looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I've never actually counted them."
She felt a momentary twinge of irritation mixed with envy. Of course Clark had spices. He probably actually used them, too.
"I can go count them, if it means that much to you." Clark glanced in the direction of his kitchen and Lois wondered if he really cared how many spices he had or if he was simply humoring her.
"Nah." She walked over to his sofa and flopped down onto it. The television was on, although she hadn't realized it until just now because the volume was turned down so low. One look at the score and it was obvious why he wasn't listening to the game. The Nets were behind by over twenty points.
Clark headed into his kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asked.
"What have you got?" With his back to her, she was afforded an unobstructed, and unobserved, view of his backside. Her eyes widened, uncertain what to ogle first - shoulders, back or butt.
"Milk. Orange juice. Half a bottle of red wine." Clark looked over his shoulder, waiting for her answer.
Lois quickly lifted her gaze to his face. "That's it?"
"I meant to go shopping today. I just never got to the store. I can run out and grab something if you want." He started to close the refrigerator door.
That was all she needed to make her evening complete - to see Clark leave on yet another errand. "No, let's finish the wine. Unless you were saving it for something?"
He grinned. "Maybe I was saving it for you."
Lois rolled her eyes and wondered if he had construed her request for wine as some kind of romantic overture. How romantic could half an already-opened bottle be anyway?
Clark grabbed two wine glasses and the bottle and joined her on the couch. He poured each of them a little wine and held a glass out to her. Lois fixed her eyes on the basketball game and took a sip for courage.
Still not taking her gaze off the television, she decided to cut to the chase and get to the reason for her visit. "So, uh, I know I was supposed to call you about rescheduling our date, but maybe we could talk about that while we're hanging out tonight?"
"Sure." He set his wine glass down and leaned back, settling comfortably into the couch.
Well… good. This was off to a casual kind of start. Lois took another sip. "We can do it after the game is over, if you want to finish watching it first."
Clark picked up the remote and clicked the television off. "This game has been over for a while now."
Even though the volume had been on low, his apartment felt awkwardly quiet now that the television was off. Lois went to set her wine glass down but the base ended up partially on top of a magazine. The glass began to tip but Clark caught the glass before it spilled.
"Nice save!"
"Thanks."
Their eyes met. His looked so suddenly serious that she audibly gulped. It was much, much too quiet and he was looking much, much too tempting. The last time they had been on a sofa together she had been sprawled on top of him and she'd give just about anything to be doing that again.
"What did you want to do?" he asked.
Kiss you, she thought.
"What?" she whispered. Was he talking about what she wanted to do tonight or on their date?
"For our date. What would you like to do? We could try another concert."
"Oh." Lois could not shake the mental image of kissing him. She stared at his mouth. All she'd have to do is lean forward and--. "I guess a concert would be okay."
"You don't sound that enthusiastic about a concert. We could go to dinner and see a movie," he suggested. "Anything you want."
Anything she wanted? He'd be shocked if he knew what she really wanted at this moment. Lois tore her gaze away from his mouth to gesture at the television. "Maybe we could just rent a video? We can even call tonight a date, if you want. I mean, we've got wine and, uh, us. So it's kind of like a date, isn't it?" If tonight was a date, maybe he'd kiss her before she went home?
"I'm going to vote for no more almost or kind of dates. You deserve something a lot nicer than this." He leaned a little closer to her and added in a conspiratorial tone, "Especially for a real first date."
The husky edge to his voice sent squiggle of delight straight down her spine. "Of course I do. But I don't want to compel you to spend scads of money entertaining me. Especially when I'd be happy just to come over and count how many spices you have."
He grinned and let out a surprised laugh. "I can tell that not knowing is really starting to get to you."
Lois laughed with him, feeling a little more comfortable that the conversation was shifting to something more neutral. "Maybe a little bit. Just give me a ballpark estimate. More than ten? Less than twenty?"
"I already told you I have no idea." Clark stood up and held out his hand to help her stand. "Let's go count them."
To her disappointment, he let go of her hand as soon as she was standing. Clark walked into his kitchen and opened a cupboard. The bottom two shelves were crammed full of spices. There had to be over fifty spice bottles in there.
"Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed in amazement. "Do you actually use all of these?"
"Well, yes." He sounded surprised that she'd even think they were for show. "Not all at once, but I do use them."
Lois shook her head in wonder. This was nothing like her spice collection. Hers were in identical bottles that lined up neatly in a row. The labels were so similar that you'd have to look closely to select one. Clark's were an eclectic mix of sizes, shapes and colors. At least two of the bottles were sealed with a cork instead of a screw-on cap.
She picked up a short square jar and frowned at the name on the label. She sounded it out slowly, "Ras el hanout?"
"It's Moroccan. It's actually a blend of a bunch of spices."
"And you use it for what?"
"As a spice rub on meats. It's really good on chicken."
Lois set the jar down and picked up a tall, skinny one capped with a cork. "Harissa?"
"Tunisian. It's very spicy."
"You have three jars of paprika?"
"They're all different," Clark corrected. "There's a sweet one, a smoked one, and a really spicy one."
Lois pulled out a plastic bag with four shriveled sticks in it. "What are these?"
"Whole vanilla beans. They're a key ingredient in vanilla pudding."
"You make pudding from scratch?"
Clark shrugged. "It's not that hard."
"Why not make chocolate pudding if you're going to go to all that trouble? Vanilla is so… bland."
"Trust me, mine is nothing like the pudding that comes loaded with preservatives in a plastic cup."
Lois picked up a smoky gray bottle labeled in an exotic language that was completely foreign to her. "And this?"
He took the bottle from her to read the label, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the process. That slight contact sent a shiver through her. "Ajwain seeds. They're kind of like thyme."
"Where are they from?"
"India." Clark smoothed his thumb over the label and his lips quirked in a smile.
Lois wondered what the story behind the bottle was. It dawned on her that there might be a lot about Clark that she could only guess at. Could he read Hindi or did he simply know which spice it was because of the unusual jar? "You've actually been around the world, haven't you?"
Clark nodded, still lost in a memory.
"I always think of you as this guy from the Midwest, not some world traveler."
His gaze shifted from the ajwain seeds to her. "Can't I be both?"
Lois shrugged. "I guess."
Clark set the bottle down and focused his attention on her. "What about you? What's the furthest you've been from Metropolis?"
She thought about it. "Kinshasa in The Congo. Have you been there?"
He shook his head. "The closest I've been to Kinshasa is Tanzania."
Lois gestured at the cupboard. "Do you have a spice in here from Tanzania?"
Clark grinned. "I bet you have it, too." He paused for effect, his eyes twinkling, and then said, "Cloves. Both whole and ground."
"What in the world would you use a whole clove for? Besides sticking it in an orange for a grade school art project?"
"Macaroni and cheese," he said, as if it should have been obvious to her. "You make your roux, add milk, peel an onion and stick a bay leaf to it with a clove. Let that simmer in the sauce while it thickens. It gives it a nice complexity."
Since when was macaroni and cheese supposed to have a nice complexity? He had to be kidding. Lois rolled her eyes. "My mac and cheese comes from a blue cardboard box."
His nose wrinkled in distate. "Then I definitely have to make you mac and cheese."
The thought of Clark cooking for her was just as appealing as the thought of him kissing her. "Tomorrow night?" she suggested.
"You're on." He smiled and picked up the bag of vanilla beans. "I'll make you vanilla pudding, too."
Too late, she remembered that tomorrow night was Valentine's Day. "Or Wednesday night. It doesn't matter," she backpedaled. "You don't have to make me dinner tomorrow night."
"Lois, I'd make you dinner every night if you wanted."
She stared at him, her cheeks flushing at the possible implications. He blinked and turned red, too.
"I, I didn't mean it like that," he sputtered. "I just meant that I wouldn't mind, uh, being with you, or, um, being--." He took a breath and looked directly into her eyes. "I like being with you. It doesn't have to be a date."
He was so cute when he was flustered and she found it reassuring that he was as nervous as she was. Take a chance, she told herself. He thinks you're worth the risk.
"What if I do want it to be a date?" she asked softly.
His answering smile made her grateful she had one hip leaning against the counter for support. "Then it's a date."
