Plan's POV

I did not know what to say after Mean confessed that the reason he was crying was because I had made him chop up those "damned onions" (in his own words, I'm just quoting him!).

"You know what," he said, "this is the first time ever that I have cut up onions or helped out in the kitchen. My mother has never been able to get me to help her in the kitchen. You are the first one EVER to let me cut up onions and made me cry."

Again, I did not know what to say to that, but somehow I got this ticklish sensation in my chest, as if someone just confessed to me that he was a virgin and that I was the first one to......

Shit, Plan! Watch out where your thoughts are leading you!!! I slapped myself in the face.

"Why did you do that???" Mean asked with wide eyes.

"I'm punishing myself for making you cry," I lied, but at least that made him laugh out loud.

I quickly gathered the onions and garlic and dropped them into the pan where the cooking oil was already hot.

"What are you gonna be cooking?" asked Mean, moving up close behind me to watch what I was doing.

His nearness was starting to affect me.

Goddamit, Plan, I told myself, what is happening to your self???

I had to focus on what I was doing otherwise the dish was going to turn out into a disaster.

"I'm trying to cook some shrimp scampi" I said.

"Scampi sounds like an Italian dish," said Mean.

"It is," I replied.

"How did you learn to cook it?" he asked.

"I just looked it up on the internet and started experimenting to see if I could do it." I said, "and after a few tries, I managed to do it well enough to serve to people and myself."

"Do you like cooking?" Mean asked.

"It's one of my favorite hobbies," I confessed.

"Well, well, well," Mean said with a big smile, "we are going to be the best partners. You cook, I eat!"

"No way, Jose," I said, "unless you take care of the ingredients and help me to prepare them, then I will do the cooking."

"Sounds fair to me," said Mean, "just please don't let me cut up onions again, I beg of you."

When the shrimp scampi was ready to serve, Mean took out a platter from one of the kitchen cabinets and I poured the shrimp scampi into it.

I took out the garlic bread that I had placed in the toaster oven earlier and served them on another platter.

We helped each other set the table and soon we were enjoying the fruit of our labor.

"The food tastes even better after you have cried over it," said Mean, but he was smiling.

"Why won't you let me forget what I did to you?" I shook my head at him. "Fine, I won't let you cut up onions next time, but you will have to cut up other ingredients."

"Sounds like a good plan," he said.

"Of course I'm good," I said, pretending to misunderstand him.

He could only shake his head. I really like it when I render him speechless.

"Let me take care of cleaning up and washing the dishes," said Mean after we had our fill.

"No, we can do it together," I said.

We went to the kitchen sink which was a double sink.

Mean stood on the side which was away from the soap dish. He reached for the sponge by leaning against me, reaching for it behind my back.

Why was my heart pounding wildly in my chest?

I turned to look at him, and he looked back at me. Our faces were dangerously close.

We looked at each other with a panicked expression on our faces which had turned redder than a ripened tomato.