‘My boss was not supposed to bring her kids!’ Vidvaan apologized as he escorted us out of his house party. We were two too many for Switzerland’s cap on private gatherings.
‘Roger Federer that,’ I said, forfending embarrassment.
My co-reject laughed with a snort and blushed radiantly, her skin matching her dress. ‘Sorry,’ she said, collecting herself.
‘Instant noodles and cheap wine for dinner then,’ I said to ward off awkwardness in the lift.
‘Okay,’ she said, mistaking it for an invite.
Later in my kitchen, twirling the noodles, I clarified the misunderstanding. I realized I loved watching her blush.
Note: Originally submitted to the first round of NYC Midnight’s 100-word microfiction competition 2022. The story received an honorable mention. Prompts: Genre — Romantic Comedy / Action — Cooking Noodles / Assigned word — Collect