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“Holy shit! What are you cooking?” I inched over to the stove.
“Don’t even think about sneaking a taste.” Gabe snatched up a wooden spoon, stirred, set it down in a tiny bowl, and rushed to the counter to begin chopping herbs.
“I can chop for you.”
“It’ll take you an hour to do it.” He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed.
“You just hate people being in the kitchen with you. Admit it.” I stuck my finger in one of the pots. The liquid burned the tip of my finger. I screeched and shook it.
“That’s possibly the hundredth time I’ve seen you do that.” Gabe chuckled. “And it’s still funny each time. At some point in your life you’re going to have to come to grips with the fact that a boiling pot of liquid will burn you if you stick your greedy little finger in it.”
I pouted. “What are you cooking?”
“It’s a surprise.” He paused from chopping, opened up a bottle of wine near him, poured two glasses, and handed me one.
“You only do surprises on special days. What’s up?”
“You looked pretty sad when I walked in.” He turned my way. “I figured I would soothe your soul with food.”
I ignored the comment. “Well then, if I guess what you’re making will you tell me if I’m right?”
He sipped some of his wine and nodded.
Reddish meat sat in a Ziploc bag inside a bowl. It had to be pork. Gabe took extra-special care handling chicken and pork in order to not spread bacteria. If it were steak, he would have left it out in the open on a plate. Tomatoes, garlic, onions, and peppers piled together in a bowl.
Maybe it’s some sort of stew or sauce.
The peppers were green and around four inches long.
A spicy sauce since he’s using poblanos.
He edged to the right a little as if he were concealing something. I went to his area and nudged him to the side. A stack of chocolate lay on a plate. A bowl of brown sugar stood behind it.
“Mole!” I shrieked.
Although Gabe had been trained for years in classic French cuisine, he had a fascination with Mexican food. He’d dreamed of opening a high-end Mexican restaurant one day and always talked about how he would elevate the style of cooking until people preferred Mexican meals over French. I laughed, until he cooked me a mole dish. The savory sauce slid across my tongue and caressed me with the slightest hint of chocolate. I fell in love instantly.
“You’re right.”
I reached for some of the chocolate behind him. He blocked my hand. “Jasmine, what’s going on with you and this Mr. Stone?”
I recoiled. “Nothing. Why would you ask?”
“You and I have been friends for a long time, so you lying to me is pretty impossible. Plus, I watched you both in Lan last week. The guy was seriously into you.” He placed his glass of wine down, took mine too, and set it on the counter. “And what’s up with you living here?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it.
“And what about those two other women in the hallway? They’re just as beautiful as you. That can’t be a coincidence.”
I released an exasperated breath. “I’m embarrassed to talk about this with you.”
“Don’t be.” He held his hand up in front of him. “You know I won’t judge you.”
“I may test that loyalty tonight.” I chuckled, but his face remained serious.
“I cook, you talk, and by the time we’re done let’s hope you’re in a better mood.”
“You promise you won’t tell anyone?” I twisted my ring on my finger.
