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“White chicken chili.” She peeks up at me from under her lashes as she gathers her ingredients. Without clarifying, she walks to the fridge and pulls out another bowl, pulling the lid off it to peer at the contents.
Maybe we're making some progress because there's meat in this dish. Though I guess I'm not being fair. There has been meat in several dishes; she just opts for the leanest possible meats. No red meat, just chicken, fish, and rarely, pork.
“That sounds delicious.” I wander the kitchen, realizing that this is one of the rare days my mother isn't here. So it's just the two of us.
The door chimes at the same time as my phone and I realize that the grocery delivery person must have gotten here earlier than anticipated. That's fine by me; things are about to get interesting. Pulling my phone out, I head for the front door as the delivery person walks in with bags in hand.
“Let me help you with that.” I take several of the bags from the delivery guy and he seems relieved as we walk toward the kitchen together.
“Nice place you have here. Life goals.”
“Thank you.” Hopefully one day he will meet and exceed his life goals.
We drop the groceries off on the kitchen counter and he gives me a salute before heading for the door as the cook gets busy going through the bags. Her face drops the instant she opens the first bag, and she glances in my direction. I see her shoulders droop, then lift as she plants both hands on the kitchen counter.
I wait, but she seems to be gathering herself before speaking.
“These aren't the groceries I ordered.” I expect an edge of defeat to her voice, but instead she sounds ready to fight.
“Strange. I wonder if there was a mix up.” I pull out my phone out as if I'm about to text the delivery service, but her eyes narrow.
“There wasn't a mix up - you did this on purpose.” She pulls two hefty steaks out of the bag and holds them up like trophies, her expression almost amused. “Look, I know you're absolutely in love with your red meat, but it's not good for you. Your mother understands that. I don't know why it's so difficult for you.”
Her words sting. I'm not too stupid to figure out that red meat is bad for my health - I simply don’t care. “Nobody lives forever, you know.” With those words, I move to her side and take the steaks. “Do you know how to cook these bad boys?”
She rolls her eyes and angles her body toward me, planting a hand on her hip. “Of course I do, but I'm not going to cook those. I told you I'm making white chicken chili.”
“And that sounds delicious. I'll have it on the side of my steak.” I move toward the cook top, taking her cast iron pan to get this juicy steak started, but she pulls the pan away.
“Did you forget that you hired me to do this job?” She sounds angry and frustrated and I almost feel bad for her... until I remember she’s been refusing to let me eat red meat.
“How could I possibly forget? It's easily the worst decision I've made in a long time.” I know the statement is out of line, but she doesn't seem bothered.
“I’m not cooking that, and you aren’t either.” With that, she tries to shoulder me out the way as she continues preparing food.
“Last time I checked, this was my kitchen.” Surely she doesn't think she's going to stop me from cooking in my own kitchen, does she?
With a sigh, she leans a hip against the counter and turns to face me. “Let me do my job and get out of my way or I quit.”
There's something so final and serious about her tone I actually believe her, and I'm a little bit worried because I don't want her to quit; I just want her to meet me part way. A little bit of red meat here and there isn't going to kill me. I'm happy to cut back on my consumption, but this is absolutely ridiculous.
“Charles? You’re not bothering Alisha, are you?” My mother’s voice rings out, and I lift both eyebrows at the cook. Leave it to my mother to save us from this uncomfortable deadlock we’re trapped in.
“I’m not bothering you, am I Alisha?” I ask, watching the pulse at the base of her throat quicken. That’s an interesting response to my question. I study her eyes as she swallows hard, her delicate throat flexing.
My mom walks in, then stops and plants both hands on her hips. “Let the poor woman work,” Mom says, then does a double take, looking me over. “You look good. Brighter, healthier, maybe. Maybe that new diet is agreeing with you. Hmm.” With that, she leaves the room and I make my way out of the kitchen, thinking about the cook’s reaction to my words.
Determined not to think about my mother’s words, the cook’s obvious arousal, or my own thoughts, I pull out my phone and dial Arson’s number.
Chapter Five
Alisha
My heart's thumping a little too quickly in my chest as I place the white chicken chili in the wide shallow white bowls.
The avocado, parsley and parmesan add beautiful touches of color to the dish, and I’m proud of myself. Not only does this taste delicious, it looks absolutely beautiful, like a work of art in a bowl. But the flavor and presentation of the dish isn't the reason that my heart is beating out of control.
No, my nerves have more to do with the meal that I'm going to serve him tonight. The salads are also beautifully amazing, and their colors are flipped from the white chili; the deep greens mix is topped with white parmesan and daikon radish.
