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“I hate to ask this… but did you have any plans for dinner tonight?” He bit his lip. “And, I know you really like that recipe,” he shifted from one foot to the other. “And it sounds like your mom agrees… Um…”
I waited. He looked so genuine, but I was still surprised when he finally finished the sentence.
“And I was wondering if you could teach me how to make it sometime?”
I had to pick my jaw up after this. He wanted me to teach him?
“I… I can do that,” I replied, stuttering only because I had not expected this turn of events. Then I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Though I should warn you: it’s not a sandwich.”
Chapter sixteen
Luke
I was more surprised that Laurel agreed to teach me how to cook than that she wanted to learn how to play guitar. Guitar was an expression of one’s feelings and their passions. I thought cooking was more of a bore, but I wanted to get to know Laurel. Since she hadn’t been opening up much, perhaps she would open up more if we started cooking and she could relax a little more around me. Then again, perhaps a man she didn’t know very well, working with a knife around her, wouldn’t be the best thing to ensure that she felt safe and could open up to me.
“What’s the first thing we do for this recipe?” I decided I wasn’t going to wait to get instructions. At least, not the first set.
Besides, if she gave me some of the steps, then we could get this done faster. Hopefully. I really was hungry, and after the way I had been treating her this week, I would not have blamed her if she hadn’t wanted to cook for me. I would have certainly deserved that treatment.
No matter what I felt about her or her abilities, she had the right to deny service to anyone, I reminded myself as I waited for her instructions.
“The first thing we’re going to do is cook the chicken breasts. And we need to defrost them, since they’re still frozen. Otherwise, we could have just put them right on the pan. We’re going to pan fry them instead of cooking them in the oven,” Laurel said. In response to my blank expression, she added, “Have you ever fried something in the pan?”
“Only fish.”
She deserved my honesty.
She nodded slowly.
“Then, you can be in charge of making the sauce,” she told me. “That’s going to be easier, and all you have to do is make sure it doesn’t burn.”
“All right.”
With that, she pulled a saucepan out of the cabinets for me. I glanced at the recipe and found that I would need some heavy cream, parmesan cheese, garlic, and mozzarella. I hoped we had all of those things. They hadn’t been on her list, I didn’t think. Or I couldn’t remember.
In all honesty, I hadn’t taken a good look at the list before giving it to Rick to make sure everything got here safely.
“You see the last seven ingredients on that list?” She looked at me after putting the pot on the burner. “That’s what you need. Follow the instructions for the sauce. I’ll keep an eye on the chicken and if you need help, don’t be afraid to ask.”
I was slightly disappointed that this was more of a trial-and-error lesson than a guided lesson, but that was probably better since I wasn’t handling the chicken. She had pulled it out and was getting it all defrosted in the small microwave we had. In the meantime, I pushed that aside to pull out the cheeses, the spices, and the cream.
To my surprise, it was all in the pantry or the fridge. It must have all been on the list and I just hadn’t paid enough attention.
“So, if you don’t mind my asking, what spurred the move from Chicago to Idaho?” I looked at her as I started to measure out the cream. “That’s not something you choose to do overnight, and usually something that’s a little more… planned out, for lack of a better term.”
I didn’t know where else to start, but I was attempting to make conversation.
“I decided that I wanted nothing to do with anyone who had been in my life in Chicago anymore,” she replied almost angrily. “And Mark deserves every bit of regret in his heart.”
“Mark?”
I couldn’t help it. Though I had been immune to gossip in my younger years, knowing that she had a history that had caused her to move only made me more curious. Besides, it would take a while for the grated cheese to melt in this pot. She’d been right. The recipe was simple, and even with my limited cooking knowledge, it was easy to talk while we worked.
She let out a deep sigh.
“My ex-fiancé,” she quipped.
I found myself gripping the wooden spoon I was stirring this mixture with a little tighter. I hadn’t meant for things to get so personal so quickly.
