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Although last night had been a lot of fun. And that Maverick, he was something else. So calm and collected as we tried to figure out the bachelor/bachelorette party while I was in a tizzy. And even though we’re so different, I can’t stop thinking about him – if I’m not thinking about the wedding.
I eased into the chair.
Suddenly, Maverick walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table beside me.
“So, since we’ve made the plans for the bachelor and bachelorette party, I was thinking we should call the restaurant today and make reservations,” he said. “We’re going to have a party of twenty people. That’s usually something most restaurants can take if they have reservations.”
“You want to do that while I’m checking the chicken? I’m making some lunch,” I said.
“Smells good. Sure.”
He pulled his phone out and started to dial the restaurant. I checked the chicken and turned it to be sure I wouldn’t burn the breadcrumbs, and then I stuck it back in the oven, not even thinking that the tongs were still on the pan. My mind was on Maverick.
“They said they could take a reservation, and they have us down for four thirty sharp on Thursday evening,” he said once he hung up. For dinner for a party that large, they estimate we’ll be there for about two hours.”
“That’ll give us plenty of time after to go dancing, see the sights, all of that,” I said with a smile. “Thanks for helping with that, Mav.”
“Of course.”
He got up to go check on something else, and I started to rub my feet to make sure that I would survive the rest of the week. My thoughts turned to when we’d get the bridesmaid dresses, but soon I heard the rest of the men coming in. Sounded like they had been able to get everything fixed up. I heard faint voices, so it sounded like they weren’t going to be staying long. I wondered why.
I was pulled out of these thoughts by the smell of cooked chicken and the timer dinging. I grabbed the oven mitt and started to pull the tray out of the oven when I started coughing.
There was a little bit of smoke coming off the food! That was never a good sign. However, in my coughing fit, I couldn’t keep as still as I needed to. Red-hot pain soared through my arm as I hit the oven door while trying to pull the pan out. When I put the pan on the stovetop, I saw what was causing all the smoke and the smell: I had left the tongs on the sheet pan! My thoughts were entirely on the burn on my arm and getting the house cleared of smoke, though. Cleaning up the mess could wait.
Opening the window was easy enough. Then, I ran some cold water on the burn on my arm in the kitchen sink. I winced as the cold water initially hit it, but it was more out of anticipation than anything else. The water immensely helped to cool the burn off.
“Hmm… ow. Note to self, always hold the coughing fit off until after I finish cooking.”
At least I had managed to close the oven door in my fit of pain.
“I thought I heard something going on in here. Are you all right, Maria?”
I turned my head, keeping my arm as still as possible to keep it under the running water. I pursed my lips a little bit. Had I yelled when I burned my arm? Or had my clattering of pans, tongs, and spatulas brought him up here?
“Yes. I’m fine. Or, at least, I will be,” I said as I motioned to the water running on my arm.
“Oh, that’s not fun,” he said with a frown.
Then, he saw the chicken and the burned tongs.
“My gosh, Maria. Looks like you had a bit of an accident. Would you like some help?”
“… I suppose some help would be nice. I’m not sure it’d be smart to try and continue cooking with this burn right now.” I shook my head. “I was trying to make chicken parm, but I think that piece is going to have the smell of the burning tongs.”
“First, let’s get some ice on that burn,” Mav said. He grabbed a large baggie, filled it with ice, and turned off the running water. “Here’s a towel to wrap around that bag if it gets too cold on your skin,” he said as he placed the bag on my arm.
“Thanks Mav. I was testing out the recipe for dinner. I wanted to make something for everyone,” I shared. “I decided to try out one piece for lunch to make sure it turned out all right. And I messed that up.”
“Not beyond fixing,” he pointed out. “You just needed to… pivot.”
“I’ll cook all the chicken, and we can warm it back up and add the toppings for dinner,” he continued. Does that sound like a better plan? It might help with the problem that comes from an oven with a hot spot—and a utensil that’s not ovenproof.”
Already, his hands were deftly making light work of the rest of the chicken. He made quick work of preparing the chicken and the rest of the ingredients.
By the time he had put the chicken in the oven, I felt much more relaxed.
“Now… why don’t you pull up a shopping app so we can replace the tongs you burned?” he asked as he held up the tongs.
