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“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, walking over to the table and opening my laptop. “It was in the moment.”
“Good God, please don’t burn down my house. It was my great-grandfather’s.”
“I’m not going to burn down your house,” I retort, looking around, “but where do you keep the fire extinguishers?”
She laughs at me, and by the end of the conversation, we’ve decided to make a one-pan baking sheet dish. It takes me one hour of scrolling on the internet before I come to the easiest recipe. I make my list and rush out to the grocery store by three. It amazes me that people are having full-blown conversations with each other in the middle of the aisles as if no one is around. Everyone seems to know everyone, and everyone looks at you like an outsider if they don’t know you. I buy way too much food, three bottles of wine, and also a case of beer even though I don’t drink beer. I have to wonder if Gabriel does.
When I get home and unload the groceries, putting everything away, I grab my laptop and bring it to the kitchen counter. Going step by fucking step, after I’ve cut the veggies, I toss them in olive oil, coating them. I then grab some potatoes, dice them, and also coat them, putting them in the middle, with the chicken at the end of the pan. “You got this,” I say, placing it in the oven and grabbing the bottle of wine before starting the timer for one hour, just to be sure.
I sit down, looking out the back window, and enjoy my wine. I put my head down and close my eyes for a minute. The sound of knocking wakes me up, and I blink my eyes open, seeing the air is a bit foggy. It takes my nose and then my head a second to process the smoke. “Oh my God.” I rush off the couch toward the kitchen, the smoke coming out of the sides. My whole body goes on alert, and my hands start to shake because I expect to find flames coming out of the oven. I look around the kitchen for a red fire extinguisher but don’t find it anywhere. I’m about to freak out.
“What the hell is going on?” Gabriel says from the doorway as I look around for a glove to take the baking sheet out of the oven. “What’s burning?”
I finally find the dishrag and grab the pan out of the oven, almost burning my hand when I drop it on the top of the stove. The veggies look like they are ash, the potatoes look like they are ready, and the chicken looks like it’s charred.
The smoke detector blares, and I look up at the ceiling. “Of course this would happen,” I grumble, running to it with the rag in my hand and fanning it to get it to stop. Gabriel walks to the front door and opens it, then goes to the back door and opens it. “I knew this was a bad idea,” I tell him. “I knew it, but I did it anyway.” I look over seeing him smiling at me. “Don’t laugh, I almost burned down the house,” I hiss at him, “because I wanted to make you dinner.” The smoke alarm finally stops ringing, so I can stop waving my hands in front of it.
“You did all this for me?” he asks, and I look at him. He’s wearing the same thing he wore this morning, but he’s just got dirt all over him. I can even see some dust on his face. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “But I did.” I walk over to the stove and take in the baking sheet. “And well, all of it is wasted.”
“How long did you have it in the oven?” he asks me, coming over and looking down at what would have been our dinner.
“An hour,” I tell him. “I figured I could get a head start and then just leave it to warm.”
“How high was the oven set to?”
“It said three seventy-five for forty-five minutes, but I was like let’s put it to four hundred to be safe.”
“Oh, it’s safe, all right.” He tries not to laugh. “What else did you buy for dinner?”
I look up at him and smirk. “Whipped cream and some chocolate sauce.”
“Meh.” He shrugs. “Who needs chicken anyway?” There in the middle of the kitchen where I just burned our dinner, and he didn’t freak out, I laugh like I’ve never laughed before. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me toward the stairs. “But first I need a shower.”
18
GABRIEL
I’m taking inventory at the bar when the phone rings, and I reach in my back pocket, pulling it out to see it’s Patricia. “Hey.” I put the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” she says, and it sounds like she’s rushing, “just letting you know I’m picking Colson up.” I look at my watch and see that it’s just after one in the afternoon.
“Why?” I stand, putting the clipboard on the bar. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she replies right before I hear the car door slamming. “He threw up at school,” she informs me. “I think he got what Meri had last week.”
“Do you want me to get him?” I tap my finger on the counter.
“No, that’s fine. I’ll go get him. Might as well save yourself anyway.” She laughs. “I think I might be coming down with it also.”
“Well, he’s been with me for the past three days so, if anything, I might already have it.” I look down at the clipboard in front of me.
“But you’re safe for now. I’ll just keep him for the next couple of days, and if he’s feeling better, he can come back to you.”
“That sounds good,” I tell her. “I’ll call you later and see how he’s doing. Give him a kiss for me.”
