Page 35 of The Wrong Groom

“Yeah. You might want to set up some kind of exclusion zone around the stove,” I say, my gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Otherwise there might be casualties.”

“I don’t think there will be casualties,” he says calmly.

“Your chili,” I point out. “That’ll be the first casualty. Then everyone who eats it.”

“I believe in you,” he says. He’s joking around, of course, just meeting my self-deprecating banter with the same energy, but still, the encouragement strikes me as real. As I select a frying pan off the rack that hangs on the wall, I feel a bit lighter, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I place the pan on the stove, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath, like I’m about to dive off a cliff. “Okay. Here goes nothing.” I interlace my fingers and stretch them out for good measure.

At that little display, Gabriel laughs—an actual, out-loud laugh. I can count the number of times I’ve heard him laugh on one hand. It’s a rich sound, full of warmth, and it sends a thrill through me.

He seems as surprised by that laugh as I am.

I turn the heat on and portion the ground beef into the pan, sprinkling it with salt and pepper, as per Gabriel’s instructions. Slowly but surely, the meat begins to brown as I stir it with a wooden spoon. This is probably the smoothest kitchen experience I’ve ever had.

Gabriel works efficiently, finishing the vegetables and moving on to making the chili base in a large stock pot. He pours in peeled tomatoes and brings his sauce to a simmer. I can’t help but steal glances at him, captivated by the way he moves—confident and composed, even in the kitchen.

As the beef sizzles and the aroma fills the kitchen, I can sense the atmosphere shifting. I feel calmer, like I’m somehow redeeming myself from the breakfast fiasco.

Gabriel leans over my shoulder to inspect the beef, then gives me an approving nod. “Looks good.”

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to sigh with relief. “Now what?”

“You can add a little paprika and some cayenne pepper,” he says. “Not too much, though. Peyton’s not the biggest fan of spicy food.”

Behind him, Peyton makes a face, sticking out her tongue and screwing up her nose. Smiling to myself, I turn my attention back to the pan, seasoning the beef as instructed.

“What’s next, Chef?” Gabriel glances back at Peyton.

“Veggies!” she says, holding up her bowl.

“Alright. You want to come tip those veggies into the sauce?”

Peyton patters across the kitchen and beams up at Gabriel, her excitement palpable. She raises the bowl high. “I’m ready!”

“Okay. On the count of three,” Gabriel says. “One… two… three!”

He hoists her up into the air, and she lets out a peal of laughter. She pours out the diced vegetables into the pot. A splash of steam rises, carrying the sweet and savory aroma of tomatoes.

“Awesome job, Chef.” Gabriel holds Peyton up effortlessly, as if she barely weighs anything. “You can go ahead and give it a stir. Just remember that it’s hot, okay, Bug?”

Peyton nods solemnly, her face scrunched up in concentration as she stirs the chili. Gabriel watches her, pride shining in his eyes. I stare at the two of them for just a bit too long, remembering my own task when the oil pops and sizzles in my frying pan.

“Now we let it simmer for a bit,” Gabriel says, leaning against the counter with a casual ease. “While we wait, what do you want to make as a side? We could do some rice. Alexis, you think you can handle rice?”

I feign offense, putting a hand to my chest. “Hey now, I’m not that hopeless!”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, a playful grin on his lips. “Just checking. I don’t want to throw you too far into the deep end.”

“I can handle rice,” I assure him, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement rising within me. “It’s not like I’m attempting to make soufflé or anything.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. I wouldn’t want you to burn down my kitchen within one week of our marriage.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, aggrieved.

“Hey, I’m just looking out for my chili. It deserves a fighting chance, you know?” He gestures to the bubbling pot.

“I’ll do my best not to sabotage it,” I shoot back with a laugh. As I rinse the rice, I can feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on me. It sends a flutter through my stomach.