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“What have you done to my kitchen?” I ask Kollyns when I see bags, boxes, and bottles all over the place.
“You told me we were going to cook tonight. However, you failed to ask if I know how.” She places her hands on her hips and smirks at me. “Since this isn’t a part of life I’ve mastered as of yet, I begged my mom for recipes, and then I bought everything that was on the list because I didn’t know what you had here.”
She holds her hands out and then throws them up and blows out a huge breath. This is not the time to laugh at her, though she really is cute when she’s exasperated.
“Well, sounds like it’s going to be a fun night.” I toe my shoes off and leave them by the door with my briefcase and jacket. Rolling up my sleeves, I walk to the kitchen and notice her staring at me with her mouth wide open.
Instead of calling her out, I step into her space and touch her chin, lifting it to close her mouth. She steps back, her eyes pop open wide, and I laugh. She was lost in her own space and I don’t know what she was staring at.
“So, what are we having tonight?” I ask her, then move out of her space and over to the sink to wash my hands.
She doesn’t miss a beat before answering. “Greek chicken, mac and cheese, and green beans.”
I dry my hands and watch her move ingredients all over the counter. I have no idea what she’s doing, but we need to sort it out or it’s going to be midnight before we eat.
“Let’s get organized. First, we need to review the recipes and divide the ingredients.”
Kollyns shoves her phone at me. “Here. You figure it out. It would be easy if we were only making one thing, but we have to make sure one isn’t cold while we figure out everything else.”
Ah, the art of not eating a cold meal. I remember the days when London was learning to cook. I would come home and she’d beg to cook us dinner. We all knew that it was going to be super late and at least one thing would be ice cold, so we got to where we’d have a drink or two so it wasn’t as awful when we finally did eat.
“We’re two intelligent adults. We can do this.” I scroll through the texts that her mom sent her. This shouldn’t be too hard. I’m not much of a cook, but I can follow a recipe.
“Let’s preheat the oven and get the chicken marinating.” I put all the spices that she bought on one side of the counter with the lemons and olive oil. Then I pull out two large zip top baggies and place one inside the other. “Place the chicken in here with the juice of those two lemons, olive oil, and one teaspoon of each of those spices.”
I move about the kitchen, finding everything she needs—measuring spoons, juicers, and even a knife to cut the lemons. Then I watch her while she methodically moves about trying to get everything into the bags without spilling all over the floor.
While she does that I begin grating the cheeses for the sauce and get a pot of water boiling for the pasta. We work in tandem and she stops me every few minutes asking for clarification or what she needs to do next. The chicken is now in the fridge to marinate while we get the pasta boiled and the sauce prepped. I make the sauce and she drains the noodles, pouring them in the casserole dish.
“Can you open the cans of beans? The can opener is in the middle cabinet.” I point to the other side of the fridge.
“Sure,” she says and brings it next to the stove plugging it into the outlet.
It’s interesting to me that this is her favorite meal and she’s not sure how to make it and follows the directions I give her. We continue to talk as we get everything ready to go in the oven. The times for cooking are generally close and the temps are all the same, making it easier.
Now that everything is cooking, I decide to clean up some of our mess because I can’t stand the chaos. I clean and Kollyns pours us each a glass of wine and she sits while I do all the work. When I asked her to buy the ingredients for her favorite dinner and cook, I should have specified we should only do this if she knew how. Instead, I’m cleaning up the mess while she sits and watches me clean.
“So what’s for dessert?” I ask her, praying that it’s not going to be another crazy mess.
“Oh that’s mostly taken care of. The bag that is sitting in the corner has all the stuff in it for when we’re done eating.”
She points to the brown bag that I assumed was full of trash but is actually dessert. I pull out a premade cake, a container of strawberries, a lemon, and whipped cream in a can. I’m not sure what she’s planning, but I know exactly what we can do with the berries and whipped cream.
Tonight I’m going to encourage her to take a chance. A chance on something new—an adventure.
“So what exactly are you planning to do with these? Because I’ve got a great idea and we don’t even need plates for it.”
A blush creeps over her face and I stare at her. She bats her eyelashes and her beautiful swollen lips are wine stained a blood red. She has no idea how alluring she is at this moment. I shake my head, breaking the spell she has over me and open the strawberries to start cleaning and chopping them.
“Is there a preference in how you like the berries cut?”
She watches me wash them and doesn’t answer me for a few seconds. “I slice them in half, then add the juice of one lemon and sugar until they’re coated and let them sit for a bit.”
“I won’t lie. This meal is all about marinating and saucing things. Did you plan for us to eat all the messy things tonight?”
I swear this woman is blushing again. It’s as though she’s never been around someone with a dirty mind—or at least they don’t act on it. Henley doesn't count. They’re platonic friends and as different as night and day.
“Life is messy. Why shouldn’t food be?”
