When I yank open the oven door, my heart sinks. Even with my limited culinary expertise, I know ovens should behotwhen activated, not stone cold. The bread sits pale and raw on its tray, mocking my amateur efforts.
“Crap!” I groan, smacking my forehead. How could I forget to turn on the oven? Now the bread is going to be late, just like everything else.
What if I use magic? No, with my luck I’d accidentally blow up the apartment.
Maybe perfect is too much to ask for. Especially in a relationship like ours that veered so off course.
Okay, time to adjust my standards. This meal needs to be edible.
Yeah, I can manage that. Edible.
~
Josh
This isn’t going well.
The oven is turned on. I’ve started cooking. Should tomato sauce be this… orange? The sauce splatters my shirt as I stir too vigorously, and I’m still so behind.
I start chopping some bell peppers for the salad. The timer dings, making me jump. The knife slips, and I hiss in pain as it slices into my finger.
“Ow, dammit!” I cry, dropping the knife and cursing myself for not ordering take out. Why did I decide a home cooked meal was more romantic?
The timer dings again, followed by a knock at the door. I freeze, realizing it was the doorbell, not a timer. Bane is here! I lost track of time completely. I haven’t even changed into nicer clothes yet.
He’s even early. Well, he’s not here exactly when I told him to be. He’s technically a few minutes late, but he’s earlier than I expected. Where’s his trademark tardiness when I need it?
I open the door, trying to plaster a charming smile on my face. But then I end up staring at him dumbly. He’s dressed casual in worn jeans, his dark hair tousled instead of perfectlystyled, and God help me, I love him like this. How did I score such a gorgeous mate?
“You came,” I say.
He shrugs, looking a little nervous. His brown bomber jacket is zipped up tight around him like a shield. “Figured I owed you that much. Doesn’t mean I changed my mind.”
“Well, you haven’t heard me out yet.”
“Josh,” he protests.
“No, we need to talk. You’re going to listen and…” Hold on. Something smells funny. I sniff the air. Oh no. “Is spaghetti supposed to smell like that?”
“Nope.”
“Sorry, let me just...” I dart toward the kitchen with Bane on my heels.
Smoke curls up from the pot on the stove. I rush over and reach for the pot. “No, no, no!”
Bane steps in, gently stopping me. “Whoa, easy there. It’s hot. Let me take a look.” He turns the burner down. Peering inside, he makes a face.
Apparently, even providing edible food is too much of a stretch. Facing down Alpha Elias didn’t do me in, but dinner defeated me.
“Let me see what I can do to salvage this.” He strips off his bomber jacket and gets to work, starting over with the noodles.
In no time, he rescues the meal and tackles the meatballs. His hands expertly shape the meat, leaving little flecks of seasoning scattered across his fingers. Soon the sizzle of meat hitting the hot pan fills the air.
I assumed he’d stepped in because I was doom spiraling and we’d starve if I was left in charge. However, he actually seems comfortable in the kitchen.
“You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He glances up at me, almost self-conscious, before he shrugs and goes back to cooking. “I spent a lot of time with Wynn’s family growing up. They’re a lot more… relaxed than my parents. His parents have six kids, so the house was always so chaotic. I felt bad always adding another person for them to look after, so I helped in the kitchen to contribute something.”
