I whirled around. I hadn’t even heard him walk through the door.
“Um,” I stammered. “Hi. I made you dinner.”
“Is that what this is?” He looked around at the mess, the haze of smoke, the pans on the stove. The alarm continued to beep. Stefan got a chair and climbed on it to disable the alarm. The beeping finally stopped.
The whole kitchen smelled like burnt asparagus. I knew when I opened the oven door, they’d look like sticks of charcoal. But at least the risotto was okay.
I rushed over to the pot and pulled the lid off, waving my hand over it with a flourish.
“It’s seafood risotto,” I told him proudly. “We can just skip the veggies tonight.”
I dipped the serving spoon into the pot to show off, but it stuck fast into what had turned into a gluey brick of rice and bivalves. My heart sank as I realized I’d left the burner on the simmer setting for the last half hour. It was ruined. “Oh no.”
I nearly deflated right there. In my efforts to do something nice, I had basically destroyed our entire kitchen and almost set the place on fire. Stefan was probably furious right now.
Why had I tried to make a big, fancy dinner when I could barely make myself toast?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wanted to do something nice for you—I’ll clean all of this up.”
My eyes stung with tears. I was upset that I’d ruined dinner, but more than that I was humiliated that he’d come home to find me like this. I was a total failure.
I looked up and saw the slightest hint of a curve at the corner of his mouth.Elmosolyodik. “Are you laughing at me?” I croaked.
“Shh,” he said, reaching out toward me. “Come here.” He pulled me against his chest.
“This is so embarrassing,” I moaned, covering my face with my hands.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You know what you’ve made, Tori? The world’s most perfect appetizer.” He led me over to the scallops sitting on the stove, speared one out of the pan, and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, I could see the gratification in his eyes. “This is flawless,” he said after swallowing. “You’re a pro.”
He turned me to face him and traced the curve of my cheek with his palm.
“You look nice,” he said. There was heat in his eyes, and that smile still teased his lips.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“I’m going to make a call right now and have someone come in to straighten up in here,” he said, gesturing at the destroyed kitchen. “You, get your coat. I’m taking you out.”
I bundled up and we got in the Town Car. I still felt bad that I’d botched what was supposed to be a romantic gift to Stefan, but at least he seemed charmed by my complete and utter lack of culinary skills. When I heard Stefan tell the driver where to go, I was pretty sure that I had heard him wrong.
I turned to him. “That restaurant has a waiting list six months long. We’ll never get in.”
He shrugged. “I know the Executive Chef.”
I sat back, still worried. There was no way we’d get in on a Friday night during the dinner rush. I could only hope that Stefan had a back-up plan when we got turned away.
But when we arrived at the restaurant, there was a hostess waiting out at the curb for us. We were escorted inside and shown immediately to a table.
“Did you think we wouldn’t get in, kitty cat?” Stefan teased as we sat down.
I could only nod, trying to take everything in. The restaurant itself was fairly unassuming for a place that people were clamoring to eat at. It had a quiet, rustic vibe, with live edge wood tables and industrial fixtures. There was no menu, either—everything wasprix fixe, like our meal at Atera in New York had been. Based on that experience, I couldn’t wait to see what kind of courses would be brought out for us.
While we waited, the waiter brought us a bottle of champagne.
“Are we celebrating something?” I asked Stefan.
“Just a night out,” he said. “You can have a small glass.”
I nodded, sipping at the drink and trying not to feel too dejected about the dinner I’d ruined. As excited as I was to be here, we’d only gone out because I’d made something inedible.
