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We laughed.
The atmosphere in the car warmed considerably, and I felt myself relax. “I forgive you,” I said finally. “We don’t know each other that well, and I should have been more honest. Surprises give me anxiety, and I’m also a bit of a romantic.”
He cupped the back of his neck, wincing. “I see that now,” he said. “Hindsight is a twenty-twenty, as they say. Are you sure we’re okay though?”
I smiled. “Yeah, we’re cool.”
“Aight, cool.”
He slowed as we approached a garage, dipping underground and parking the car. I looked around. “Where are we?”
“Keana’s Kreations,” he said. “The owner, Keana Thomas, mostly sells baked goods, but she also hosts an evening cooking class once a week that Damien raves about. I wanted to do something fun together, to make up for everything.”
He turned to me as if something just occurred to him. “Do you like to cook?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.
I smiled. “Cooking can be fun,” I said. “Do you know what’s on the menu?”
“Not sure.” He sat back in his seat. “Damien says Keana tries to keep it simple, though, so it’s probably not too bad.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, only one way to find out,” he said. “Let’s go, Cinderelly.”
ChapterSeventeen
NATHAN
“I’m worse at this than I thought,” I said.
“You’re doing great,” Ciara encouraged. “You just…need a little more practice.”
We had been at the cooking class for all of an hour. In the one hour, I’d managed to scatter pasta everywhere when I broke the bundle in half—and according to Keana, that was a no-no anyway. I’d forgotten to break the noodles apart so they didn’t stick together in the pot, and I’d burned the bottom of the other pot that we were supposed to use to steam the vegetables.
Yes, I burned water. I was that bad.
Meanwhile, Ciara chopped the vegetables like a champ, saved our noodles from my incapable hands, and made a charcuterie board that could have been featured on Pinterest. I was both awed and jealous.
I didn’t want to tell Ciara because she’d never believe me, but I was actually a pretty decent cook. I knew how to make the most basic things, and I could follow a recipe. It was her presence that threw me off. Standing so close to her, smelling her alluring perfume and watching her purse her lips as she crafted the charcuterie board, was making me…well, lose my balance a bit.
“I don’t know if practice will help him,” someone muttered next to us. I glared at them.
“Don’t listen to them,” Ciara soothed, placing a warm palm on my forearm. “I’ve been cooking for me and my dad for almost fifteen years. It takes time to learn.
“Here, let’s finish this shrimp scampi together,” she suggested. She dumped the cooked pasta into the pan with the shrimp and vegetables, waving me over. “Come stand behind me. We’re going to do this step together.”
I didn’t want to voice my apprehension out loud, but I was starting to feel like my mere presence was a curse to cooks everywhere. I didn’t want to get too close to her and accidentally burn her sleeve off.
Still, I did as she asked, placing my hand over hers when she instructed me to do so. I tried not to be distracted by the strawberry scent in her hair. Her hands were small and dainty, and the back of one felt like satin under my palm.
I took a fortifying breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Okay,” I said. “Now what?”
“Now, we mix,” she said cheerfully. “Here, let’s mix in the pasta.”
I reared back a little—though not enough to break our physical contact. “What do you mean mix in the pasta? With what?”
“With our tongs,” she said, giggling. “What else?”
“Isn’t this a little dangerous? I mean, you saw how I burned the other stuff.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, turning her head to look up at me. “I’ve got you.”
