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"Yes. I love seeing how anxious the chefs get when the time is almost up."
"Okay, you're gonna tell me what you would make with the ingredients."
We turn our attention to the show, just as the contestants open their baskets.
"And the mystery ingredients are rotisserie chicken…"
"Easy." Jackson scoffs.
"Lemon juice."
"Are you kidding me?" He waves at the TV. "I use that on most dishes."
"Goat brains."
I arch a brow at him.
"Okay, that's not something you use every day," he admits.
"And ostrich eggs."
I laugh at the incredulous expression on his face.
"Alright, those last two are a problem."
"So." I put an imaginary microphone to his mouth. "What are you going to make for us today, Chef Jackson?"
"I will be making a goat brain pepper fry, with a fried egg and chicken scramble."
"And the lemon juice?" I ask, sarcastically serious.
"On the pepper fry, of course."
"Of course." I nod.
He turns back to the TV, explaining why one guy can't possibly get his dish down in the twenty-minute time allowed, wincingwhen he comments on another man cutting his finger, but all I can do is look at him. At the excitement on his face, how animated he is, his smile that is making me feel all the things I should be busy burying right now.
"I can feel you staring," he says before turning that smile fully on to me.
"I love-" I stop at my extremely poor choice of words. I quietly clear my throat before continuing. "I love how you get whenever you're talking about food. Have you always wanted to be a chef?"
"Since as far back as I can remember. My mother loved the kitchen. It was her place. No one, not the maids, my father, anyone was allowed in there. Just me and Law, so it became this special place we had with her. Every meal, we were in there helping her, although I can see now we weren't actually much help. I knew it was what I always wanted to do."
"Your mother must have loved that."
He chuckles. "The moment I told her, she had me in cooking classes, baking classes, everything she could find for me."
I cautiously ask, "And your father?"
His smile instantly fades, and I hate that I even brought it up.
"My father," he practically spits but says nothing else.
"Your face always gets like that when you talk about him."
"Like what?"
"Like you..."
