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Eliza introduces herself, and I see the moment it clicks for Bea. Her head whips my way. “Is this for real?”
I nod and tuck my hands in my pockets as she turns back to Eliza. “You were the lead nutritional consultant for professional hockey players in Ontario. I’ve read two of your books. I love your recipes.”
“I hear you’re quite talented in the kitchen.” She motions for us to follow her through the restaurant.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. This guy was living on stale pizza and sugary cereal, so anything is a step up from that.” Bea gives me wide eyes and mouths, Oh my God.
“She’s being modest,” I say.
“I’m not—oh!” Bea comes to an abrupt halt when we reach the entrance to the kitchen. It’s set up with ingredients laid out on the metal work surfaces. “Are we cooking? With you?” she asks Eliza.
“She’s teaching us how to make her famous stuffed ravioli.”
Bea’s mouth drops open, and she brings her hand up to cover it. “You set this up for us?”
“I thought you might like it.”
She waves her hands in front of her face. “I get to cook with Eliza Van Horn! Like, what?”
“And me. Don’t forget that part.”
She shoves my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist. I give her a squeeze and kiss the top of her head. Yeah, it’s totally worth the guilt and sneaking around to see her this happy.
“You two are so cute.” Eliza hands us aprons and shows us around the kitchen.
Bea keeps squeezing my hand and grinning. She’s giddy, and it’s fucking adorable.
Bea is naturally gifted when it comes to cooking pretty much anything. It turns out, I’m not. Which I already knew since the only thing I’m proficient at are boxed frozen food from the grocery store, grilled cheese, and egg sandwiches. I kind of like the way we work as a team, though, and how patient she is when I don’t get something right the first time. When I was a kid, my mom would freak out if I made mistakes. But you can’t get it wrong if you don’t try at all.
Bea slides between me and the prep table so she can show me how to knead pasta dough properly. “Gently, but firmly, Tristan. You don’t have to pound everything into submission.”
Eliza’s in the back getting more fresh Parmesan. I wrap my arm around her waist and whisper, “Should I take notes for later?”
“Even I appreciate a gentle touch on occasion. Especially when I’m getting railed every night of the week.”
The fridge door closes. I release her and step to the side before Eliza appears.
Bea gives me a sidelong glance.
“Duly noted on the gentle touch,” I murmur.
We make three types of ravioli, marinara and vodka sauce, a salad, and chocolate lava cake for dessert. Bea and Eliza chat like old friends, and I love how animated they are. This is her passion, like hockey is mine. They talk about the science of feeding athletes. When our diets need more protein, when simple fuels and complex carbohydrates are best. Why loading up on cereal meant to entice small children is terrible before a game. This explains why, even when I was being a giant asshole, she still made meals for me and Flip. She loves doing it more than she hated me.
When we sit down to eat, Eliza brings us a bottle of wine and disappears into the kitchen, saying she’ll keep an eye on dessert and bring it out once it’s ready.
Bea’s smile fills her entire face. I can’t get enough of it.
“I can’t believe you set this up,” she says. “No one has ever done anything this thoughtful for me before.”
“No one?” Hasn’t anyone else ever paid attention to what makes Bea tick?
“Not really. I mean, I’ve gone out for nice dinners, but this is…it’s really sweet.”
“I had some help,” I admit.
“From who?” Bea cuts into her ravioli and drags it through the sauce. She pops the bite in her mouth, and her eyes flutter closed on a soft moan. “Oh, this is fantastic. I’ll never eat store-bought stuff again.” Her eyes open, and she looks at me expectantly. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Keep moaning and we’ll be visiting the bathroom together,” I warn.
She rolls her eyes. “You have me all night.”
“I know. My plans for you later are extensive.”
“No doubt. So, who helped you plan this?”
“Roman has worked with Eliza in the past, and Hemi has connections, so I called in a favor.”
She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth.
“Do you think Roman would say something to Flip?” She worries her bottom lip.
“It’s not his business to tell. And I trust him.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if we can amend the pact, but Eliza comes out with sparkling water. When she leaves us alone again, the moment and my nerve have passed.
