17. Light Him Right Up

17

LIGHT HIM RIGHT UP

“ I wasn’t expecting this when you said you were going to cook dinner,” Laurel said hours later.

“What did you think I was going to do?” he asked. “Burgers or a steak?”

“That thought crossed my mind. I didn’t expect vegetables.”

He finished chopping the red peppers and added them to the bowl with the carrots. He stopped to stir the chicken in the skillet, then opened a bag of pre-cut broccoli and cauliflower. Some of the bigger pieces he cut in half.

“My aunt made meals like this. I’m a pro at it. Simple but filling. My uncle, Abe, and me. We were big eaters and we didn’t like vegetables. Well, I didn’t mind them. Abe wasn’t too bad, but my uncle hated them. My aunt found a way to make it hard for him to pick everything out without putting some in his mouth. He got used to them after.”

“That’s funny,” she said. “My aunt did most of our cooking. She lived upstairs and either cooked up there and brought it down or cooked downstairs. My father wasn’t home on time a lot so she was feeding me more than anything and he’d get leftovers when he got home.”

Easton found the dynamic that she had growing up easier to understand than many of his other girlfriends in the past.

Or maybe it had to do with the fact she didn’t have a traditional upbringing any more than he did and they had that bond.

He added some salt to the water and saw it was almost ready to boil, then checked the chicken he’d diced up and transferred that to a plate.

The carrots and peppers went into the pan the chicken came out of and he added some chicken broth with it to cook them down and then dumped the elbow macaroni into the boiling water.

“That was nice. Did your father cook?” he asked.

“He did. On the weekends when he was home, he didn’t like my aunt to do it all, so he cooked and invited her down. She had friends though. She’s pretty social and she’d go out.”

“But she never dated again?”

“No,” she said. “Didn’t have any interest in it. My father did, but nothing stuck. Nothing that had a woman moving in with us at least. But he did have some long-term relationships for a year or more.”

“But they didn’t move in?” he asked.

Most women wanted to move in with him after a few months. He’d been the one to hold them off for a year. Rachelle moved in before a year and that was only because he’d moved and it was a pain for the commute and she wanted him to see her.

It was probably a stupid reason on his part to have her move in, but they had some good years together.

At least he thought they did.

“No,” she said. “Some had kids and weren’t going to move in with their kids. Others didn’t like the house wasn’t that big and my father wouldn’t move out. I think in the end it worked out. It’s not as if my father rushed to have anyone move in either. I think there might have only been two people that it was even a mild conversation that I know of.”

He was watching the vegetables in the pan and stirring them with a wooden spoon, then doing the same with another spoon for the pasta.

He almost used the same one but didn’t want her to laugh at him. To him, everything was clean and cooked enough.

“I think people know when they do,” he said.

“That is my thought. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help? I feel bad sitting over here watching you and drinking a glass of wine.”

They were in her kitchen and he’d gone to the store to buy everything for dinner and stopped for a bottle of wine for her. He was drinking a beer. He could throw back wine at times, but it wasn’t what he liked to drink.

“You worked today,” he said.

She smiled. Her hair was in a ponytail, she had on a pair of those jogger cotton pants in gray that were snug on the waist, a little baggy on the hips, and fitted around the ankles. Her feet were bare and her toenails were bright red. No surprise that they were painted.

Her shirt was as red as her toenails and very snug to her body. Fire engine red to light him right up.

He was eager to cook because if he started to sweat then he could blame it on the meal he was preparing.

“I’m sure you worked too,” she said.

“Not the same thing,” he said. “I was sitting at a desk.”

“I spent most of my time there on the phone,” she said. “Trying to get people to come in.”

“No one likes to come in on a day off. Least of all on the weekend.”

“It was more they didn’t want to say yes to who they thought was calling.”

“Who they thought?” he asked.

“The supervisor that was on call isn’t very well-liked. Denise and I have butted heads a few times, but I keep it professional. Once someone realized who was calling, they came in. When Denise finally called me hours later, I was already there working. I told her she didn’t have to come in.”

He laughed. “Was she surprised?”

“Yes, but then I nicely said she could owe me. I know that will drive her insane more.”

“It normally does,” he said. He dropped the rest of the vegetables in that needed less time to cook, then added some more stock.

“Can I tell you how impressed I am that you know to cook those vegetables in stages rather than dump them all in at once?”

He turned from checking on the pasta. “When Aunt Carrie taught us how to cook, we had to make meals. Abe and I each, once a week. She didn’t care what we made, but it couldn’t be something we’d already had that week. I tried to do this and dumped them in all together. You know, making it fast and easy.”

“And you got mushy veggies, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said. “My uncle was the only one who made a comment and my aunt defended me and said at least I tried. My uncle laughed and didn’t say another word and ate everything.”

“So your aunt was the head of the house?” she asked. “Kind of like mine.”

“She was. My uncle was tough, but he was jelly around her. Anyway, Aunt Carrie reminded me that some things take longer to cook than others. I’ve perfected this meal now and just mix up the meats or the vegetables.”

“It looks like it’s going to make a ton,” she said.

“I’m used to doing that too,” he said. “Good and easy leftovers.”

He’d made lots of versions of this with Rachelle and she’d pick the vegetables or the meat out and not touch the pasta. Said the carbs didn’t agree with her.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t eat them; she said they made her bloated or fat. He never saw it and stopped arguing. If he was cooking, he made what he wanted. If she was cooking, he never said a word about it and picked things out too.

When the pasta was done cooking, he drained it, added the chicken back to the vegetables, and then the pasta, a little more broth, and a bunch of grated Parmesan cheese with some seasoning and mixed it until everything was blended together well.

“It looks great,” she said, getting up to check on it.

“Why don’t you grab some bowls,” he said. “I cut everything small enough to eat with spoons.”

She laughed. “I like how efficient you are. It’d be messy and hard with a fork and spaghetti with those small vegetables.”

“I learned that the hard way too,” he said.

Laurel pulled down two bowls and got the spoons out and they filled up, then took their drinks to the kitchen table she’d been sitting at.

“I’ve got some French bread if you want it. I didn’t think of that, but I picked it up yesterday.”

“I always have bread with it but didn’t want to go too carb-heavy on you.”

She laughed at him. True laughter. “Ah, you had one of them as an ex.”

“Guilty,” he said.

“I shouldn’t say that. Maybe Rachelle has a gluten issue.”

“Her issue was she said it made her fat. Not sure how that was possible because she never ate much anyway, but it’s each person’s choice what they put in their mouth.”

“That’s right,” she said. “But I’m not into fancy Keto or Mediterranean diets. Those are the only ones I can think of right now. I just like what I like. I’m not fussy.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “Goes back to the image, I guess. I can put down some fancy cuisine at a work function but am more likely to stop and get a burger on the way home because I’m starving.”

“Oh my God. Do you know how many times I’ve done that? We went to dinner with Philip’s parents at the country club once a week. They always had these specials that his mother would talk me into getting. I’d be starving after. Philip would bring me home, and the minute I knew he was gone, I’d jump in the car and drive around the corner for fast food. I don’t even like fast food that much, but I figured what I ate for dinner was so good for me that the fast food would be fine in my body for the night.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” he said.

“This is good,” she said. “A nice balanced meal. You’re so adult.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I think. Rustic food. That is what Rachelle called it.”

“Does it need a name?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. I thought I was being considerate cooking half the time. We were both working from home. There is no rule or law that says the same person has to cook all the meals.”

She stopped eating and smiled. “No, there isn’t. I’m glad you think that way.”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” he said.

“But you wanted someone in your life you could take care of, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I suppose,” he said. “Don’t a lot of men feel that way?”

“You’re asking a woman whose last man didn’t like getting food on his fingers,” she said.

He laughed. “Valid point.”

“Are you okay that I don’t need someone to take care of me? I know it’s only a few dates. I guess we’ve had some serious conversations. I’m not sure I even like that we talk about our exes so much. It’s normally a few months in before those topics come up.”

“I don’t think what we’ve got is normal and I’m not going to be here forever.”

The food stopped at her mouth. “How long are you here for? I guess that’s another question. You’re less than two hours away. Is that a deal breaker? You do work from home.”

He shouldn’t have said that. Or should have thought more of the words.

“Not a deal breaker for me,” he said. “During the week, we are both working and busy. There is no saying one of us can’t go see the other on the weekends, right?”

“Right,” she said. “I’m okay with it if you are.”

“I am,” he said. “I’m not someone looking for a fling. Not sure if you needed to hear that or not.”

“I think I did,” she said. “Thanks for that.”

Which just went to show that for a guy who was good with his words in his professional life, he still didn’t always get them right in his personal one.

Or maybe he didn’t care enough before and did now.