17. Stirring The Sauce

17

Stirring The Sauce

Ivy

Is it really hot in here, or is it just me? Gosh, I wish I’d worn something lighter than a sweater. Zane’s body heat compounding with mine didn’t help one bit, and I wish I could roll in the snow to cool down. I’m pretty sure vapor would sizzle out of me in the process.

Zane studies me with a deep frown, and I’m not sure if it’s Giuseppe getting on his nerves or something else. He kind of looks worried, so I offer him a small smile.

Relaxing his shoulders, Zane returns his attention to Giuseppe. Our instructor is gesticulating wildly as he explains the rest of the recipe while our dough is resting. After the pressure and tension we just put it under, I understand why it needs some relaxation time.

“ Va bene . We are going to cook the spinach.” He says each word as if it ends with a hard “e.” He punctuates every following word with his hands, and at this point, I’m starting to get dizzy.

I risk a glance at Zane. His jaw is clenched, and his lips pressed so hard they’re turning white. Probably sensing my gaze, he looks at me, and the corner of his mouth twitches. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. That would be extremely rude. Giuseppe is nice, but he’s just so extra.

I shake my head, pulling myself into focus as I listen to Giuseppe’s instructions. Once he finishes, we get started on the spinach. To my utmost surprise, we’re not terrible at this. Sure, it’s a pretty basic recipe. I chose the “everyday cooking lesson” because I knew both my skill level and Dan’s, and I just wanted us to have a nice moment together—not necessarily learn how to cook fancy dishes that we would never eat again. My stomach clenches at the reminder that I should be doing this with Dan, and guilt creeps in when I realize I’m not that upset it’s Zane standing next to me instead. Actually, I think I prefer it this way. What’s wrong with me? I was about to marry Dan. Even if he’s the one who left, I should still be hung up on him, right? Why don’t I feel that way, when he was still hung up on his ex after all these years?

Giuseppe’s voice startles me again—I’m definitely not getting used to it—and we move on to the next element: the sauce.

It’s all very easy to execute, and Zane and I make a good team. A better team than Dan and I would have made, for sure. Dan was more a sit-on-the-couch-with-a-beer-while-I-cook kind of guy, and he would have probably spent half the lesson checking his phone. But Zane looks relaxed, even if this is far from his usual scene. He’s mixing the sauce slowly, like Giu explained, while I add the spices and herbs.

“Should we try it?” I suggest once everything is in the pan.

His eyes widen a little. “Moment of truth.” He dips the spoon in the creamy sauce and brings it to my face, his over-serious display drawing a giggle out of me.

“Come on,” he says. “The anticipation is killing me.”

“Right.” Blowing on the spoon, I taste some of the sauce from the end of it and close my eyes in delight. “It’s so good. ”

He dips the spoon in the sauce again and tastes it for himself. The fact that he used the same spoon isn’t lost on me and stirs something inside my chest.

“Mmm,” he says. “You’re right. We’re good at this.” Raising his hand, he gives me a high-five. “Guess it’s a good thing I tagged along.” He winks, and I bump my shoulder with his.

The other couples seem to be doing great—particularly Lina and Jude, who are a lot more organized and look like pros. Well, pros who can’t keep their hands off each other. My stomach tangles in knots again. Even if I’d been here with Dan, I don’t think we’d have been oozing happiness the way they do. Frankly, it never was our style. Our relationship was more a “comfortable” thing than a “sparks flying, eating each other with our eyes” kind of deal. And that thought hurts. What if I never find something like that?

“I’m stuffed,” I say, leaning back in my chair and putting my fork down. We’re seated at a round wooden table in the hotel restaurant, and we just finished devouring the ravioli we made. We’re all sitting at different tables, and Giuseppe is back in the kitchen preparing a little “ sorpresa ” for us.

Zane pats his stomach. “That was a lot of food.” Then, his voice drops to a whisper. “A lot more filling than the children I had earlier.”

I giggle, shaking my head. “Well, they were only breakfast. This is lunch.”

His smile widens, and it turns my insides to mush. “Right.”

“ Amici ,” Giuseppe exclaims, entering the room. “Here comes il dolce ! The famous Italian tiramisu.”

My eyes widen. If I eat anything else, I’m going to burst. Around us, everyone seems to agree with me, except maybe Marius, who looks eager.

“I know you didn’t make this, but I couldn’t let you leave without dessert, no?” Giuseppe says, placing a share plate on each of our tables, a large smile plastered on his face.

As stuffed as I am right now, I have to give this a try. First, because it would be rude not to since he made it just for us. Second, because Giuseppe is adorable, and we had a fantastic afternoon. Third, because, well, it smells amazing.

“I’m hungry again,” Zane says, a confused frown etched on his face. “How can I be hungry again? ”

I giggle, grabbing the spoon to serve us both. “I know. Me too.”

The tiramisu melts on my tongue, and I moan in pleasure. “It’s incredible.”

Zane swallows his bite, looking at me before nodding. “Delicious.”

“How do you like it?” Giuseppe asks, hands placed flat on our table.

“It’s so good,” I say. “I love how the bitterness of the coffee and cacao blends with the sweetness of the sugar. It’s perfection.”

“ Si ,” he says, pinching his fingers before kissing the tip in a very “chef’s kiss” way. “That’s the beauty of the tiramisu. Two things that wouldn’t go well on paper make the most unique and perfetto misto di sapore . Um . . . mix of flavors. A little like a couple,” he adds with a wink before walking to the other tables.

Zane and I gaze at each other for a second, neither of us saying anything before we dig into the sumptuous dessert again and clean our plate.

After saying goodbye to the other couples and Giuseppe, thanking him for a great time, we leave the restaurant. I’m happy to get some fresh air again, and judging by the look on Zane’s face, and the fact that he didn’t even bother to put his coat on, I’d say he feels the same .

We meander down the street with no destination in mind, just taking a pleasant stroll through town. We don’t talk, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s more peaceful. The smell of hot cocoa and caramelized nuts overwhelm the crisp mountain air as we approach the Christmas market.

“Oh, gosh. I don’t think I’ll be eating for days,” I joke, patting my stomach.

He coughs out a chuckle. “Same.”

We keep walking until my feet feel so heavy, I need to sit down again. We settle into a bench overlooking the ice skating rink, where we watch the skaters glide across the ice, some more skilled than others.

Zane yawns loudly. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m drained. Between Giuseppe’s overwhelming personality and the indecent amount of food in my system, I have no energy left.”

I yawn too. “Let’s go ice skating then. We’ll fall asleep right here on this bench if we don’t do something.”

His eyes widen just enough for me to admire the intensity of his gray irises. “Seriously?”

A large grin breaks onto my face. I kind of want to crash on my bed right now, but the idea of seeing Zane ice skate is just too good to pass up. “Oh, come on,” I say, bumping my shoulder with his .

He arches an eyebrow and gives me a pointed look. “You’ve been cooking this up since yesterday, haven’t you?”

“Please don’t say cook,” I say through giggles. “Are you in? It’ll be fun.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes, springing to his feet. “Let’s go ice skating, I guess."

I clap my hands. “Yay!”

We walk to the booth, where we rent two pairs of skates that Zane insists on paying for. And then, off we go. I have never skated before, but I’m sure it’s not that difficult, right? Skiing actually looks like a sport, but skaters look like they’re just gliding around peacefully.

Well, let me tell you something. There is nothing peaceful about me on ice skates. Not that I’m on that much. I barely take two steps on the ice before I look like the trembling baby deer from yesterday. But since I’m a grown woman and not a cute, tiny creature, it’s not quite as charming.

Zane, of course, masters the art perfectly.

“You said you didn’t like ice skating,” I say, slightly out of breath, as he helps me up after yet another fall.

He shrugs. “I don’t, but not because I’m bad at it.”

I stick my tongue out. “ You’re so annoying.”

He just smirks at me, gliding backwards and holding my hands to steady me.

After a few more laps, I feel more at ease, and I even dare to drop Zane’s hands and skate off on my own. It’s a lot like skiing, in a way. I just needed to find my balance.

I’m now on my bazillionth lap, and I’m finally feeling braver.

“Look,” I tell Zane. “I’m as good as you now.”

He chuckles, nodding in agreement, and I skate faster to show off my moves—except I have none. I stumble on literally nothing except my feet and reach for Zane’s arm to avoid falling, but I drag him down with me. Somehow, I roll on my back, and my feet end up near Zane's face.

He lets out a low scream as I sit up.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He sits up, his hand on his cheek. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But the moment he removes his hand, my stomach hardens, and it feels like I just drank a gallon of ice water. “Oh my gosh, Zane. You’re bleeding.”