Chapter Seven
AFTER OUR RUN on Saturday, I learn Ren wasn’t kidding about cooking lessons. There are four bags of groceries on my kitchen counter. That doesn’t include the cold items he put in the fridge before we left on our run. It looks like a week’s worth of groceries to me.
“What are you making?”
“What? I can’t hear you.” Ren flashes me his half smile.
Man, I love his unique smile. “What are we making?”
“We are making chicken fried rice.”
“Why couldn’t we just start with tuna fish sandwiches? Gourmet cooking is not my thing.” He has no idea.
“Number one: Chicken fried rice is not gourmet. Number two: Do you really not know how to make a tuna fish sandwich?”
“I know how to eat it out of the can.” I see nothing wrong with that.
He stops in place. “Are you serious?”
“What happens if I say yes? Will a trapdoor open and make me fall into some sort of punishment basement for the cooking impaired?”
Ren laughs aloud. I’ll attempt to cook just to hear him laugh again. Even if he’s laughing at me. Which he will be.
“Aw, Bree. You crack me up.”
He still thinks I’m kidding. He’s about to find out how hopeless I am. “Why so many groceries if we’re just making chicken fried rice?”
“Because someone doesn’t have a single staple in her cupboards,” Ren says as he unloads the contents of the grocery bags.
“You looked in my cupboards?” How embarrassing.
“Last week I thought I might whip up omelets while you were showering after our run, only to find out no one actually lives here. Except a cat.”
“I eat out. It’s just me. Who wants to cook for one?” It’s so much effort.
Ren leans in close. “Today you will learn about the magical world of cooking at home.”
He holds my gaze for a few beats too long. For a moment, I think he’s going to lean even closer and kiss me. I’d rather spend this time kissing than cooking anyway.
Then he backs away rather abruptly. Maybe I should tell him I’m done with the friend zone.
Except we both know I’m still on the rebound. Jumping into a new relationship wouldn’t be smart. But it sure feels right.
It’s at that moment I realize I’m needy. Case in point, look how quickly I latched onto Ren.
The thought makes me sad.
Ren pulls a whole precooked chicken out of the fridge. “Normally, I would bake my own chicken, but this will speed up the process. The first thing we need to do is cut up the chicken.” He hands me a knife. “Can you do that while I get everything else prepped?”
“Sure.” I can handle a knife. Sort of.
“I would also normally use fresh peas and carrots. But our time is short. So canned peas and carrots it is.”
While Ren’s opening the scandalous cans of peas and carrots, measuring out rice, and cracking eggs, I stare at the whole chicken.
I always order boneless chicken. Ripping it off the bone is so barbaric.
I grab the drumstick with one hand and start to cut.
When I hit bone, I stop. Ew. Maybe the top of the chicken will be easier.
I plunge the knife into the top of the chicken, push, and hope for the best. My knife slips and hits my other hand, which was trying to hold the chicken in place.
Blood seeps out onto the cutting board—and onto the chicken.
I’m hopeless.
I rush to the sink to put my hand under the water. The sink is turning red.
“Bree, did you cut yourself?” Ren says, taking a look at my hand.
“No, I decided to make fruit punch.”
Ren half laughs and half scoffs at my humor. “Where’s your first aid kit? Looks like you just sliced your finger. It’s not too bad. These types of cuts just bleed a lot. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
“Um, will antibiotic ointment and a bandage do?”
“Yes. Where are they?”
“In the medicine cabinet in my upstairs bathroom. Don’t look at my girl stuff.”
“Be right back.” He pauses when he sees the blood that dripped on the chicken. “Today’s menu will now be veggie fried rice.”
“Sorry, Ren. You were warned.”
“No, my fault. I’m sorry I left Miss Scarlett alone in the kitchen with a knife. And turned my back. It won’t happen again. Keep that finger under the running water. I’ll be right back.” He turns for the stairs.
“I’d say ‘Watch out for logs,’ but in this case, you’re right.”
When he returns, he carefully dries my hand, puts the antibiotic ointment over the cut, and covers my finger with four over-the-top bandages. I love the feel of my hand in his, and the way he takes care of me so tenderly.
“Okay, crisis averted. You okay? Need pain meds?” The pain meds question was asked with sarcasm.
“I’m good.” He made me better.
Ren tosses the chicken in the garbage. “Okay, let’s get the rice cooking and scramble some eggs. You got this, Bree.”
“By the way, I can make the best light and fluffy eggies you’ve ever had in your life. That’s one thing I do know how to do.”
“Eggies?”
“That’s what Josie and Jordyn called them. I had to master eggies, toast, mac and cheese, and grilled cheese or they would’ve starved.”
“I knew you weren’t as bad as you were insinuating. Since you know how to do eggies already, I’ll have you do the rice.”
Ren explains how to put rice in boiling water, turn it down to a simmer, then cover it with a lid. Don’t remove the lid, the steam is what makes the rice so perfect. Then set the timer for about eighteen minutes.
I guess I can handle that.
Then his phone rings. After he answers it, he says, “I’m sorry, I have to take this. You can finish up the eggs, right?”
“Sure.” They’re not eggies anymore. They’re eggs. So disappointing.
Then he steps onto my patio and closes the door for privacy. Does a restaurant owner need privacy for a business call? What could possibly be so secretive that he can’t talk about it in front of me? Secret recipes? Plans to take over another restaurant?
The sound of water boiling over catches my attention. I remove the lid—doing exactly what he told me not to do and burning my hand in the process—and turn down the heat until the water settles. Then I replace the lid, using a potholder this time.
When I turn back to the eggs, they’re already ruined.
A light brown layer has already formed on the bottom of the pan.
I hate the smell of overcooked eggs. I try giving them a stir to save them, but there’s no hope.
I remove them from the heat, stare at the stains all over the rice pan, and realize my secret’s out. The evidence is there for all to see.
I turn to the sink to hold my burning hand under cold water.
When Ren returns, he takes in the scene, and starts to laugh. “You were not kidding.”
“I warned you. You should never leave me alone in the kitchen.”
“What happened to your hand?” He frowns.
“I didn’t realize the lid would be so hot.” Hurts like heck.
Ren grabs a plastic bag and fills it with ice. “Come. Sit.”
I plop down on my couch. He sits next to me, holding the ice on my hand.
That went so much worse than even I thought it would. “Now I have two injured hands. Death is imminent.”
“I’m not a doctor, but I think you’ll live.”
“Unless I starve.”
“Stay right where you are. Today’s cooking lesson is a watch-and-learn episode.”
Ren pulls out a can of tuna, a loaf of bread, and a jar of mayo. “I’m impressed. You actually have bread and mayo.”
“I eat sandwiches. I’m not completely helpless.” Just mostly.
He puts the tuna in a bowl, adds mayo, then stirs. He smears it on a slice of bread, adds another slice of bread on top, places the sandwich on a plate, and cuts it in half. Then he makes a second sandwich.
“Lunch is ready.” His smile is downright charming.
“That’s my kind of cooking.” I can now add tuna sandwiches to my repertoire. Who knew you just mixed mayo with tuna? I thought there was more to it than that.
He joins me on the couch as we eat. “Maybe next week we’ll do something like peanut butter toast.”
I can’t help but laugh at myself. “Cooking is not where my talents lie. I can balance your books for your business. Just don’t make me go into the kitchen. By the way, I thought about what you said.”
“Which thing?” he says in his silky voice. He could read the phone book and sound seductive.
“About visiting Quinn. Making amends.”
“And?”
“I’ve decided to do it. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me. But I owe her a huge apology.” If she’ll even speak to me.
“A wise decision. I think you’ll feel better afterward. When are you going?”
“In a few weeks. I need to gather my courage.” I wait for him to tell me to go right away. Don’t put it off.
He doesn’t. “I get it. Go when you’re ready.”
Somebody save me. I’m falling, and I’m falling hard.