Chapter 25
It’s not an apology if the fire department isn’t called.
Sophia
“D eglaze the pan with red wine,” I read the recipe. “What the hell does deglaze mean?”
I scroll through the recipe but there’s no glossary explaining what deglaze means. All it says is ‘deglaze the pan’. What the hell is deglazing?
“Call Paisley,” I order my phone.
The phone rings and rings. I’m afraid she’s in the middle of one of her experiments and isn’t going to answer when she finally does.
“Yes?”
“What’s deglazing?”
“Are you cooking?”
“I’m serious, Paisley. What does deglazing mean?”
“Deglazing is a cooking technique for removing and dissolving browned food residue from a pan to flavor sauces, soups, and gravies.”
I groan. “I understood the words but not the meaning. How do I deglaze a pan with red wine?”
“What are you making?”
“Paisley,” I growl.
“I’m not being particular, but I can’t answer the question unless I know what food you’re preparing.”
“Pan seared chicken with red wine sauce.”
“And you’ve already seared the chicken?”
I glance over at the two chicken fillets. They’re lumpy and parts appear burnt while other parts aren’t even brown, but they’re seared. I think. Never mind I don’t understand what seared means.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve added the aromatics?”
“What are aromatics?” I scroll through the recipe. “There aren’t any aromatics mentioned here.”
“Did you fry any shallots, onions, or garlic in the pan after you seared the chicken?”
I study the pan with the blackened bits of onion and garlic. “Yes.”
“Okay. Good. Now add a quarter to half cup of the red wine.”
I grab the bottle of wine and pour some in the pan. Flames shoot from the pan into the air.
“Fire! I started a fire!”
“I’m contacting the fire department.”
Flynn rushes in behind me and grabs the skillet from the oven before rushing outside with it where he sprays it with a fire extinguisher.
“What are you doing?” I wail. “You ruined our dinner.”
He grabs my phone from me. “Paisley, you can cancel the fire department. The fire has been extinguished.”
“Consider it done. Goodbye,” she rings off and he hands me my phone.
He places his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“No, I am not! You ruined our dinner.”
He chuckles. “I’m guessing you haven’t learned to cook since high school.”
“You can’t hold my cooking mistakes from when I was a teenager against me. I didn’t realize paprika and cayenne pepper looked the same. I grabbed the red powder the way Mom told me to.”
He shivers. “My mouth still burns if I think about it.”
“Exaggerate much?”
He rubs a finger over my forehead. “Why do you have flour in your hair?”
“It’s not my fault. Someone should really find a better method for packaging flour. I’ll ask Paisley. She’ll have a mock-up done in no time.”
He grasps my hand and leads me back inside to the kitchen. He sighs when he sees the mess I’ve created.
“I was planning on having everything cleaned up by the time you got home.” I check the clock. “Why are you home this early anyway?”
“Why are you home this early?” He repeats my question.
I gesture toward the kitchen. “Duh. I was preparing a dinner surprise for you.”
“You were?”
“Emphasis on the past tense since you sprayed the pan with the fire extinguisher.”
“I’ll buy a new pan.”
I throw my hands in the air. “You can buy a new pan but I’m not starting over. It was hard enough the first time.”
He pokes at the chicken breasts. “Was raw chicken on the menu?”
“It’s not raw. I seared those in the pan the way the recipe told me to.”
He points to a pink spot. “Maybe they need a few more minutes.”
“But they were getting black on top.”
He barks out a laugh. “Sophia Milton, you are gorgeous, sexy as hell, funny, friendly, and loyal. But you can’t cook.”
I scowl at the chicken breasts. “Maybe I should sign up for a cooking class.”
“If you want to, but don’t sign up on my account.”
“Aren’t women supposed to cook for their men?”
“Is this what this was?” He motions to the counter. “You cooking for your man?”
“I was trying to apologize.”
The humor in his face evaporates. “Apologize about what?”
“I was a bitch last night. You prepared this picnic for me as a surprise despite winning at the arcade. Although I maintain you cheated at air hockey.”
“Naturally,” he mutters.
“I shouldn’t have stomped off like a child.”
I spent last night and all day thinking about this. As much as I want a man to fight for me, I want Flynn more. Don’t get me wrong, though. I won’t put up with our relationship being a secret forever. At some point, Flynn needs to step up. I refuse to be the laughingstock of Smuggler’s Hideaway again.
“We agreed to keep our relationship a secret and here I am a week later pushing you to tell my brother. I’m not known for my patience.”
His eyes widen in mock surprise. “No. Really?”
I slap his shoulder. “Stop it. I’m trying to apologize here.”
“Apology accepted.” He kisses my forehead and comes up sputtering. “But you need to wash your face, and we need to clean this kitchen.”
I push up on my toes to kiss him. “Be right back.”
I hurry to the downstairs bathroom. I don’t want to leave Flynn to clean up my mess. I grab a towel and wet it, but when I look into the mirror I scream at my image. There’s not a little flour on my face or in my hair. I’m a freaking ghost.
The door flies open and Flynn storms in. “What’s wrong? I heard you scream.”
“I’m a mess. I tried to do something special for you and it turned into a disaster,” I blubber.
He smiles as he wipes a chunk of flour from my cheek. “Soph, you could be wearing a muumuu with your hair in curlers and your face covered with one of those mask thingies and I’d still think you were gorgeous.”
My knees wobble and I melt into him. These are the words I’ve longed to hear for over a decade. This is why I’m falling for him.
“To me, you’re perfect.”
“Hold on. Are you quoting a movie?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
I push him away. “Go clean the kitchen while I…” I circle my face. “Unghost myself.”
“Unghost?” He shakes his head before kissing my nose and backing out of the bathroom.
I scrub my face until it’s pink, but my hair is a lost cause. I gather my curls into a messy bun. “It’ll have to do,” I murmur as I study my reflection in the mirror.
When I walk into the kitchen, Flynn is drying the counter.
“How did you clean this fast?”
He winks. “I had lots of practice when I lived with your family.”
I wag my finger at him. “You can’t blame me entirely. Weston was the one who dropped the jar of pasta sauce.”
He groans. “There was pasta sauce everywhere. Even on the ceiling.”
I giggle. “Mom made him paint it. He had paint in his hair for weeks.”
“And then you used the blender and didn’t put the lid on it.”
“I did put the lid on it! I didn’t realize it hadn’t clicked in place.”
“There was grape juice everywhere.”
“Grape juice stains are impossible to get out.”
“What made you put grape juice in a smoothie anyway?”
I shrug. “Who knows? I probably thought it would make my boobs bigger. I was thirteen, remember?”
He finishes the counter and throws the sponge in the garbage. I notice the remains are in there as well. The chicken I understand but the rest?
“Why’d you throw the green beans away? I didn’t ruin those yet.”
“You boiled them until they turned into mush.”
My nose wrinkles. “Green beans aren’t supposed to be mushy? Don’t the English eat them mushy?”
“You’re thinking of mushy peas, which are gross.”
“You’ve been to England? When?” How did Flynn go to England without me knowing? Sure, I didn’t live on Smuggler’s Hideaway for a decade, but I was dialed into island gossip all the same. Even the Smuggler’s Gazette has an app.
Flynn wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me near. “I haven’t been to England, Soph. How could I go anywhere without my little temptress?”
“You’d go to England with me?”
“I’d go anywhere with you.”
I scowl. “Except a public beach on Smuggler’s Hideaway.”
He sighs.
“I’m sorry.” I immediately backpedal. “I’ll stop bringing up the whole dirty little secret thing. But not forever.”
He lays his forehead against mine. “I will tell Weston and your dad. I just need time.”
I need to let it go or I’ll end up ruining our relationship before it can begin. I need to trust Flynn to keep his word. He won’t keep us a secret forever.
“But whatever will we do in the meantime?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “We’re stuck in this house together and we can’t go anywhere.”
He growls. “I can think of a few ideas.”
I push him away. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
I run toward the stairs but glance over my shoulder to make sure Flynn is following. He’s not only following. He’s gaining on me.
Oh goodie.