Chapter 5 #2
Oven gloves on, and in it went. Cath felt calmer now, realising that she’d relaxed as they had cooked together. The process of chopping and stirring taking over from all those anxious thoughts about where they went from here.
‘Well, that was pretty straightforward,’ said Will. ‘I think even I might manage to have a go at making that sometime.’
‘Great. And whilst that’s cooking away, we’ve got some decorating to do.’
‘Jeez, you haven’t got me lined up for some DIY as well as cooking?’ Will grimaced, evidently imagining they were about to paint walls or something.
‘Hah, nope, just a bit of autumnal styling in the shed – our supper club venue for this evening. Walk this way …’ Cath gestured for him to follow her out into the garden.
Cath picked up the tray that she’d already loaded with cutlery, vintage cut-glass wine glasses (a gift from her parents many moons ago), green-and-orange-checked paper napkins (a lucky find in the minimarket), and a couple of green-glass tealight holders.
She asked Will if he’d carry the big storm lantern up for her.
Earlier, she’d placed her pumpkin selection by the summerhouse door, and the red-and-gold leaves and pine cones were strewn rustically along the wooden table, with some starlike dried-hogweed heads looking pretty in two posy jars.
‘Wow, this looks amazing here, Cath.’
‘Aw thanks, but this is only the start of it. Okay, so can you pop the lantern there by the pumpkin patch?’
‘Right-io.’
The pair of them set to work, and in no time at all, the shed was transformed.
The tealights were ready to light, either side of a small orange pumpkin, which she’d reclaimed for the centre table and draped some glossy-green ivy strands around.
Each place setting had an antique cut-glass tumbler, sparkling-clean cutlery, and a folded napkin with a shiny brown conker (another lucky find on her stroll in the woods) placed upon a named brown-card luggage label.
She’d handwritten them last night in black ink.
The storm lantern and the remaining larger pumpkins and swede were welcoming sentries by the open doors.
‘Looks great. I love it,’ Will commented, scanning around the shed. ‘How do you even think of all this? You make it look so damned easy. If it was my place, you’d be getting a placemat and a knife and fork put out, and that’s if you were lucky.’
‘Ah, I enjoy doing it. It’s kind of fun.’
‘Hah, well, you’re obviously way more artistic than me.’ He grinned. ‘I might have come up with a can of beer and a conker, at best.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, that would have worked fine, too. Don’t overthink with theming. Just have fun with it. Anyhow, that’s the small stuff. The food’s the important thing. And on that note, we’d best get back down to the kitchen. I’ll give the stew a stir, and then our crostini await.’
‘Our what?’
‘It’s the starter, well, nibbles. They’re dead easy, I promise you.’ She froze as she let slip the word ‘dead’. Oh no. Would Will pick up on that? Might it make him feel sad? Wreck their happy afternoon? Oops. She couldn’t help but feel hypersensitive around him.
‘Ah well, thank heavens for that. I need easy,’ he responded.
Phew, she seemed to have got away with her unintentional faux pas.
‘And now, it’s what—’ Cath glanced at her wristwatch, as they reached the bottom of the garden steps.
‘Blimey, almost five o’clock. I think the yard arm might be getting near?
Fancy a cheeky glass of vino for the cooks?
’ She might well need one to settle her nerves.
Whilst enjoying the cooking and dining-area decoration, it seemed very much that they were on their best behaviour this afternoon, keeping a polite physical distance.
Will seemed more relaxed, however, as he quipped back at her. ‘It’d be rude not to. Don’t want to be upsetting the hostess.’
They were drawn back to the kitchen by delicious aromas of beefy gravy. Cath took out and stirred the casserole, which looked mouth-wateringly rich, the meaty aromas even more pungent and alluring up close. After popping the dish back into the oven, she poured them each a small glass of Malbec.
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, and thank you. I’ve learned a lot already. Hey, I might even dabble with a theme whenever it’s my turn to host, or when the girls next come home.’
‘Ah, they’d like that, I’m sure.’
Cath started the crostini by slicing thin circles from a ready-to-bake baguette, and popping them on a baking tray. ‘Now this is the easiest starter in the world. Watch and learn.’
‘I’m on it. Circles, thin, bake.’ His lips curved into a cute smile. ‘Cooking with Cath is going well. You ought to do a TV programme for beginners like me. It’d go down a storm, I reckon.’
‘Hah, just imagine. The Cheviot Cottage Cooking Show. Sounds rather fun. My teaching might take on a whole new twist. Move over maths, and in with the food.’ It was a crazy dream, but fun to chat about.
And hey, who knew what life might hold for her in time?
This was her second-chance moment after all. She did so enjoy cooking and chatting.
Cath took a sip of the fruity red wine. The bread discs were baking to a nice golden crisp in the oven.
Once cooled, they’d just need some toppings.
Cath was going to show Will how to chop and mix a traditional tomato, garlic, oil and basil bruschetta topping, and a blue cheese alternative.
Perfect to nibble on, along with a glass of wine as their guests arrived.
A great alternative to a formal starter, as they could chat and graze in a wonderfully relaxed way.
They had a five-minute reprieve whilst the discs baked and cooled, and pondered a suitable music selection for this evening.
Will was keen on playing his Chilled Acoustic and Fifties Classics mixes on his Spotify, and Cath, wanting a relaxed atmosphere plus loving the Fifties tracks too, was more than happy with that.
He said he’d fetch his mini speaker to use in the hut, when he’d call back home later to get changed.
They enjoyed a sip or two of their wine, and then Cath got Will to help her prep the crostini toppings.
He was deliciously close at this point. How did a man cooking in her kitchen, concentrating as he chopped basil, manage to look so darn-well dishy?
The pungent leafy aromas, as well as his aftershave, filled the small space between them.
Hmm, perhaps it was because Trev rarely ventured there, other than to make a cup of coffee or load the dishwasher – only when asked to, mind.
The kitchen had always been her domain, but hey, she was more than happy to share it in this instance.
Cath was aware of the time slipping away. There was still plenty to do; it was already almost five p.m., and their guests were due to arrive at seven.
‘Right then, we can’t relax too much: next up’s the crumble,’ she announced.
‘Oh, I thought we were finished, what with it being wine o’clock?’
‘Not qu-ite. No resting on your laurels here.’
‘Jeez, you’re some taskmaster.’ He was smiling as he spoke, his soulful eyes glinting.
‘Come on then, we have pudding to make.’
‘Yes, sergeant major.’ He stood to attention. ‘I’m starting to feel like I’m in Gordon Ramsay’s kitchen, here.’
‘Oh no, I’d need to be swearing far more, with a few choice Foxtrot Oscars aimed at you.
’ She laughed, as she began to weigh out some butter, then cube it up, next sifting flour into a large mixing bowl.
‘Here’s where the fun begins,’ she said, as she dipped her freshly washed hands into the mix, ready to rub the fat into the flour.
‘Oh, I quite fancy the look of this bit …’ Will gave his hands a rinse at the sink, and then moved in closer, standing behind her initially to take a look at what she was doing.
‘You do it like this.’ She rubbed and pushed the mix through her fingertips. ‘It needs to look like breadcrumbs by the time you’ve finished.’
She became very aware of his face close to hers, just over her right shoulder.
Ooh, his breath was now soft by her ear.
It reminded her of that scene at the potter’s wheel in the film Ghost. Oh crikey, she could feel a hot flush coming on.
Bugger it! She’d bet Demi Moore wasn’t all hot and sweaty at that point …
well, perhaps a lot later in the evening, but not at the bloody start.
‘Like this?’ He reached around her, and then dipped his hands into the mixing bowl beside hers.
As he did so his body was, ooh, pressed gently against hers from behind as they stood at the kitchen counter.
Things were definitely hotting up. She was no longer in a relaxed cooking lesson state, oh no.
‘Uh-hmmm.’ She’d suddenly lost all power to speak.
‘Actually, I could quite get into cooking, I think,’ he uttered cheekily, his breath warm beside her.
She couldn’t see his face, but she knew absolutely that he’d have a naughty twinkle in his eye.
‘Hmmm,’ she murmured again, as she kept rubbing the mix, even as his hands took hers in his, all sticky and gooey.
Before she knew it, he’d flipped her around towards him, and swiped a blob of the mixture down over her nose.
‘Hey.’ She pretended to be affronted, and gave him two swipes of buttery raw crumble across his cheeks, laughing as she did so.
‘It’s a crumble war!’ He grabbed a chunk, and with a dab gave her a doughy moustache.
‘Enough! There’ll be no mixture left.’
‘Shame, I was thinking about licking that one off.’
And a glimpse of the old, carefree Matty from years ago struck her. ‘What? Really?’ Hmm, that might not be so bad …