21. Seven
TWENTY-ONE
SEVEN
“We’re doubling the recipe, right?” Havoc says, looking at the printed out paper on the kitchen counter. “Did you bring enough milk and cheese?”
Vortex makes an annoyed sound. He pulls ingredients out of the fridge and sets them out. “Yes, there’s enough.”
The ceramic dish Connie had given him for his birthday is sitting on top of the stove.
Caleb is with me at the dining table. He strokes the back of my neck and asks, “So if the recipe calls for half a pound of cheese, how much does the doubled recipe need?”
I know this, but I still get nervous because I don’t want to get the answer wrong. “Two halves are a whole, so we’d need a whole pound,” I say, then add hurriedly, “I have no idea how much two thirds times two is, though.”
Even my tutor has acknowledged that fractions are difficult, which makes me feel a little better about admitting that.
“You multiply the top portion of the fraction,” Caleb says. “Two times two is four, so you have four thirds. That’s three-thirds—a whole—and a remainder of one third.”
The equation goes right over my head, and I grimace. I nod anyway, like it makes sense even though it’s far beyond my mediocre math skills.
Caleb glances at Vortex and Havoc. “But you should probably triple the recipe.”
“We’re not eating that much mac and cheese!” Havoc complains. “That’s the side. We’re grilling sausages too. This is easy mode for cooking.”
“Is it?” I ask, trying to distract myself from what they think is basic math. “The three of you trying to cook does not sound like easy mode at all.”
“You just dump everything together for mac and cheese, and the sausages go on the grill plate. We need to babysit them, but it isn’t rocket science.” Havoc starts opening up drawers. “Where’s your meat thermometer, Caleb?”
Caleb snorts in amusement. “You assume I own one?”
“We aren’t going to just ‘dump everything together,’” Vortex says, pulling out a pot and setting it on the stove. “We’re going to make a proper roux and mix it all together so the cheese melts properly.”
“What’s a roux?” I ask. “It tasted good the last time we made it, though.”
“And it’ll taste even better this time,” Vortex replies. “It’s something you make from flour and butter. It thickens the sauce, and with some milk, it’ll make it even gooier and cheesier.” He smiles at me. “You’ll like it this way, too.”
“How do you not have a meat thermometer,” Havoc says. “Seriously, you’ve got all this other fancy gear. You own a food processor!”
“And I can confidently tell you it has never been used even once,” Caleb responds. He squeezes the back of my neck, and I lean into the touch. “When you get tired of creating a mess in my kitchen, we can call for food from the restaurant.”
“Are you also going to call for someone to clean up the mess?” Vortex asks dryly.
“I’ll clean up,” I say, even though I have no idea how to properly wash dishes.
“You will not,” Vortex says. “Caleb can afford to have someone come in and do it for us. Right, Caleb?” He smirks.
Caleb’s eyebrows go up. “Isn’t it the rule that the cooks clean up after themselves? That’s what one of my exes said. That way, the cook won’t leave a huge mess behind.”
Havoc takes a large pan out of one of the cabinets. I hadn’t even known there were cooking supplies in there.
“The rule is that the cooks don’t have to clean,” Havoc declares. “Seven and Caleb can clean. It won’t break Seven’s hands, and Caleb might even gain a single callus from all that scrubbing.”
“That’s how it works,” Vortex confirms. “But I don’t know how Caleb is going to teach Seven how to clean up, let alone in a kitchen. It’s not like this thing has ever been used before. Have you ever washed a dish in your life, Caleb?”
I look curiously at him. I know what his family is and that he grew up wealthy, but I realize I don’t know much else about him.
Caleb’s lips quirk into a smile. “A handful of times, in undergrad. I would have gone to the university caf to get food, if it hadn’t been late at night. They really don’t account for people who want midnight meals.”
Havoc goes around Vortex, accidentally bumping against him, so he can access the fridge. “I bet you went to Calamity U, right? Did you major in Smug Asshole?”
“He’d have graduated at the top of his class,” Vortex drawls.
“What did you major in?” I ask, both appreciating the fact that Havoc and Vortex are working together to gang up on Caleb and wanting to know more.
“Smug Asshole,” Caleb says dryly. “Or as close to that as it’s possible. I got a business degree with a minor in psychology. I did my master’s in hospitality management.”
“Your master’s, huh?” I ask, unable to stop myself from grinning. “In hospitality . Is that what you call what we do?”
Vortex smirks at me. “It could’ve been a bonus class on how to satisfy your guests.”
Caleb rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Just for that, you have to go help them,” he says, tugging on my chair. “Go on. Maybe you’ll discover you love being a sous chef.”
“I’ll get in the way,” I complain, but I get up anyway. “What do I need to do?”
“Come here,” Vortex says as he places a stick of butter in the pan. He starts to walk me through creating a roux, and my brows furrow. “We’ll cook out the flour,” he explains. “Don’t worry. As many chefs have said, butter makes everything better.”
“You might want to start boiling your pasta,” Havoc points out. “Unless you want the roux all done with the pasta still dry and hard.”
“If you’re not handling the pasta, what are you doing?” Vortex retorts. He grabs the pot Havoc had pulled out. “Here, Seven. Fill this up about three quarters of the way, then get it on the stove so we can start boiling the water. We’ll figure out how much salt to add.”
“How much salt…” Havoc shakes his head. “You throw some salt in. It’s not exact measurements. And what I’m handling is the meat.” He holds up the sausages he pulled out of the fridge. There’s a Mexican flag on the label, and the text proudly proclaims it as authentic .
“Is it like… a teaspoon of salt, or a half cup of salt?” Vortex asks, irritation dripping from his voice. “Because telling me to ‘throw some salt in’ really doesn’t tell me much.”
I watch the two of them bicker, then cross over to put the pot of water onto one of the big burners.
The stove is getting crowded, with three of the five burners now covered with pans. The one Havoc had selected has ridges on it, and I wonder what those are for.
“It’s not half a cup!” Havoc groans. “Just throw in a pinch or two. If it’s not salty enough, we’ll add more salt later.”
“My offer to get food from outside this kitchen stands,” Caleb calls out to us.
“The food from this kitchen will be fine,” Vortex replies, glaring in his direction. “Have some faith, Caleb.” He picks up the salt and sprinkles some in. “There. Is that enough?”
Havoc turns back to the kitchen counter and cuts open the sausage container. “That was a pathetic amount, but if it’s slightly unsalted, it doesn’t matter. We’ll add more later.”
I turn my attention to Havoc. The sausages are all connected to each other, and he uses a knife to cut the skin between them.
I startle when Nacho leaps onto the kitchen island to sniff at the meat.
“Absolutely not,” Havoc says, pushing Nacho off the counter. Nacho makes an annoyed cat sound but lands on his feet—and immediately jumps back up.
Havoc sweeps his arm out again to push Nacho once more, but Nacho is undeterred and jumps up a third time.
I quickly scoop Nacho up before Havoc can toss him off again. “I don’t think so, sir,” I tell him.
He meows pathetically back at me, and I cradle him against my chest. He squirms, still looking in the direction of the kitchen island.
“I’ll lock him up.” I carry him to my bedroom, and close the door, but as soon as I do, Nacho paws at the door and meows loudly. I stare at the door for several seconds, and I try to tell myself that Nacho will survive in there, alone, isolated, not getting to be with us.
His pawing and meowing gets louder.
I glance back in the direction of the kitchen, then I crack the door open.
Nacho leaps out and immediately starts rubbing against my legs. I sigh. “You are a menace,” I tell him, leaning down to scratch behind his ears. He purrs loudly, and I shake my head before walking into the kitchen.
Seeing Nacho at my heels, Vortex arches a brow. “I thought you were locking him away.”
“I thought I was too,” I tell him. “I’ll give him some catnip?—”
Miss K leaps onto the kitchen island, but when Havoc goes to shove her off like he had with Nacho, Caleb clears his throat. “Miss K is a refined lady. You’d better treat her as such.”
Havoc rolls his eyes, but he picks her up and gently sets her down instead of pushing her.
Unlike Nacho, Miss K doesn’t attempt to jump back. She circles over to Caleb and rubs against his leg until he lifts her up onto his lap, where she starts rubbing against his jaw and purring.
“If there’s cat hair in the food, it’ll be your fault,” Havoc says. He takes the sausages over to the stove and uses tongs to place them one by one onto the ribbed pan.
“I’m not the one cooking. You three should be paying more attention to food safety.” Caleb leans down to kiss Miss K’s forehead.
I join Caleb, giving up on helping in the kitchen. Nacho stays with me this time, and I turn to Caleb, ignoring Vortex and Havoc as they bicker and get in each other’s way.
“Think it’s going to be edible?” I ask him in a low voice.
“Everything is edible,” Caleb answers. “The question is if you’ll survive the eating.”
I laugh, and we fall into a comfortable silence.
After a few minutes, though, boredom strikes me, and I itch to pull my phone out to play one of the blackjack apps I installed. I’m lucky Caleb hadn’t seen those when I’d shown him the other game, and I still half-expect him to demand that I show my phone to him.
I realize, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, that he hasn’t because he’s trusting me.