8. Nora
8
NORA
A s nervous as I was to visit Alex’s house and take a tangible step toward putting this crazy plan into motion, I feel much better now that I have. He has a way of putting me at ease with his friendly banter and confident demeanor, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I said his kitchen is pretty much as perfect for this as it could be without being specially built.
As soon as I get home from our pizza meeting, I order the tripods as we discussed, then lay awake in bed far too late replaying our conversation, finally falling asleep for a few short hours before my alarm sounds. The rest of the week is a blur of working at the restaurant and spending most of my free time formulating a plan for today.
I’m running over the plan in my head again for the hundredth time as I drive toward Alex’s house at a quarter till eight in the morning for our first day of shooting. My overthinking is in over-drive as my brain obsesses over details and strives to remember the thing it’s sure it has forgotten. In its spare time, my brain feeds me a steady stream of insecurities to ruminate on. What if Alex doesn’t like the recipes I chose? Am I wearing the right clothes for filming a YouTube show? What if it’s harder to edit and produce the episodes than I think it will be? What if nobody watches? Did I forget any ingredients?
The litany continues all the way to his doorstep where I ring the bell.
“Shut up,” I growl loudly to silence my thoughts, just as the door swings open. I nearly groan at the look on Alex’s face. He definitely heard me say, that which means he probably now thinks I’m either rude or crazy. I’m not even sure which I’d prefer.
“Are you one of those people who needs a lot of coffee first thing in the morning? It’s okay if you are,” he says with a grin. “I made a whole pot, and you’re welcome to all of it.”
“Sorry about that.” I feel my cheeks warm. “I wasn’t talking to you, I promise.”
Alex makes a show of leaning out and looking back and forth as if to discover who else might be out here. He leans so close that I catch a whiff of a spicy, manly scent that tickles my nose in the best possible way.
He straightens and lifts an eyebrow. “Talking to yourself, huh? My mom used to say that was the only way she could have an intelligent conversation some days.”
I snort a laugh. “I’ve felt that way before, but that’s not the case this time. I was just trying to calm my crazy, and for some reason, it seemed like it might help to say it out loud.”
I kind of expect him to make fun of that, but he just shrugs. “Makes sense to me. Can I help with those?”
He gestures to the grocery bags I have in each hand that I’d nearly forgotten about in the course of our exchange. “I’ve got these, but there’s more in the trunk of my car if you want to bring them in.”
“Got it.” He sidles past me, leaving the door wide open. I walk in and settle the bags onto the counter next to the fridge, which I open and begin filling with any ingredients that need to remain cool. Alex wordlessly puts more bags on the counter next to mine and goes back out for another load as I keep unpacking.
“Alright, first things first,” I say once everything is inside and the cold foods are stashed. “You said something about coffee?” I’ve been smelling it the last several minutes and I’m itching for some, even though I had a rather large cup before I left my apartment. My eyes drift to the stainless-steel coffee maker with two heavy black mugs resting beside it.
“Yep, I made us a whole pot. Help yourself.”
I fill one mug and then pause with the pot poised over the second. “Do you want some?”
“Yes, please. Do you like anything in your coffee? Cream or sugar?”
“Cream, if you have any,” I answer as I fill the second mug. I pass it to him, and he trades me for the carton of cream, which I stream generously into my coffee. Lifting it to my lips, I take a slow sip and let the comforting warmth of the brew seep through the sides of the mug to my hands.
We sip silently as I gather my wits. I notice that while Alex isn’t saying anything, he can’t seem to be still. He shuffles his feet, fiddling with a jar of salsa on the counter. After a moment, he slides onto one of the stools, but his knee bounces and his shoulders seem tense.
“Are you alright?” I ask after a moment. “You seem a little jittery.”
His knee stills and he looks at me. “I guess I’m just excited to get started.”
The expression on his face puts me in mind of a golden retriever puppy who is just learning to sit and stay on command, nearly quivering with repressed eagerness, and I smile. “Do you always have this much energy in the morning?”
“Usually,” he admits. “I’m definitely a morning person. You?”
I consider this. “I think my energy levels stay pretty steady throughout the day. But I should warn you, when I start to get tired, I get cranky kind of fast. I pretty much turn into a pumpkin around nine pm.”
“Good to know. I’ve been told I get hyper when I’m tired, so hopefully we can finish up today before either of us reaches critical mass.”
I grin. “Well, we’d better get started then.”
Alex pops up like a jack-in-the-box, coffee forgotten, and rubs his hands together. “What do we do first?”
I set my mug aside. “Let’s clear off the island and set up the tripods with our phones. We’ll take a short test clip and see how it looks.”
Alex has the tripods out of their boxes almost before I can blink. “Is here good?” He opens the first one and settles it near the middle of the island, facing the stove. The French doors spill light generously over the kitchen, and I look over his shoulder as he takes a moment to open up the camera app and square the frame where we plan to shoot.
“Yes, and maybe put the other one here?” I indicate a space to the side, and he moves to comply while I hunt through the box for the Bluetooth camera remote I bought to connect to my phone. I hang the remote from a drawer handle where it will be easy to access but invisible in the video. It only takes a few minutes to get it all set up. I’m surprised and relieved at how quick the process is. I think I’d built it up to be much more complicated and time-consuming in my imagination, but what else is new?
“Oh, before I forget, I made our contract, as promised.” Alex slides open a drawer at the end of the island and withdraws a piece of paper. “Here, take a look.”
I almost laugh because I thought he was kidding about drawing up a contract, but he seems serious, which makes my stomach twist as I accept the proffered paper. What in the world did he write?
I scan it quickly and my anxiety lifts. At the top, the words Kitchen Contract are bolded, and the body of the agreement is concise.
This agreement is between Nora Beckham and Alexander Lockwood, henceforth respectively known as the First Party and the Second Party. The First Party agrees to relinquish the rights to all foods prepared in the home of the Second Party, and the Second Party agrees to allow the First Party unhindered access to the kitchen until such time as the First Party no longer needs to use it. Each party certifies that they are freely entering into this agreement and will hereby abide by its terms and conditions.
At the bottom of the page are two date and signature lines, presumably one for each of us.
I look up and find his serious expression has morphed into a playful grin.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Did I miss anything?”
“Well, I’m no lawyer, but I think you should probably use my full name like you did yours, Alexander.”
“Nora isn’t your name?”
“My legal name is Eleanora Beckham, but I’ve always thought that sounded pretentious, so I go by Nora.”
“Eleanora,” he says softly, then repeats it more firmly. “Eleanora. I like it.”
And I like the way my name sounds on his lips, but I won’t dwell on that right now.
“Other than that, I think everything is in order,” I say, drawing his attention back to the contract. “And since this is an informal agreement, I believe the name most people know me by will suffice.”
“Then all that’s left for us to do is sign it.” He grabs a pen and hands it to me. “Ladies first.”
I sign and date it with a smile and a flourish. The whimsy of the whole thing is fun. I doubt that a vague contract like this would ever be taken seriously, but I like the goodwill with which it was written. It seems like a fitting beginning to our partnership.
Alex scrawls his name and produces a second copy for both of us to sign.
“My, this is very official,” I tell him as I repeat my signature.
“Officialness is one of my best traits,” he responds with a wink. He slides both papers out of the way and props his hands on his hips expectantly. “Alright, what are we cooking first?”
I hold up a finger. “Hold that thought. Give me a few minutes to get us set up here and I’ll tell you on camera so we can capture your reaction.”
Alex snaps and points at me. “Smart. Look at you planning authentic content. You’re a natural at this.”
I smile as a tingling warmth washes over me at his compliment. “Either that or I’ve watched way too many online recipe videos.”
Let’s be honest, it’s most likely that.
I carry over an electric griddle I brought from home and place it on the island right in front of the two cameras. Beside it, I place a mixing bowl, a whisk, flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, an egg, and a cup of milk. Alex watches me carefully, and I can see his mind working, trying to guess what we’ll be making. I reach into one last bag and retrieve two matching white aprons, tossing one to Alex before pulling on my own.
“Alright, Chef Alex. Are you ready to do this?”