24. Nora
24
NORA
“ S urprise!” I hold the gift bag out to Alex when he answers my knock.
“First of all, you don’t have to knock,” he says. Obviously, he’s forgotten what happened the last time I didn’t knock.
“Agree to disagree,” I respond cheerfully as I shove the bag into his chest. “Go on, open it.”
“And second, what is this for?”
“I’ll explain once you open it.”
He pulls the fluffy tissue paper out with one hand and peers into the bag. I pull the paper out of his hand so he’s free to reach inside. His grin grows as he unfolds the neon pink shirt and reads the lettering on the front out loud. “‘That’s what I do, I cook and I know things.’ Heck yeah, I do! But what’s the occasion?”
“Just a little thank you to replace the shirt I soaked with tears and mascara last week,” I say. A flush creeps up my neck to my cheeks as I recall the feeling of being wrapped in Alex’s arms, realizing only afterward that I looked like something the cat dragged in. I almost started crying again when I looked in the mirror after I got home that night. I was a hot mess if ever there was one.
I gesture to the shirt. “I hope you like it. Pink was the only color in stock when I ordered it.”
“I love it. Here, hold it a minute.” I take the shirt and watch as he tosses the gift bag to the ground and pulls the shirt he’s currently wearing over his head, right there on the porch. My eyes widen and my mouth goes dry as I try not to gawk. My gaze finds his face, and I can tell by the twinkle in his eyes that he’s doing this just to get a reaction out of me.
And it’s certainly working. The warmth I felt in my cheeks a moment ago is a full-on flame now. I’m sure I’m giving the hot pink color of this shirt a run for its money.
“Put your clothes on.” I practically throw the shirt at him and turn on my heel to get the crate of supplies from my car. The sound of his chuckle follows me down the steps, but when I turn around, he’s fully clothed again.
“Are you going to wear that while we record?”
“Why not? I think the viewers will love it, especially when they hear it was a gift from you.” He’s probably right, actually. It seems like the kind of thing people would get a kick out of.
“What are we making today?” He lifts the crate from my hands and carries it into the house. I shut the door behind us and follow him to the kitchen.
“What do you think about firing up the grill?”
“Nice!” He rubs his hands together eagerly. “It’s a perfect day for it.”
“Alright, then let’s get started.” We work side by side, and he follows my instructions for prepping the ingredients for steak and mushroom kabobs and corn on the cob. I’ll have to repeat some of this for the video, but there’s no reason to film most of the basic stuff, like washing the mushrooms or shucking the corn.
“How are our views looking?” Alex asks as he works. I somewhat selfishly assigned him my least favorite chore—picking all the silk off the corn—but he hasn’t uttered a word of complaint.
“Pretty good. Weekly views are still growing, and we’re really close to having enough to advertise.”
“That’s great! Is there anything we can do to boost the views to where you need them to be?”
I consider this, as I have many times in the past few weeks. “I think all we can really do is keep making quality content and encouraging people to share the videos with friends.”
Alex bobs his head. “Right. I’ll do my best to get people to share this week.”
He carries the clean corn to the island, and we’re ready to begin.
I open the episode the way I always do with “Hello and welcome to From Couch to Potatoes !” and we walk through the steps of marinating the meat, seasoning the veggies, and assembling the kabobs.
Once we’ve got the food ready for the cooking stage, we head outside to set up our cameras near the grill. We’re still using both cameras on each recipe, and having the second angle that I can cut in here and there as I edit really adds an extra dimension to the videos.
Alex rolls the grill into the middle of the patio, shifting the firepit aside to make room. Then he fetches a folding table to set in front of it that will lift the tripod to the right height. I clip my phone in and swipe open the camera to make sure the angle and lighting look okay.
“Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
I show him where I want him to stand and start the video rolling before launching into the intro. Then I turn to Alex. “Alright, Alex, are you ready to fire this thing up and show the people who the real grill master is?”
“I sure am. Wait—you do mean me, right?”
I wiggle my eyebrows for the camera. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
The rest of the episode goes pretty smoothly, though we do have to pause the video once when Alex’s neighbor decides to mow his lawn right as we are about to film Alex taking his first bite of grilled corn. But Alex jogs over to talk to him and a few minutes later, we’re back in business, the neighbor having grudgingly agreed to hold off for a few minutes in exchange for a steak kabob.
I’m just about to close out the episode when Alex surprises me with a hand on my shoulder as he aims a charming smile at the camera.
“Now, before we sign off, we have one more thing to tell you.”
What is he talking about? We didn’t discuss this.
“Nora and I made a bet that we couldn’t get twenty thousand views on this video by Saturday. I said y’all can do it, but Nora’s not so sure.”
Great, he’s gone rogue, and he’s painting me as the villain. I can practically hear our virtual audience booing me. I pinch Alex’s side out of view of the camera, and he shifts away from me without breaking his pleasant expression.
“Oh, I give our viewers more credit than that, Alex,” I say in a voice like honey, trying to make up for whatever damage he might have caused.
“Too late to back out of our bet now, Nora. Folks, here’s the deal. If I’m wrong and we don’t get twenty thousand views by the end of Saturday—that’s midnight central standard time—Nora will get to dump a bucket of ice water on my head live on our social media feeds.”
Okay, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“And if Nora is wrong and y’all show up in a big way, then she has to dye her hair purple.”
I’m pretty sure I am only partially able to disguise the horror on my face. I hold it together as best I can as Alex closes us out since I seem to have lost all ability to speak normally. Inside, I’m screaming Armadillo! Armadillo!
“So be sure to share this video with all your friends and tune in next time to see Nora with a new ’do! Bye for now!”
We stand frozen for a minute before I stop the video.
Alex smiles happily. “Well, I think that went really well.”
I round on him. “Why did you do that? Now we’ll have to re-record the whole ending again.”
“What? Why?” He seems genuinely confused by my reaction to his stunt.
“Because I’m not going to dye my hair purple, Alex. I’ve never done something like that. It’s just not me. Can you picture me with purple hair?”
“Yeah,” he says, cocking his head to the side and surveying me like he’s imagining it right now. “I think a few streaks of that light purple color you like so much would look really good on you.”
I study his face and…he seems to be sincere. He really thinks it would look good.
“Plus,” he continues, “this is a win-win. If it doesn’t produce the number of views I think it will, then you have nothing to worry about. But if it does, isn’t a temporary streak of color worth it?”
I take a deep breath and attempt to consider his assertion objectively and…darn it, he’s right. When he first said “dye your hair purple” I was envisioning a Sesame Street Muppet with a full mane of fluffy, vibrantly grape-colored fur. But a few subtle streaks of lilac? I picture what that would look like woven into my pale blonde hair. I think if it was done right, it might actually look pretty and feminine rather than the punk look that initially sprang to mind.
I turn to him and register the look of apprehension on his face. Good. He should feel a little nervous about springing something like that on me. I narrow my gaze and let him squirm for a moment before I relent slightly.
“Fine.” His tight expression starts to relax, and I jab a finger at him. “But don’t you ever do something like that again without talking to me first, because next time I will throw you under the bus instead of going along with it. Do we understand each other?”
Alex nods vigorously. “Got it. You don’t like surprises.”
“I like good surprises,” I clarify. “Feel free to surprise me with an ice cream cone whenever you want. Just don’t commit me to things without checking with me first.”
“Noted.”
“Good. Now you’d better run this kabob to Mr. Turner before he thinks you tricked him.” I hand the kabob over, and he takes off with a grin.
While he’s gone, I fill two plates with the food we’ve just prepared. I don’t bother to wait on him to begin eating. By the time he returns, I’m in a patio chair with my feet propped in a second chair, chomping my corn on the cob with no shame.
He grins when he sees me.
“What?” I ask, swiping a trickle of butter off my chin.
“Nothing. It’s just that you look very comfortable and at home. I’m glad you feel relaxed here.” He settles into a chair across from me with his own plate.
I reflect on his statement as I chew. I do feel at home here. Maybe even as much as I do in my own apartment. As if reading my thoughts, Alex says, “I’ve never seen where you live. You should have me over for dinner sometime.”
“Um, no. There’s a reason why I’m cooking over here these days and it’s because my apartment is so small you can barely turn around. It’s old and outdated, plus it’s dark because there’s only one window. It’s about this big.” I use my hands to demonstrate a twelve-inch square. “And it’s in the bathroom.”
“We don’t need a window to eat together,” he points out with a smirk.
“Yes, but I don’t even have a table. I either eat standing at the counter or sitting on my couch.”
“So what?” He shrugs. “I do have a table, and I still end up eating in my living room half the time.”
“Yeah, but not when you have company over.”
“Don’t think of me as company.”
I tip my head. “Then how should I think of you?”
“I hope you think of me as a friend who you don’t need to impress.” His expression is earnest, and I feel a blossom of warmth in my chest.
“Maybe I will have you over one day, then.”
“When?”
“What, you want to set a date?”
“Yes. I want to see where you live.” His voice takes on a lower, playfully mysterious tone. “Where does Master Chef Rose Beckham call home?”
I laugh. “Okay, okay. I promise it’s nothing special, but if you really want to see it, how about breakfast tomorrow at 7:00? That’s early enough for you to make it to work on time, right?”
“That works for me. Can I bring anything?”
“Nope. I’ll just throw together something simple. I’d hate to distract you from your chance to snoop around.”
His grin can only be described as victorious. “Sounds great.”