Chapter 15
The next day, Fernando was spending time with Valentina, and Walker was back at Mal’s house with Janelle.
They were there to pay their dues by appearing on Mal’s cooking show.
Now that he knew about it, Walker was kind of excited to watch all the past episodes.
Cooking was turning out to be more fun than he had expected.
“Where did that come from?” Janelle asked in a whisper, side-eying the taxidermied squirrel in the foyer wearing a knitted dress and a pearl necklace.
“It was not there the last time we were here,” Walker answered, also whispering.
“It’s for Walker,” Mal said, startling them with his sudden appearance. The man was dressed to cook, wearing a tie-dye headwrap and a purple T-shirt that said Will Cook for Kisses. “Grandpa Paul and Grandma Kat wanted him to have something nice to welcome him to the family. Their words, not mine.”
“The Reed side of the family can’t have him.” Janelle grabbed his arm. “He’s ours.”
The squirrel’s glass eyes followed Walker in a way that felt judgmental.
“Too late.” Mal shrugged. “He has a squirrel now.”
“At least they didn’t send me another one,” Janelle said, sounding relieved. “That farmer squirrel they sent me is great. I have it displayed in my greenhouse. This one, though, is just weird.”
Walker turned to look at her, blinking slowly. “This one is weirder than a taxidermied squirrel dressed like a farmer?”
She scoffed and gave him a pitying look. “Of course it is, Captain Obvious.”
Now that Mal and Janelle were standing side by side, Walker could easily spot the family resemblance, especially in their personalities.
From the kitchen came a loud clang and a woman’s voice shouting. “Mal, tell them to hurry up. I’m fermenting something experimental.”
Walker paused. “Experimental?”
Mal winced. “That’s Bia. It’s probably fine. Last time, only two jars exploded.”
Before Walker could process that, a teenager with curly brown hair burst into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel covered in mushrooms. “You must be Walker,” she said with a smile, pulling him into a hug that smelled of vinegar and rosemary.
“I’ve heard everything about you. Good job with the prank, by the way. Mal totally deserved it.”
Walker blinked. “He told you about that?”
“Yep. He was proud of you two.”
“Bianca,” Mal said, drawing her name out as he stomped his foot. “I told you not to tell them that.”
She shrugged with a smirk and went back to the kitchen. “I’ll move my jars, and we can start the show.”
“Bring the squirrel, Walker.” Mal smiled sweetly. “It will be your personal assistant.”
“Really?” he asked with a sigh.
Janelle nudged him with her elbow. “This is better than the alternative. We don’t want to be looking over our shoulder forever, waiting for Mal to prank us back.”
“Smart woman,” Mal smirked.
A few moments later, they all stood in a large kitchen with several cameras watching them. Mal had them hanging from each corner of the room, the fridge, and the center light fixture. The red lights blinked on.
“Are we live?” Walker whispered out of the corner of his mouth, smiling so hard his cheeks ached. He held his taxidermied squirrel in one arm.
“The cameras have been recording for one full minute,” Bianca said. “So, if you’re going to panic, do it charmingly.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Walker. We aren’t live, and I edit thoroughly.” Mal faced forward, palms flat on the butcher-block counter. Copper pans hung behind them, and a pot of water boiled on the stove. The kitchen glowed warm and gold.
“Welcome back to Simply Living,” Mal said, voice smooth as whiskey. “I’m Malcolm Benson, and today’s episode is special because instead of pretending I cook like this every day for imaginary friends, I’ve invited some real ones.”
Walker, Janelle, and Bianca moved to stand next to him at the island.
“We don’t know what we’re making,” Janelle told the camera, already sipping from a glass of white wine she’d found somewhere.
“That’s not true,” Mal said with a smile. “We’re making rosemary lemon chicken with roasted potatoes and a summer tomato salad.”
Janelle leaned on the island. “For the record, all he told us was to come over hungry and camera-ready. That’s it.”
“My name is Walker,” Walker said suddenly, blinking nervously.
Bianca snorted a laugh and patted his back. “Yes, it is, big guy. I’m Bianca, Mal’s daughter from another life, and that there is Janelle.”
“You’re too sweet.” Mal patted Walker’s cheek. “Now that the intros are out of the way, let’s proceed.” He clapped his hands once. “Okay. First step: Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Walker, that means you turn the dial behind you.”
Walker stared at the stove like it had personally offended him. “Wait. Why is it analog? That’s too outdated for a professional. Even Ferdie and I have a new digital model.”
“You sound like my husband. It builds character, okay,” Mal said, rolling his eyes.
“It builds lawsuits,” Janelle muttered, but she was already zesting a lemon into a bowl, bright curls of yellow falling like confetti.
“I like it better than a digital model because it’s more reliable,” Mal said with a pout.
He crushed garlic with the flat of his knife, and the sharp, clean scent rose into the air, followed by the scent of chopped rosemary.
“Ignore them, my lovely audience. Cooking with friends,” Mal said to the camera, “is about controlled chaos. You want enough people to make it lively, but not so many that someone sets a towel on fire.”
Walker froze, holding a dish towel dangerously close to a burner. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”
“As usual, I sourced as much of my ingredients locally as I could. Hobson Hills has a lovely little store called Farm Fresh, which is where I get most of my produce.” Mal passed the bowl of marinade to Bianca. “Olive oil, lemon zest, juice, garlic, rosemary, salt, pepper. Give it a stir.”
Bianca did, efficient and focused. “You’re actually measuring today. That’s new.”
“I usually measure on camera,” Mal said, sniffing, nose in the air. “Off camera, I follow my heart.”
“That’s how you end up with cinnamon chili,” Walker said, wincing at the memory. “Recipes are exact for a reason.”
“Cinnamon chili? Now, that sounds experimental,” Mal said, grinning.
“It was inedible.” Walker sighed. “I warned Ferdie, but he flew too close to the sun.”
Janelle laughed, grinning like a loon. “I kind of want to try it.”
“I do too. That might make it into my experiments this week. If dinner isn’t good, I can blame it on Fernando.”
Walker winced again, feeling like he had tossed his omega under the bus.
“Now, this chicken comes from a local ranch and is free-range. There are no preservatives or chemicals in this lovely meat. Simple ingredients mean healthier living,” Mal said.
Walker tilted his head, intrigued as he watched Mal cook.
“Walker, pat these chicken thighs, please.”
Walker did as he was told, Mal, looking over his shoulder. “Pro tip,” Mal said. “Dry skin equals crispy skin. Moisture is the enemy of crunch.” Mal guided Walker through the rest of the process. “Slide the chicken into the bowl of marinade and coat each piece thoroughly.”
The scent grew deeper and more delicious. Walker breathed it in and smiled. Maybe it wasn’t working with explosives, but cooking was still interesting. And less deadly.
“Let it sit at least twenty minutes,” Mal said. “Which is perfect, because that’s exactly how long it takes for Bianca to start arguing about something.”
“I don’t argue,” Bianca protested.
“Sorry. I meant that you debate aggressively,” Mal corrected.
Janelle crossed her arms. “What are we debating aggressively about today?”
Mal smiled. “Best summer food.”
“Tomatoes,” Bianca said instantly.
“Grilled corn,” Janelle countered.
“Hot dogs,” Walker said. “Classic. No notes.” He had very few good memories of his childhood, but one of them involved one of the nicer foster families he had been with and a trip to the state fair. Hot dogs featured prominently in that memory.
“Oh, I don’t know. Hot dogs are a good summer food, but watermelon is cold, sweet, and perfect in the summer.” Mal placed the marinated chicken, skin-side up, in a cast-iron skillet, carefully arranging it.
“That’s dessert,” Bianca protested.
“It’s emotional support fruit.” Mal stuck his tongue out at her.
While they waited for the chicken, Mal showed Walker how to put together the roasted potatoes. It was easy. The potatoes went into a bowl along with olive oil, salt, and cracked pepper.
Walker tossed them with his hands, trying to be gentle. “Am I doing this right?” he asked.
“There’s no wrong way,” Mal said, patting his shoulder and giving him a soft look.
Bianca raised an eyebrow. “That is absolutely not true. You tell me I do it wrong all the time.”
Mal shrugged. “Okay, there are wrong ways, but Walker isn’t doing any of them.”
Walker ignored Bianca’s indignant squawk and spread the potatoes around the chicken.
“Perfect, Walker.” Mal slid the skillet into the oven with a practiced motion. “Now,” he said, dusting off his hands, “we make the salad.”
Tomatoes in shades of red and gold hit the cutting board. Walker sliced them cleanly, juice pooling bright and glossy. Aww, knives, he thought happily. He had thoroughly enjoyed his close combat training, especially knife-fighting.
Bianca tore basil with exaggerated delicacy while glaring at him.
“Why can’t I cut it?” he asked.
“Because you’d dice it into oblivion.” She eyed the tomatoes. “You look a little too happy with that knife.”
“Ignore her, Walker. You are doing just fine. Janelle, put the wine down and drizzle olive oil over the tomatoes.”
Janelle kept her wine glass in hand and grabbed the olive oil. “It’s so simple,” she said. “You cut it, mix it, drizzle it.”
Mal nodded. “Simple is the point, but how many glasses of wine have you had?”
Janelle thought for a moment. “Mauve, I think.”