31. Jonathan
Jonathan
Something was burning. Fast. That acrid, bitter scent of food on fire was so strong I could almost taste it on my tongue. A tiny plume from the stove indicated which food was burning. The eggs.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I grabbed the frying pan and pulled it off the stove as the smoke detector triggered, announcing and blaring to all of Lina’s neighbors that I was about to burn down her townhouse.
“What happened?” I heard her voice before she graced me with her presence.
Her hair was styled with curls. The makeup she wore was simple but still accentuated her big, round, hooded eyes and long lashes, and her pouty lips were shiny with gloss.
“Sorry, I burned the eggs,” I admitted with red cheeks, turning on the overhead fan to get rid of the smoke. I quickly leaned over the sink and opened the small kitchen window.
Lina pulled a step stool from thin air and started fanning the deafening smoke alarm with a store catalog. We glanced at each other for a moment as embarrassment scorched across my face, hotter than the eggs I just burned. So much for a hearty breakfast on a Saturday morning.
“Sorry about that.” I glanced at the steel pan of burnt eggs. “Looks like I’ll have to order something for us for breakfast.”
The alarm stopped, and Lina stepped down from her stool.
She stood in front of me, taking in the disaster I’d made of her kitchen.
There were cracked eggshells in a bowl solely designated for trash and scraps of food.
Chopped red and yellow bell peppers were on the cutting board, ready for an omelet that would never be.
The baby bella mushrooms hadn’t been opened yet, thankfully.
Meanwhile, the stench of burning eggs still clung to the air, thick and heavy.
What was supposed to result in an amazing breakfast turned into a fire hazard. Not because I couldn’t cook, but because I was nervous.
“Were you trying to impress me, Jonathan Lo?”
“No,” I scoffed, dusting remnants of a red bell pepper off the white and cream-colored apron I borrowed from Lina.
She smiled. “I thought you were supposed to come pick me up at 10:30, go grab coffee, and then head to that culinary class you signed us up for our date.”
I folded my arms across my chest with a long breath. “Yes, and?”
Lina laughed. “You’re here two hours early, insisting on making breakfast, which you—”
“It was an accident,” I interrupted her.
“You burned our breakfast, Jonathan. I bet I’ll be the better cook when we go to our culinary class.” She beamed a thousand-watt smile, and I narrowed my eyes at her.
I laughed. “You bet?”
Her eyes darted accusingly to the pan I had encrusted with blackened eggs. She glanced up at me, her mouth coiling into a serpentine grin.
“I don’t need to bet. I am the better cook.” She shook her head with a click of her tongue.
A lazy, relaxed smirk spread across my face, and another chuckle tumbled out of me. “What confidence you have, Lina Lee.”
“Well, of course. I’m a winner.”
“And if you lose?”
She laughed. “I’m not going to lose. You are.”
I hummed. “Should I pull up a mirror so you can keep telling yourself that, Darling? I’m sure you’ll need words of encouragement.” Lina puffed out a low breath, ready to bite back, as I pulled out my phone and handed it to her. “Before I do that, let’s eat first.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
Her lips pouted. The glossy sheen on that sensuous mouth of hers looked delectable. I wanted to lick her lips the way I licked glazed sugar off a doughnut, certain it was going to taste like syrupy sweetness and Lina.
Sensing my presence looming closer over her, she looked up. One of her perfect eyebrows rose pointedly at me. “Unless you don’t want to eat breakfast,” she murmured softly.
I leaned down to hover my lips over hers. “Behave, Lina.”
Her face bloomed bright red as I pulled away, laughing. “It’s Saturday morning, Jonathan. I’m well rested.”
I held her face gently with both of my hands, shaking my head. “But you aren’t well fed.”
Lina’s clear, bright eyes lingered on my lips when she tiptoed to wrap her arms around my neck. In a sharp tug, our faces were centimeters apart again. She smiled. “Fine. Later then, after you lose.”
I chuckled. “That’s not going to happen.”
She scoffed, blowing blustering air across my mouth. “Just fucking kiss me, Jonathan. You talk too much.”
I kissed her as she commanded.
Lina was fuming. She was quiet as she worked on rolling a fresh sheet of pasta through her pasta roller, but the mask of indifference she hung across her face was telling. I tried not to laugh when I glanced across the large table.
“What’s wrong, Lina?” I asked.
She looked at me for a moment. “Nothing,” she answered coolly.
“Nope, something’s wrong.” I clicked my tongue. “Especially when you’re wearing that face and using that voice.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she quipped, looking up at me from the thin sheet of pasta she was trying not to rip.
I laughed, laying out my finished pasta sheet flat.
I grabbed a knife the brewery had provided us for the cooking class and started sectioning it off.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Lina eyeing me.
A smirk pulled on my mouth, thinking about how she had to start the rolling process all over again.
She didn’t dust her dough with enough flour, and it got stuck in the roller.
“I told you I’m the better cook,” I said.
“No, you’re not,” she bit back.
I hummed, dusting my dough sheet with double-zero flour before feeding it to the fettuccine cutter. My pasta came out in smooth, silky strands. Our instructor walked over with a wide grin.
“That looks like perfection, Jonathan!” she said.
I looked over at Lina, smirking. She scoffed, attempting to handle her pasta sheet as delicately as she could.
The frown on her face spun tighter as she continued rolling out her dough.
She cranked the handle of the silver pasta roller with one hand, while the other fed the pasta sheet into the machine.
It’s like an endless cycle to achieve the thinness the recipe requested.
The instructor turned to my girlfriend. “Lina, just take it easy, okay? Your pasta is looking just as amazing. If you need help handling the sheets, just let Jonathan know. He seems to be quite the expert.”
Lina plastered a smile on her face. “Thanks.”
I snickered as our instructor went on to compliment or help at other tables. “Did you hear her? I’m quite the expert.”
She scoffed. “Mine’s just as perfect as yours.”
I shrugged. “Sure thing, Lina. With that big, gaping hole in your dough sheet, I’m sure you’d be eating plenty.”
She stopped everything she was doing to glare at me. I tipped my chin down and raised a brow, taunting her. Her lips parted to utter something when our instructor interrupted her.
“Jonathan, why don’t you go and help Lina? She looks like she’s struggling a bit.”
I flashed Lina a wide, toothy grin. A flash of anger bolted across her eyes as her lips pursed into a pout. I let a light, gleeful laugh slither out of the deepest crevices of my chest.
“Gladly,” I said, tossing my fresh fettuccine in flour.
I quickly stepped over to her side of the table.
An icy, unbothered frontier froze over her expression.
I slid the back of my hands under the pasta sheet where she was feeding it into the roller, brushing my touch over her hands lightly before she pulled away.
Not a single word was muttered as she continued to crank the pasta roller until her dough sheet was thin enough.
We allowed the silence to settle between us for a moment before I broke it. “I could be working on my sauce now, Lina.”
“If you’re going to help me, I prefer you don’t talk.” Her words came out in a low hiss.
I hummed. “Sounds like someone’s being spiteful because I’m better than her.”
She began cranking the pasta through the machine faster, forcing my hands to move quicker. If not for my quick reflexes, the roller might’ve crushed the tips of my fingers.
“I’m not spiteful, and you’re not better than me.” She gave me one look before continuing. “You’re just better at following directions.”
This ignited amusement across my skin, tipping the corner of my lips into a smirk. “Oh?”
She blinked slowly. “Did I hit a nerve, Jonathan?”
An easy laugh fluttered out of me. “Is that what you wanted?”
She shrugged, not a single crack of emotion on her face except for the fire blazing behind her dark eyes. “Am I wrong, then?”
“I suggest you try to prove your point first.”
She raised an arched brow at me, tipping her head in the direction of my perfect pasta. “Teacher’s pet,” she said in a low hiss.
I tipped my head, my smile tilting into a wry smirk. I leaned in, towering over her with a light whisper. “I love it when you wear bitterness on your beautiful face, Lina. It really brings out that breathtaking sparkle of desperation in your eyes.”
She silently watched me as she continued to crank her pasta sheet through the roller. The corners of her lips tipped upwards rebelliously. When she was finally finished with her pasta, she jutted her jaw toward my stove with a competitive air around her.
I grinned. Now was the time to truly show who was the best. Me or Lina. Perhaps in a perfect world, both of us could be the best. But we knew only one of us would come out on top, with the other bitterly at the bottom.
Lina and me watched our instructor closely as she tasted each of our finalized fettucine alfredo.
It wasn’t necessary for her to do so, since we were in a class, not a competition.
But my determined girlfriend insisted. The instructor did an amazing job of schooling her face to show little emotion, except for the crease between both of her brows, when she ate each of our dishes.
Neither Lina nor I blinked as we waited to see who the victor would be.
“Both are amazing, Jonathan, Lina,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “But, personally, I’d have to say my favorite is...” We both leaned in eagerly. “Jonathan’s.”
I stood tall and glanced at Lina. She quickly spoke up. “Is there a reason why you prefer his over mine? Is it the pasta? Did I handle the dough too much?”
Our instructor gave her a smile. “The sauce was slightly too salty. Not by much, though. Just a tad.”
Lina didn’t refute it, simply nodding, a soft, understanding curve on her mouth. If it weren’t for the quick twirl of her fork in her pasta, I would’ve assumed she was taking it well. She ate her pasta in silence as I did mine.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
I laughed. “You’re such a sore loser.”
A gentle look crossed my girlfriend’s face as the smile plastered on her face fell. “That’s true. I love to win, and so do you.”
I wet my lips with a slow roll of my tongue across my bottom lip. Instinctively, Lina’s eyes flicked to my mouth and took it all in. Despite the calm mask she wore, her breath shook.
“I do,” I grinned, allowing my voice to dip low enough that only she would hear. “I love to claim what’s mine, too.”
She raised a brow at me as she ate another forkful of her handmade pasta. “So do I.”
We shared a knowing smile, the same fire burning behind our eyes. I pushed my cooling alfredo closer to her, and her brows crinkled together. Before she could push the dish back, I tipped my head with a grin.
“You need some carb loading, Lina.”
She raised a sharp brow at me. “For what?”
I shrugged. “To prep you for the very thorough exercise plan I have planned for you tonight.”
“Very thorough exercise plan?” she repeated with a flush across her skin.
“Yes. You might as well taste perfection, too, right?” I nodded toward my pasta. “Then, you’d truly know what’s considered immaculate versus what’s considered too—”
A quick, pointed kick was launched under the table directly into my shin.
It almost left me breathless, if not for the chuckle slipping out of me.
Lina smiled as she brought my dish closer to her, dipping her fork into my cooking.
She purposefully took her time twirling her utensil in my food before bringing it up to her full lips in this slow, drawn-out motion.
When she finally ate it, she shrugged. “There’s no flavor. Our instructor was just biased because you’re a teacher’s pet.”
I laughed. “You’re just jealous I’m a better cook than you.”
She scoffed. “No, I’m not. What else can you cook aside from the perfectly unseasoned alfredo sauce you made?”
“Plenty. I make a pretty good grilled chicken fajita bowl and mac and cheese. How about you? If you’re such a good cook, what can you make that is so much better than mine?”
Lina didn’t even bat an eye as she said, “Sweet pork.”
I groaned, wishing I had a hot bowl of rice with thick slabs of pork belly and a whole boiled egg drenched in that sweet and spicy dark demi-glazed stew. “You’re making me hungry, Lina.”
My girlfriend laughed. “Maybe I should make that for you some time.”
“Why don’t you just make it for me tomorrow?” I suggested easily. “We’re going to need to eat something fulfilling, you know?”
She chewed slowly, watching me closely. Her eyes darted all over my face as we shared another quiet grin. She shrugged, “I’ll think about it.”