Chapter 25 #2
I consume a bit more wine, but stop drinking after the first hiccup.
It takes concentration to stop another from coming.
To distract myself, I observe the other couples again.
The elderly woman has meandered her way into their cooking station.
She kisses her partner’s shoulder as he starts preparing pasta dough.
The other couple is communicating via sign language.
Their giggles make me sigh. Everyone here is genuinely in love, and it’s this feeling Luke has brought us here to emulate.
We need to pretend to be falling for each other. That requires practice.
Standing up, I go lean on the countertop separating Luke and I. “You’re really good at following instructions. I can tell. Does that come naturally to you?”
Yes. Apparently, interview questions = flirting.
His hands work the shaggy dough. “I graduated from Harvard with honors.”
“ Harvard ,” I repeat. “Oh my, I’m surprised that hasn’t been dropped in a conversation before.”
Deciding I want to be closer, I go around the counter and stand by him. “The more you knead the dough, the more gluten is developed. How long have you been at it?”
Luke flicks a bit of flour at me. “Darling, you are supposed to relax and trust me to make this meal for us.”
“Or compliment him,” yells Verity from somewhere else in the room.
Luke snorts.
What noise was that? Does he think me not capable? I reach over and pat his bicep. “You are kneading that dough real good.” Then I pat his back. “Well done.” Then I pat his two shoulders. “My strong man.”
Luke walks away from me and washes his hands in the sink. I’m about to wonder why when he comes back, lifts me up by the waist and sets me on the counter.
Eeep. Stand down, libido!
“You are distracting,” he says by way of explanation.
I’m distracting? He’s distracting. Especially now, watching him focus on making the sauce while his pasta dough rests.
Onions and garlic are diced with slow but proper knife skills.
His free hand is curled into a claw to protect his fingers.
The blade moves in a rocking tip-to-heel motion.
I’m amazed. “You really could be a good cook, if you wanted to.”
“I’m liking it, even conceptually, a lot.”
“Conceptually?”
He is choosing his words carefully, but, at length, says, “I like you sitting there, watching me. I like the idea of making you food, hoping you’ll enjoy it. For all those meals you’ve made me, I’m finding myself wanting to cook those back for you to enjoy.”
He’s not joking. He’s being completely sincere.
Disorienting warmth swells in my chest. “I didn’t make any of those meals to be repaid.”
“All the same, I want to see you eat something I’ve made for you. More than once. More than tonight.”
That’s—longevity. In what way does he really mean?
“You’ve run out of wine,” observes Luke. He passes me his own glass, only half-drunk. “I’ve got to drive us home afterward.”
“If you insist.” Putting my lips where his have touched is a peculiar sensation. My tongue tastes the area.
Verity comes back to the front of the class. “Let your tomatoes simmer in the sauce. Meanwhile, it’s time to roll out the pasta dough. This will take some room, so those who have left their respective spots”—she aims a particularly direct look at me—“return to them.”
Before I can get down myself, Luke lifts me off the counter and puts me right on my feet. I stumble a bit.
His hand cups my elbow. “Careful, darling.”
Darling, darling, darling?—
Each time he uses that endearment, a part of my brain goes weak. To combat this effect, I need to find my own name for him. Something to get inside his head. Feeling blanketed in wine-induced floatiness, it takes a while for me to run through some options.
In the meantime, Luke uses a pasta roller to slice his dough into linguine strands.
He finishes his sauce, and uses the chiffonade technique to stack, roll, and slice a cylinder of basil into thin strips.
Verity walks between cooking stations to make sure everyone is keeping up.
Under her supervision, the meals are pulled together.
The elderly couple starts eating first. Under their table, the woman’s shoe is toed off. She strokes the inside of her partner’s leg with her feet. The young couple are asking Verity for a second bottle of wine.
Luke brings our dinner over. “Are you impressed?”
“You are magnificent, sweetling. If I didn’t witness this with my own eyes, sweetling, I would not have believed it to happen.”
“Sweetling?” Luke takes back his wineglass and chugs the last bit. “That’s what you choose? Christ, vaporize me. I don’t want to exist in this mortal world anymore.”
Lowering my head, I smell the plate of pasta.
The aroma is delicious in itself. “Actually, not being funny anymore… This is sweet. Really. I don’t remember the last time someone has cooked for me like this.
I don’t think it’s ever happened, truthfully.
I’ve always gone to the kitchen and done it myself.
Not out of any gendered roles, but because it’s my profession so it’s been assumed I’ll do it because I love it.
Which I do. And I’ve always been quick to place myself there too.
It’s my love language to cook for others, I suppose.
What I can offer someone else. But this—this has been nice. Sweet. Thank you.”
I stuff my mouth with some pasta. That was a lot of talking.
“Compliment each other,” Verity says from the background somewhere. “Go deeper than you ever have. That’s the point of this whole class!”
Luke and I stare at each other, and my pulse goes up again. This is bad, because I am not feeling like it is pretend. I open my mouth to say something silly, something nonsensical, so we can center ourselves again, but Luke speaks first. “What you offer is vastly unquantifiable.”
I gulp. “You have qualities, too. I’m glad you called me into your office to yell at me.”
“It’s been an adventure, and I wouldn’t want to take it with anything else.”
“Considering I’m the one tolerating your abhorrently grumpy nature. same. Though you’ve been smiling a lot tonight. Enough to ruin your reputation, I must say.”
“That can’t happen. I must frown. ”
“You aren’t doing it properly.” I place a thumb on the edge of his mouth and tug it down myself.
His eyes flash in amusement. I’m sure mine do too, because I certainly feel airy laughter bubbling inside me. His lip is so soft. I nudge it again. Then move across the bottom.
He captures it—and nibbles.
Instantly, heat pools between my legs. There is imminent throbbing.
When I suck in an audible breath, he lets go, looking quite disturbed himself by the action. “You taste good. And I am going to regret learning of this fact… I’ve got a feeling I’m in for another hard night.”
“Hard as in hard ?”
Gray-blue eyes snap up to meet mine. Did I say that out loud?
Verity’s hand comes out of nowhere and clamps Luke on the shoulder. “How is everything going here? Let me know when you’ve finished up, and I’ll bring my famous dessert out.”
We’re ushered to eat, and so that’s what we do, not looking at each other anymore. On my end, I’m afraid of how easy it would be to fall in, and keep falling into these feelings. Already my heart is too loud and lofty.
“The dessert is ready!”
A single serving of tiramisu is placed in front of us. Two spoons.
“Feed each other,” orders Verity. “Say how much you love each other with each bite.”
I love you’s sprout all around us. .
Going first, I offer him a bite. “I—hate you.”
His turn. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”
My turn feeding him. “It can’t be more than my hate.”
“Oh, but it is. You have no idea, darling. I promise you, you have no idea how much I hate you to the core of my being. I wake up thinking about hating you. And I can’t sleep for hating you.”
“And for the finale,” directs Verity. “To end off the night, give each other a kiss!”
This is it. The test. What all this practice has accumulated too.
My first instinct is to throw myself on the ground and roll off into a corner, but that’s not the point of this exercise, is it?
No. I can do this. Be professional. Detached.
It would be quite pathetic for a quick peck on the lips to undo me like this.
I attempt inching my chair closer to him. It’s hard, the legs of the chair dragging against the resistant floor. I aim to try again, when Luke’s arm comes out.
In one move, he pulls me next to him.
I almost topple into his lap, but steady myself at the last moment.
“This will be good practice,” I tell him.
“Right.”
“The aim is not to be awkward.”
“Yes, thank you. When I kiss a woman, awkwardness is not the goal.”
“For the record, I’ve got a whole life of experience. I’m not awkward about this either.”
“You’ll find I’m an expert at this. Out of curiosity, who else ranks high on your list?” asks Luke. “Did you ever end up going on that date with your dentist?”
I flatten him with a stare. “That’s not pertinent to this conversation so I’m not telling you.”
The others have already kissed and finished, and here we are, appearing to be facing the gallows.
As if this one little kiss is going to destroy everything.
Our faces start to crowd in, and now there is but a whisper of space between our lips.
Luke threads his fingers through my hair, and my eyes flutter at the sensation.
One second. Two. Three. Finally, his lips slant over mine. My fingers are on his jaw.
I don’t know who moves first, but the kiss deepens. We’re squeezing each other, and again it’s confusing to pinpoint the order of things, but all I remember is this pounding inside me. More, more. Not close enough. And why does this feel so good?