Chapter 10 #2
Where did she learn all of this? Once again, I’m struck by the desire to know more about her, about the person she’s become while I’ve been waiting on the sidelines.
“That sounds amazing. I’ll run to the store now. Anything else we need?”
She shakes her head. “That should do it. Oh, wait. Nutmeg.”
That’s a spice, right? Salt, pepper, and garlic powder are the only ones I keep on hand, but she seems to know what she’s doing.
“I’ll grab some. Be back in a few.” I resist the urge to drop a kiss on her cheek.
When I get back home, Rory is in the kitchen, once again looking right at home. She has her earbuds in, and she’s swaying to music while she stirs something in a pan over the stove. It smells absolutely delicious.
She doesn’t turn when I walk in, or even when I make my way across the kitchen to stand right behind her. I tap her on the shoulder so she knows I’m here.
“Jesus!” she shrieks, clapping a hand over her chest. “You scared me. Make some noise or something.”
Okay, it’s not like I walked in here yelling, but picture this. A six-foot-four, 230-pound man, two grocery bags in hand, walking across a very old, creaky hardwood floor while a dog yips incessantly. It’s not like I was subtle.
“Your music might have been a little loud,” I say, doing my best to be tactful. “It smells fantastic in here, by the way.”
She looks thoughtful. “Yeah, maybe I had it turned up a little loud. And so far, all that’s in there is just garlic, olive oil, and the chicken.” She looks at my two bags. “That looks like more than just Parmesan. What else did you get?”
I pull things out of the first bag. “In addition to your special cheese, I got the nutmeg, some French bread, and good pasta.” I reach into the second bag, the one from the liquor store-slash-deli. “And wine.”
Rory takes the bottle from me, reading the label. I cross my fingers that I chose well from the selection at the small liquor store.
Actually, store may be overselling it. It’s a corner of the convenience store at the gas station, where they sell sandwiches, and you have a selection of two whole shelves of wine.
“Perfect,” she says, and I sigh with relief.
“Do you need any help?” I’m useless in the kitchen, if I’m being honest, but I want to spend time with her.
Rory taps her finger on her chin, looking around. “Sure. Umm…why don’t you grate the cheese? The chicken is almost done. The rest of this takes like five minutes.”
Cheese grating seems like a safe task to delegate to someone without any cooking skill. I watch her while she boils water for the pasta and deftly tosses ingredients into another pan—melted butter, cream. She adds lemon juice.
“What does that do?” I ask.
It seems like a strange ingredient to add to pasta sauce, but then, what do I know about fine cuisine?
“It makes it curdle and thicken. Also makes it taste delicious.” She stirs it with a whisk I didn’t even know I had. Where did she find that? “And then you add salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Cheese, please.”
She holds out her hand.
I pass over the plate of grated cheese and watch in amazement as the staples I keep in my fridge turn into a thick, creamy sauce, a decadent scent filling the kitchen. Rory tosses the pasta into the boiling water then strains it after a few minutes and adds the noodles to the sauce.
Stirring the ingredients together, she inclines her head toward me. “Why don’t you slice the bread and pour some wine? I’ll put these on plates with the chicken, and we’ll be ready to eat.”
I don’t want to be dramatic, but this is far and away the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my own home. Maybe anywhere.
Rory’s right about the lemon juice in the Alfredo sauce. It’s delicious. Paired with the Pinot Grigio and the thick, crusty French bread, it’s heaven. I have to hold myself back from moaning out loud with my first bite.
“This is amazing, Rory. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
She shrugs. “I just…enjoy it, I guess. I like to play around in the kitchen and try different things. And watch cooking shows. That’s where I got this recipe, and I kind of modified it.”
“Well, it’s fantastic. Thank you.” I refrain from licking my plate and pick up my wineglass instead. “What else did you end up doing today? Anything interesting?”
She shakes her head, pausing with her fork midway to her mouth. “Not much. I spent some time looking for jobs, but nothing really popped up.”
“What are you looking for?” I dip the bread into the sauce before bringing it to my lips. “Something with animals again?”
“Yeah. But something more…involved, I guess. I’ll start with the ideals and work my way down the list from there, you know?”
“What about the barn where you used to ride? She might need someone, right?”
Rory’s smile disappears as she lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. But…I’m not looking up here. I’m looking for something back in Denver.”
I furrow my brows. “Why?”
She pushes her chair away from the table and stands. “It’s where I live, Nate. Not here.”
I sit there, jaw hanging open, as Rory stomps away from the table and up the stairs, Spam skittering after her.
I wince as the slamming of the bedroom door reverberates through the house, familiar from my own teenage years when I slammed that very door with alarming frequency.
Fuck.
That did not go the way I was hoping. In fact, that went completely the opposite of the way I was hoping. I was picturing a nice dinner, maybe watching an old rom-com like When Harry Met Sally. Rory used to love that one.
Rory stomping away from the dinner table in response to what I thought was a benign question wasn’t on the list of possibilities I saw for tonight.
I’m still not sure what I said that pushed her over the edge, either, but I doubt she wants to talk right now.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and send a text.
Group chat: Lawton and Travis
I think I fucked this up already. Meet at Church?
Travis: Already?
Lawton: Nice going. First round is on me. I’ll see you there in ten.