Chapter 37. Liam
The kitchen at night is different, and I shouldn't be here.
I know it.
Everybody does.
Lu is at the inventory shelf, standing on a step stool. I think her shift is about to end.
"Kitchen's closed, child," she says when she sees me, but she's smiling as usual. Her accent is the best part of talking to her. I could listen to it forever. "You come back when your shift starts tomorrow, and we talk about whatever's got your leg bouncing like that."
My leg really is bouncing. I stop it. It starts again two seconds later because the leg doesn't take orders from the brain. I want to do something extremely bold.
Ridiculous, even.
"Lu… I… want… I need to cook," I say.
Lu's eyebrows rise. She steps down from the stool.
"You need to cook," she repeats. "At eight o'clock at night. In my kitchen. That is closed."
"For Ethan. His auntie called his parents during Family Day," I say. "They said… things. Bad things. In front of everyone."
I swallow.
"And I need him to know that I…"
I stop.
"You want to make something for him," she says.
I nod.
She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out her keys.
She holds them out.
"I don't know anything about this," she says. "You were never here. I'm trusting you, boy."
I take the keys and try not to shake, because that would show how much I can't believe she actually said yes.
"Leave everything clean. I mean it."
"Yes, ma'am. I promise. If they catch me, I'll say I stole the keys."
"And I'll say you stole them. And they'll believe me, and you'll be sent to the Hole for two weeks."
"Deal," I say, smiling.
"But don't get caught."
"I won't, ma'am."
She huffs. I'm shocked she actually allowed this. Shocked and so happy. So incredibly fucking happy. And then she fucking leaves. The door closes behind her.
Fucking hell.
I did it!
I move.
My ADHD, for once, is useful.
I open the walk-in cooler, and the cold hits my face.
Lu and the staff maintain this place with religious devotion, and I'm not going to be the one who desecrates it with a mess.
I get everything I need and lay the ingredients out on the counter.
Mise en place. That's what it's called. I feel like a fucking French chef.
I can't believe I'm actually here, cooking by myself, at night.
I start it and I season the chicken the way Lu taught me.
Salt first, pepper, garlic, minced fine, paprika for warmth, thyme.
Then, the vegetables get olive oil, salt, and a scatter of dried rosemary that I rub between my palms the way Margarete showed me, the friction releasing the oils, the scent rising into the empty kitchen.
I coat the chicken wings and put them in the oven, then I make the barbecue sauce. Once the wings are ready, I coat them in it, and the smell is fucking divine. I finish everything, clean everything, grab a leftover cupcake from earlier for dessert, and put the food into small containers.
It's still rec time, so I know Ethan must be in his office.
I asked Jack to distract him.
God help us.
I hurry into Ethan's office.
The door is unlocked because he was here just a few minutes ago.
The tablecloth comes out from inside my hoodie, swiped from the laundry pile, white, and slightly wrinkled, but good enough. I spread it across the desk.
The two little battery-powered candles came from the emergency supply closet. Their fake flames flicker a very unconvincing yellow, but I'm choosing to believe they're romantic.
The radio comes next.
I pull it from my waistband and turn it to the rock station. Audioslave is playing. The food comes out of the containers. I arrange everything on little paper plates. It is what it is.
Chicken wings glistening with barbecue sauce. Roasted vegetables. The chocolate cupcake still in its foil wrapper.
Two napkins.
Grape juice I found in the cooler and two red plastic cups.
We're going to pretend it's wine.
The door suddenly opens, and I almost have a heart attack.
Ethan is standing in the doorway.
He jerks back when he sees me, his shoulder hitting the frame.
"Fuck," he mutters.
His green eyes move across the room. The tablecloth. The food. The fake candles. The radio's thin music.
Me.
He opens his mouth.
"Surprise!" I say. "Sit down before it gets cold."
"What are you doing, baby?" he asks, grinning.
I go to him first. We kiss. Then he sits in his chair, still looking around like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.
"This is for you," I say. "After yesterday. Your parents, the call, all of it."
His expression softens.
"You had to sit there and take all of that in front of everyone. You shouldn't have had to."
Ethan looks at me for a second. Then down at the food. "You didn't have to do all this."
"I know." I shrug. "I wanted to."
"You're the best," he says, and he looks so soft I could die. "I can't believe this. How did you pull this off? It feels like I'm dreaming."
"I have my ways. Dig in, come on."
I sit in the other chair.
He picks up one of the wings and takes a bite. His eyebrows draw together as he nods and makes a sound of contentment.
"Damn, baby. This is really good." I grin. "Eat with me, please."
I wouldn’t refuse that. I'm obsessed with chicken wings. I eat two in a row before I remember what I wanted to say.
"They really did a number on you yesterday," I say, the words coming out around a mouthful I have to swallow quickly. "You were so steady afterward, but you shouldn't have had to deal with any of that."
I look at him. Then down at my plate. Then at the fake candles, which are doing their absolute best. Ethan's mouth twists into a crooked, sad smile. Then he laughs, which is even more confusing.
"That's not even the part I remember most."
I look up.
"It was so much fun being there with our family—our real family—and our friends," he says. "That's what I keep thinking about."
My chest tightens.
"And now you made dinner for me."
He looks around the office again.
"That's all I care about."
I feel my heart beating faster. I'm so happy I could melt.
Ethan grabs the grape juice and pours us each a cup.
We clink them together like it's expensive wine.
And the food is really good, and I have to admit it: I can't believe I made this myself.
Ethan keeps telling me how good it is, and it's not even annoying. It's just nice. So fucking nice.
He finishes his cupcake in two bites, then licks frosting off his thumb.
"You know what I want to do?" he asks. His eyes glint in the fake candlelight.
"What?"
"I want to be with you forever." My heart trips over itself.
"Let's get married," I say, mostly joking.
Mostly.
Because I'd say yes.
"Hell yes," he says immediately.
I stare at him.
He starts laughing, and then I do too.
"Hell yes, baby."
He gets up from his chair and comes around the desk. He takes my face in both hands and kisses me. He tastes like chocolate frosting. I can feel him smiling against my mouth.
"You're perfect," he says.
I'm about to say something stupid like, I'm literally not, but he kisses me again and I forget how to talk.
He pulls me into his lap, and I settle there with my arms around his neck. We stay like that for a while. No rush. No need to do anything else. Just his arms around me, my cheek against his shoulder, the radio humming quietly behind us.
Eventually, he reaches past me and steals the last chicken wing.
"Hey!"
"We're engaged. What's yours is mine."
"We are absolutely getting divorced."
"Already?"
"Give me the wing!"
He laughs and holds it out.
We take turns biting it, getting barbecue sauce on each other's fingers and faces until we're both laughing too hard to eat properly.
Then we clean everything up.
The paper plates go in the trash. The containers go back into my hoodie. I fold the stolen tablecloth as neatly as I can and decide I'll figure out how to return it tomorrow without getting killed by Lu.
A perfect night.