Chapter 20 #2
I glance at her. “You think I’m funny and sexy?”
She ignores me. “This book needs to feel like you. Not a version of you dressed up for a publishing meeting. I want people to read this and hear how you talk about pan-searing like it’s foreplay and emulsification like it’s an enemies-to-lovers relationship.”
“I do not talk about emulsification like it’s an enemies-to-lovers relationship.”
“You literally said, ‘Mayo is a miracle of cooperation and stubbornness. Like any good relationship.’”
I pause. “Okay, yeah, I did say that.”
She grins.
I rub my neck, suddenly weirdly shy. “I just want it to feel… honest. You know? Like it’s about more than just technique. The best food I’ve ever made wasn’t about the exact grams or temps. It was because someone I cared about was gonna eat it. That’s the part I don’t wanna lose.”
Annie’s hands still on the keyboard. “Then don’t.”
I glance over. Her expression’s open, serious in a way that pulls at my insides.
“You know,” she says, “I’ve read a lot of cookbooks as research after getting this project.
And I’ve never once read one that made me feel like I understood the person writing it.
But this one? This is gonna be a book about love.
About food. And how they’re the same thing. With a little porn sprinkled in.”
“There is definitely porn sprinkled in,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s an offshoot of my porn channel, Annie.”
“I know,” she says. “But it’s also about chemistry. Literal and figurative. You and food. You and people. You and—” she stops herself and clears her throat. “Anyway. I just want to get it right.”
“You will,” I say, because I know this to be true. “I mean it. All the poetic shit you been sayin’ this whole trip, that’s what I want our cookbook to be.”
She hums. Then finally, “Yours.”
“What?”
“It’s your cookbook.”
I furiously shake my head. “Hell nah. It’s ours. Our cookbook. And your name’s gonna be on it and everything. Annie ‘The Best Writer Ever’ Li.”
“That’s not how contracts work, Nico.”
“Contracts are meant to be broken.”
“Again, not how contracts work, Nico.”
Fuck that. I start messing around with the digital screen on the dashboard, scrolling through contacts, while Annie mutters, “The two of us have got to be Hawk’s worst fucking nightmare.” I find who I’m looking for and press Call.
“Hey, big guy.” My agent Kate’s voice echoes through the speakers of the car.
Annie’s little body tenses next to me. “Big guy,” she murmurs.
I slant a look at her and radiate joy. My Annie Li is jealous, and it sends driving pulses of pleasure through my veins. It makes me feel… wanted.
“It’s not like that,” I whisper, and she settles immediately.
“Kate, is it in the contract with Hawk Publishing that the ghostwriter of the cookbook’s gotta stay anonymous?”
A pause. “What?”
“Can I add the ghostwriter’s real name as the author of the book?”
Another pause. “Why?”
“Because I want her to be.” I glance over at Annie, who is uncharacteristically quiet. “Because she deserves to be.” I squeeze her knee.
“I don’t know, Nico. I’d have to look through the contract.”
“Could you do that for me, honey?”
Annie’s body tenses again, but Kate’s mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like “the confidence of cis-het white men,” and Annie smothers a grin.
“I’ll look, Nico. Is that it?”
“Yeah. Let me know, Kate. Later.”
“Later.”
Turns out Annie is even more beautiful surrounded by shellfish carcasses.
Like some sort of devastatingly beautiful Disney villain of sea crustaceans.
It’s a marvel to watch her deftly navigate the peeling of crawfish, even more so when she sucks the juice out of their heads like it’s a sacred maritime ritual passed down from Poseidon himself.
“What?” she frowns, a single rogue antenna caught on her wrist.
“You’re so hot,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes but the tips of her lips twitch. She plucks a potato from the tray, blows on it, then pops it in her mouth with a satisfied hum. “Tell me about the science of a low country boil,” she says, licking Old Bay from her thumb.
My brain short circuits remembering the feeling of her mouth wrapped around my dick. Hot, warm, silky heaven. I wonder what her pussy will feel like. Probably—
“—Nico.”
I blink. “Yes.”
She squints. “You have no idea what I just asked.”
“Yes to anything and everything you ever ask of me for the rest of our lives,” I blurt out, and did I just fuckin’ go there? What in the actual fuck is happening to me? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
Annie has that scared baby rabbit look in her eyes again.
Oh god, you fuckin’ ridiculous asshole.
“Sorry,” I half-shout, waving my hands around like a lunatic. Dial it down you fuckin’ weirdo. “That was weird. I didn’t mean—”
“Obviously not,” she says, eyes still huge, shaking her head up and down, then side to side in a daze.
“Right, obviously not,” I echo. “I meant like, for the cookbook. The duration of the cookbook. Professionally.”
She nods harder. “Of course.”
“Of course.” Not of course. For the rest of our lives. I meant it. I’d let her name our kids after shellfish if she asked. What?! I clear my throat. I do it again. “What did you ask me?”
Annie blinks at me. “I…” she trails off. “I don’t remember.”
“Science of low country boil!” I declare.
Vigorous head nodding from both of us.
“Okay, okay,” I recover, scooting closer and grabbing a crawfish for her like it’s a peace offering. “First off, low country boil is with shrimp, so this technically isn’t low country boil. This is just a crawfish boil.”
She shakes herself out of it, eyes still locked on mine, but now I can see the gears in her adorable noggin turning. “Okay.”
“First rule of a good boil? The water should be seasoned. Like, aggressively seasoned. Salt, cayenne, paprika, garlic, bay, Old Bay, lemon—you want that pot to punch you in the face with flavor before you even drop anything in it.”
“Punch me in the face,” she deadpans, “got it.”
“The water isn’t just cooking things—it’s infusing them. The food doesn’t have long in there, so you need that seasoning to go hard from the jump. The starches and proteins will absorb flavor as they go, like little sponges of spicy, steamy goodness.”
“Okay.”
“Now—potatoes first. Because they take the longest to cook and absorb flavor.”
She pops a potato in her mouth like she’s testing my claims. She nods slowly.
“Next: corn. But here's the thing—” I lean in slightly.
“You don’t want to just boil the hell out of it.
Corn gets waterlogged fast. You want to steam it more than drown it.
So you put it in close to the top, let the steam from everything below hit it gently.
Otherwise, it's sad corn. Nobody wants sad corn.”
Annie smirks. “Steam is good, here.”
I wink. “Steam will be good later, too.” I could be wrong but I think she shivers.
She smirks. “Go on.”
“Sausage next,” I croon.
She glances down at my lap. That’s right, baby—
Annie is snapping her fingers in my face. “Focus, Nico,” she says, but her eyes have gone lazy.
I make an attempt. “Ideally Andouille,” I continue. “High fat content, firm casing. You drop it in just long enough for the fat to start rendering—adds richness to the broth, layers of smokiness and spice. But don’t overdo it or it goes rubbery.”
“You’re really selling me on this sausage technique,” she murmurs, a glint in her eye, licking her thumb again.
I raise an eyebrow. “You really wanna play this game, honey?”
“I do,” she sighs dreamily. “But preferably somewhere near a bed.”
I stand so violently the table rattles. A few shells drop onto the ground. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“No, Nico!” she laughs. “Sit. Finish telling me about the crawfish.”
“Fuck the crawfish.”
“And don’t you want dessert?”
“Depends,” I say. “Can I eat it off your asshole?”
Annie gapes at me, leaning over the side a bit.
“Is that a yes?”
“Who are you?”
“The dude who isn’t gonna let you disappear.
The dude who wants you to have some fun.
The dude who’s got you. The dude who wants to bang your motherfucking brains out.
” I think there’s a lot more that I can add but I need to unpack it at a later point in time.
Preferably after I bang her motherfucking brains out.
“That was a rhetorical question, Nico,” she breathes, that dazed look back in her face.
I slap a hundred down on the table and round it to take her hand and draw her out of her chair. I suck the Old Bay off every single fingertip while she melts in my arms on the way to the door.
“Let’s go have some fun, Annie. I got you. And I’m gonna bang your motherfucking brains out.”