Chapter 52
It was so not going well, and Myles looked like he was in complete shambles as he ran around our kitchen wearing his teal apron with the word ‘Yummy’ written right over the crotch area.
I had no doubt it was one of the few things Daniel had gotten him when he’d stopped by yesterday to check in on me.
You’d think Myles would take the apron as a joke and toss it in the back of one of the drawers, but to see him actually wear it…
“Where’s the parsley?” he muttered to himself as he sifted through various items in the pantry. “WHERE’S THE DAMN PARSLEY?!”
I grimaced when he yelled, then shifted in the chair he’d helped me in a few minutes ago.
He’d taken the elevation pillow out into the living room, placed it on a small pile of cushion pillows in front of a chair next to the kitchen counter, then lifted me in his arms before helping me settle into the chair.
He’d then slowly, carefully, risen my injured leg, placed it on the pillow, and given me a swift kiss before putting that absurd apron on over his red Blackhawks tank top.
He was just too good to me, and even though I felt like I didn’t deserve him, I still didn’t wanna let go of him.
Selfish intentions and all, y’know.
“Aha! There you are!” He wiggled a plastic box full of chopped parsley, up in the air.
He was making Coxinha for the two of us. It was kind of a complex yet super delicious Brazilian dish made of chicken and flour, with a few spices and veggies in the mix, and was also one of my favorite fried snacks for when that craving for something extra hit me.
The kitchen was a mess, with bowls, knives, spices, and chicken packets strewn everywhere.
A YouTube video of two women teaching how to make Coxinha, was playing on Myles’s phone, whereas a Brazilian cookbook lay open to his right.
He was scrolling through a food blog on his MacBook, clearly reading and comparing the recipe with the other two alternatives.
I tapped two spoons together to get his attention.
He whipped his head at me, eyes wide. “You need anything?”
I shook my head, then signed, Let’s order takeout.
“What, why?” He blinked as if in a daze.
I loosely gestured at the messy kitchen counter, then at his disheveled appearance.
He glanced at himself, then returned his gaze to me again. “I don’t get it.”
I sighed. You look crazy, and the kitchen looks chaotic. It’s like a storm hit it.
“Gee, babe; thanks,” he muttered while scratching his head. “Your confidence is highly appreciated.”
I clicked my tongue. I just don’t want you to tire yourself. We can simply order in.
“But I wanna make dinner for you myself,” Myles argued, and God, I all but melted in the chair at that. He was cute, wasn’t he?
Okay, I signed. Let me help, at least. Please?
He exhaled loudly. “Well, thank fuck you offered, because I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”
I chuckled. You should have just asked.
“And hurt my pride in the process, especially after the text you sent to your grandfather?” He bent forward. “Hard pass, babe.”
I laughed. But still, here we are, are we not?
He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at me. “Just help me with this so that we can eat. I’m hungry.”
Sure, I told him, then dragged an empty bowl close to me, along with the glass jar containing all-purpose flour in it. Chicken stock? I asked Myles. I had to spell the word ‘stock’ because the meaning for it that I was going for, didn’t exactly have a sign.
He looked at me for a beat too long, then nodded. “Right.” He tapped a round pan. “It’s in here. It’s cooled down now, so I’ll take the boiled chicken pieces out and hand over the stock to you.”
Okay, I signed, and we then got into a rhythmic back-and-forth of working together.
I made a consistent dough by mixing the chicken stock, flour, some butter, and salt, while Myles minced the chicken in a mixer and prepped it for cooking the filling for the Coxinha.
The room soon began smelling of paprika and parsley, to which I smiled at him, then oiled my palms so that I could make small, flat circles from the dough.
Myles sautéed the mixture gently, careful not to make it mushy. He then switched off the gas, grabbed a chunk of the cooked filling, blew on it, and offered it to me.
I leaned in and wrapped my lips around his fingers, and his eyes momentarily went dark as he stared at me.
My heart began beating a little faster as I moved back and tasted the filling, and he brought his fingers to his mouth before sucking on them one by one.
It were these little moments that drove me nuts and made me fall further in love with this man. It didn’t have to be anything grand, or anything remotely unique, even, because everything Myles did was special to me, no matter how big or small the act.
As I sat back in the chair and continued to taste the filling, a burst of flavor hit my tongue, making my jaw tingle.
“Good?” he asked, looking a little unsure.
I grinned and gave him a thumbs up, because Christ, the filling was fucking awesome.
He visibly relaxed before giving me a smile. “Great. So, now we’ve gotta put the filling into the dough circles and give them a teardrop shape, right?”
I nodded.
“Then we coat and fry them?”
I nodded again.
“Got it.” He pointed a spoon at me. “You make them; I’ll layer and fry them.”
Okay, I signed, and we again got back to work.
It took us around forty minutes to finish making the Coxinha, and as Myles took the last of it out of the frying pan before placing it on a tissue-covered plate, I gently pressed more tissues over them to soak off the excess oil.
“Taste it,” he said excitedly, then grabbed a chair, brought it close to me, flipped it around, and straddled it before sitting down. “Come on, do it.”
I chuckled as I carefully broke a Coxinha into two and plopped one half into my mouth.
Myles’s eyes were all but saucer-like as he stared at me in obvious anxiousness.
The Coxinha all but melted on my tongue, and it was the perfect balance of crispy, spicy, wholesome, and greasy.
I moaned as my shoulders slumped in bliss, then gave Myles two very enthusiastic thumbs up before signing, This is so good.
“Yeah?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe it.
I offered him the other half, and when he tasted it, he grinned and puffed his chest out. “So…now what do you have to say about my cooking skills, huh?” He winked. “Although, I will say that your minor assistance in making these is recognized in high regards.”
I laughed and shook my head, then looked up when he stood and walked over to me. He bent and brought our faces impossibly close, and I could smell the spice on his breath; see the oil stains on his apron, and even some flour on his neck and jaw.
“We’re a pretty fucking epic team, aren’t we?” he asked, and the question was so beautiful – random, yes, but still beautiful – that I couldn’t help with smile.
I leaned in, cupped one side of Myles’s face, and pressed a long kiss on his waiting lips. We are, I signed, and I don’t think there’s ever been words that I’ve signed with as much honesty as I did those two.