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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Kitchen Matches
Copyright © 2008 by Marianne Arkins
ISBN: 1-60504-183-1
Edited by Deborah Nemeth
Cover by Dawn Seewer
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2008
www.samhainpublishing.com
Kitchen Matches
Marianne Arkins
Dedication
To Judy, for putting up with me on a daily basis. I’m proud to call you my friend.
Chapter One
Corinne Weathers, Cori to her friends and family—but not to her very proper cooking class teacher, Micah DePalma—gave a squeak of fear at the flames creeping up her apron. She slapped at them with her potholder, but it didn’t help. Her throat was so tight with panic, she couldn’t cry out for help. With one last futile whack at the growing fire, and desperately trying to remain calm, Cori reached behind her neck to untie the apron straps. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the bow and pulled it into a good, solid knot.
A brief hissing sound was the only warning she got before clouds of whatever white stuff lurked inside a fire extinguisher smacked into her gut like a fist and drifted in a halo around her head.
She coughed and waved a hand in the air in an attempt to clear it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” A familiar male voice threaded through the cloud.
Cori grimaced. Ack. Saved by Micah DePalma, her handsome-but-cranky cooking teacher. Why couldn’t it have been someone—anyone—else? She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for something to rescue her from his wrath. She knew a lecture was on its way, knew she deserved one for setting herself on fire, but she really didn’t want to hear it.
“Are you okay?” Micah’s low voice rumbled over her, as did one firm hand as he checked for injuries. “No burns?”
Cori ignored the warmth of his skin on hers and cracked open one watering eye to look at him. He really seemed genuinely worried. Not angry. How had that happened? She’d done nothing but annoy him since this course had started.
“I’m okay. Thanks to you.” She shrugged off his hand.
“And no thanks to you,” he replied, tossing the small fire extinguisher back and forth and giving her a lopsided smile only slightly tinged with irritation.
Uh oh. Here it came. She scrunched up her face, prepared for the worst. Maybe if she apologized before he yelled, it would help. “I’m sorry.”
“I imagine you are.” He set down the small red metal tube and stared at the disaster area that was her stove. “However, I’d say you failed this lesson. You may spend the rest of class cleaning up this mess.”
Without a backward glance to make certain Cori obeyed his royal decree, Micah turned and walked away. She took a quick look at the horrified faces of her classmates. Her face burned as hot as the flames had on her apron, but she refused to give in to the tears that threatened. Instead she snatched up a wet rag and rubbed at the spilled oil and other goop on the stovetop.
When class was finally over, she put away the cleaning supplies and tossed her dirty rags into the laundry. By the time she’d finished and grabbed her leather jacket, most of the class had already left. She dipped her head and tiptoed toward the door, wanting to sneak out before she did anything else wrong.
“Ms. Weathers,” Micah called.
Her heart jumped at the sound of her name on his lips. Now what? Cori hated that he had the ability to both arouse and annoy her, so she opted to grab hold of the annoyance with both hands. She turned and glared, tapping her foot while she waited for him to speak.
Too bad he was such a jerk to her, because he really was kind of a hottie, if a bit too slick and tidy. He had “high class” written all over him, in the way he dressed and the way he talked. That was enough to take him right off her list of potential dates, despite the way her body reacted when he got too close. She didn’t have a good history with high-class guys.
She remembered the night his mother—a slim, brittle-looking woman—joined them in class. One look at her perfectly manicured fingers and precisely coiffed hair, and Cori felt certain the woman hadn’t cooked a day in her life. She probably had some fancy French chef who lived in her mansion cooking up perfectly balanced and attractive meals for her.
Still, Mrs. DePalma made all the right noises over the masterpiece Micah had created, taking the smallest bites Cori had ever seen someone eat. No wonder the woman was so thin she’d disappear if she turned sideways. She oozed class and money, just like her son.
So, yeah. Micah was so far off the list it wasn’t funny.
“I’m too busy to walk you out,” he said without looking up from the papers in front of him. “Please let Jimmy do so.”
She rolled her eyes at his suggestion. Sure it was late. Sure it was dark. And, yeah, the parking lot was pretty well deserted. Despite all that, she could take care of herself. She’d been doing so ever since she turned sixteen and began to work nights at the garage.
She had to admit, though, she really didn’t mind letting Micah walk her to her car. It was a strange sensation, being looked after and she thought it rather nice to have him nearby. For safety, she hedged. She also didn’t stop herself from thinking that, maybe one day, he might try to kiss her goodnight. Her heart pounded just a little harder at the thought. Gah. She had a crush on her teacher. She gave a small shake of her head, disgusted. She was a cliché.
She’d turn him away, of course. Rebuff his advances. Because he wasn’t her type. Aside from the whole being-born-with-a-silver-spoon thing, he was far too tall and skinny for her tastes.
She was a shrimp, barely registering over the five foot line. Her diminutive height never ceased to annoy her and gave her rather short, but tall-to-her brothers someone to tease. She even had to stand on a stepladder to reach inside the hood of anything bigger than a VW bug, but darn if she’d let anyone say she didn’t pull her weight at the auto shop.
Still, having a zillion older brothers had taught her one thing—choose your battles, and give in when submitting doesn’t cost you much.
“Sure thing, teach.” She looked around and saw Jimmy, a goofy-looking kid fresh out of high school, lingering behind. She wondered if he had a thing for her, since he always seemed to be available when Mr. DePalma, with his antiquated and rather chauvinistic views, couldn’t walk her or the other two female students to their vehicles. She should have hurried and gone with them when they’d left with everyone else. Too late.
She gave in to the inevitable and asked, “You available, Jimmy?”
He all but leapt to attention, a puppy waiting for a pat on his head. “You bet!” He trotted over to her and helped her on with her coat.
She tolerated the attention and wondered if Micah had taken Jimmy under his wing. “Let’s go, I’m on a schedule.”
She smirked at the teacher over one shoulder before walking out the door. And, good grief, she got to do this all over again next week—and the week after that. When her mother had suggested Cori take this class,
why had she let her brothers talk her into this ten weeks of torture? Okay, so they double-dog dared her. She hadn’t been able to say no and save face. But, still. Ugh.
She’d get them for this one day.
—
The week flew by, and before she knew it, Cori was back in class being micro-managed by Mr. DePalma. She squinted at the tiny lines on the glass measuring cup. Which one was an eighth of a cup? And would it be the end of the world if she was off a little bit? She was just using the stuff to sauté some veggies.
The difference between an eighth and a quarter might not matter to the rest of society, but Cori figured Micah had a sixth sense for the slightest change to his recipe. You’d think the fate of the free world hung in the balance.
She wondered if his attention to detail dribbled over into his personal life. Did he take that kind of care with his girlfriends? With a low growl under her breath, she stopped that train of thought and stared at the measuring cup again. Finally opting to go with her gut instinct, something that had never failed her until she signed up for this stupid class, she poured the extra-virgin, expeller-pressed grapeseed oil into her cup and then into the heated pan.
She huffed out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when nothing caught on fire and the world didn’t come to an end. She felt secure enough in her decision to add the diced onions, peppers and garlic to the mix, stirring them with a wooden spoon.
“No.”
Cori nearly jumped out of her steel-toed boots at Micah’s one quiet word.
“What?” She turned and snapped at him. “What did I do now?”
“Sauté does not mean pulverize. And you should have let the oil heat first, but there’s nothing we can do about that now.” He took the wooden spoon out of her hand. “Let the food sit just a bit and then gently move it so it doesn’t burn. You’re smashing the onions beyond all recognition.”
Cori figured he still hadn’t forgiven her for setting herself on fire. That unfortunate accident hadn’t even been her fault. Not really. Who’d have thought you could burst into flames by brushing against a burner, even if you had spilled cooking oil down your front? Twice.
“Sorry, teach.” His nostrils flared at the way she addressed him and she gave him points for no other reaction. Then she took the spoon back from him and waved the oily bit of cherrywood around. “I won’t let something so heinous as improper sautéing happen again.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” He cocked one dark eyebrow in her direction before wandering off to torture some of the other students.
Geez, cute or not, the guy had no sense of humor. She wondered what it would take to make him laugh and then wondered why she seemed determined to find out.
She managed to make it through class without breaking anything or setting herself on fire, so she counted her evening a success, even though Micah had belittled her Philly cheesesteak sandwich. Maybe her meal wasn’t cordon bleu, or all fancy and prettily dressed up like the other recipes he’d suggested. Maybe she hadn’t challenged herself. Maybe he was right in thinking she could have done better. She’d disappointed him. He’d expected more of her. Strange that his disappointment would cut her to the bone, not that she’d ever show him how much his opinion mattered.
And, despite the fact her entrée was a bit lacking in culture and difficulty, she’d found the meal quite tasty, and had the doggie bag to prove the point. If she got nothing else from this class, she certainly was eating well.
Micah had once again been busy, so he’d asked Jimmy to walk the three female students to their vehicles. Always the gentleman. She supposed that being raised with manners wasn’t a half bad idea. Not like her brothers, who figured she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Of course, to make certain of that, they’d taught her a few dirty tricks.
Still, in four short classes, Micah had made her feel feminine…like a woman should. No other guy ever had. Not Steve, her last boyfriend. Or even Edward, the supposedly classy guy she’d dated for seven months right after high school and had lost her virginity to. Jerk. Even after he’d dumped her for some senator’s daughter, he’d had the nerve to ask her to work on his Mercedes. She’d worked on his fancy-schmancy car, all right, had made sure the thing wouldn’t run right again. Her brothers had offered to work on Edward, too, but she’d managed to keep them at bay.
She thanked Jimmy for the escort, gave him a wave goodbye and pulled the keys out of her pocket. She’d picked up the on-call tow truck shift for her brother Nick. He had a date with some hot bimbo who had bleached blonde hair and legs up to her armpits. He’d begged and, when that hadn’t worked, offered her some pretty amazing bribes. So starting at nine o’clock this evening she had to be ready to work. Since that was immediately following cooking class, she had driven the tow truck here tonight. She kicked down a three-rung ladder her brothers had installed so she could climb up into the cab with a bit more ease than she’d done before.
Once settled onto the vinyl seat, she jammed the key into the ignition and turned. The engine roared to life in the quiet, cool early fall evening. She huddled in her leather jacket and snacked on some leftovers while she waited for the temp needle to creep its way up past the “C” so she could turn on the heater.
A knock on the window scared her clean out of her skin, and she spilled greasy meat across her lap. “Dang it all, and back again!” She cranked down the window. “What?”
“Ms. Weathers?” A man’s surprised voice poured through the opening. She peered out the window to see Micah standing beside her truck, his scrunched forehead illustrating his perplexity.
She was equally confused. “Hey, teach. Did you need something?”
His gaze traveled down the length of the truck and back again. “You drive this?”
“No, I’m keeping the seat warm for the real driver. Of course I drive this.” She scooped up a handful of meat and tossed it out the window, narrowly missing the shiny toes of his dress shoes. She’d have to aim better next time. “Is there a problem? Did I leave my stovetop on again?”
“No.” For the first time since she’d met him four weeks earlier, he looked uncertain and almost human. “Actually, uh…”
“Spit it out, teach.”
He tipped his head to one side and shrugged. “My van won’t start.”
He looked just like her best friend’s fox terrier after he’d eaten a shoe or gnawed the leg of a table. It made her heart soften just a bit. Who’d have thought that cranky Mr. DePalma would have puppy-dog eyes?
“Oh?” she prompted.
“I saw the tow truck and thought maybe…” He shook his head. “Never mind. I have emergency road service. I’ll give them a ring.”
“Well, that’s stupid, since there’s a good chance I’d get the call anyway.” She scooped up the globs of food off her pants and the floor of the truck and chucked it out onto the pavement. At least it would make a good meal for seagulls or some other hungry critter. But, boy, she’d been counting on the rest of that sandwich for a midnight snack.
“If you’re sure.” He shifted from one foot to the other, still uncertain.
“Hop in and point out your vehicle. I’ll drive us over in case I need something in the truck.” She flipped on the heat before she leaned over to unlock the passenger side door to let him in. She felt his questioning gaze on her as she slipped the truck into gear. “Yes, I really do know what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He settled in and put on his seat belt.
“We’re only going fifty feet, you probably won’t need that.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t harass him about being overly cautious. “So, where to?”
He pointed to a bright orange minivan and she couldn’t stop herself from snickering just a little under her breath. From his quick glance her way, she figured that he’d heard her even over the noise from the powerful truck engine.
“Leave your lights on
?” Cori said this automatically. That question was the first thing to ask when a car wouldn’t start. Still, the guy was always pretty sharp in class so she couldn’t imagine him doing something that absent-minded.
“Not that I recall.”
“Did you check?”
“If they were burned out, how could I check?”
She stared at him for a moment to see if he was serious. His baby-innocent expression convinced her that he was as serious as a heart attack. “First off, they wouldn’t burn out. Your battery would die first. Second, you could see if the switch was turned on.” She pulled in beside his van and revised her initial opinion of how sharp he was.
“Huh.” He shrugged. “Hadn’t thought of that.” He raked a hand through his dark hair, hair that was long enough to pull into a tiny ponytail in the back, something he occasionally did in class.
When a thick lock flopped back across his forehead, she fought the urge to brush the dark curl back into place. His mass of hair was far longer than her own, and that thought made her so self-conscious, she tugged her hat down tighter on her head.
“Let’s go take a look,” Cori said, determined not to think about how much she wished she looked like a girl right now. What was it about this guy that turned her normally strong spine into mush? Next thing you knew, she’d giggle and blush. Ick.
She opened her door and swung down to the ground. He slid the van door open for her and inserted the key into the ignition. When she turned the key and nothing happened, she popped the hood. “I’ll give the battery a jump. You get in and try it when I say when.”
“Try what?”
“Turning the key.” Dear heavens, the guy was utterly helpless. “You mean to tell me you’ve never jumped a battery before?”
“I imagine I’ve done that about as many times as you’ve made chicken cordon bleu.”
“Hey…I’ve made it.” She hated that her voice sounded petulant. But, she had made it before. In his class, the first week. Never mind that she’d caused a ruckus by flinging the chicken breast two stoves over when the hunk of meat had stuck to the stupid wooden hammer thingie she was using to pound it out. The other students hadn’t minded, not even the one who’d gotten the slimy bit of poultry right in the kisser.
Kitchen Matches Page 1
