“What do you mean if? Of course you’ll return. There’s a lot at stake.”
I take a deep breath, flipping through a magazine on my coffee table. “Yes, I know. I’m all too aware. I’m not ready to deal with my father again just yet.”
“Don’t blame you there. Not many people would like to deal with your father when he’s angry.”
“He’s more than angry. He’s humiliated, and the worst part is he’s disappointed in me. That’s hard to overcome.”
“I know. I just wish he could get over it. Everyone else has.”
“Someday, perhaps.” I sit up, glancing around my apartment.
“Soon, I hope. As I said, you’re missed.”
“Thanks. I miss you too.”
“Any hot romances happening for you?” Tristen asks.
“Not at all.”
“Listen, I’m supposed to be living vicariously through you. You’re failing miserably at that.”
I laugh. “Yes, I’m terrible at this whole talking to girls thing. Truth be told, I have a hard time finding someone I want to talk to. Every time I open my mouth, they marvel at my accent, where I’m from, all those sorts of things. Not once have I been asked anything of substance,” I remind him.
“What are you expecting? You’re exotic to American woman, I assume. You have to get through the silly questions before you can get to the substance.”
“I tried that. Remember that girl I dated last year.”
“Yes, she just wasn’t the right one.”
“None of them are. Besides, how do you suppose my parents would react if I brought home an American girlfriend on top of everything else I’ve done?”
“Poorly.”
“Right.”
“You could at least have a bit of fun.”
“I know. Really, I do.” I sip my coffee for a moment. “Maybe I’ll get lucky soon and meet someone that excites me enough to try again.”
“There’s got to be someone worthy of you in that big city.”
I laugh. “Worthy of me. That’s rich.” I hear a baby’s cry in the background. “Ah, duty calls?”
“Yes, I should get back. It’s on a short leash I live.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Not for all the money in the world.”
“Tell Abigail I said hello.”
“Will do. Take care and report in after your cookery class.”
“I’ll call next week.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
I hang up and sigh. I miss my friend. I miss my home. I miss my parents. Maybe someday, I’ll go home again instead of living in my self-created exile in America. I stand up and look out the window overlooking the Charles River. It’s a brutally cold day, but there’s still beauty in the snow and ice that covers the landscape below me. This is my home for now. I might as well make the best of it.
Hours later, I open the door to the studio where the class is, filled with nervous anticipation. I do hope I’m not the only man in the place. That would only make this more awkward than it already is.
After signing in, I put my name tag on and walk into the room where the actual cooking will take place. Several people are there already finding places to sit at each cooking station. I realize quickly that most everyone came with someone they know. Ah, if only I knew someone in this city.
I wander over to an empty station and sit down. A few minutes later the door opens and a woman walks in, looking as lost as I feel. She stands in the doorway searching the room with her eyes, and I immediately wonder who she’s meeting. Her husband? Perhaps a boyfriend. Maybe just a friend.
She tucks a lock of her golden hair behind her ear and double checks her paperwork before looking up and making eye contact with me. I can’t look away from her. She’s beautiful, but not in the way most women are. Her big brown eyes dominate her face, but everything is soft, fresh, and there’s a sweetness to her features, almost as if she’s still a girl. But when my eyes peruse the rest of her, dressed in a very smart pant suit, I see there’s a woman’s body underneath. Her eyes hold mine for just a moment longer before she looks down again. Finally, she walks over to another empty station behind me, and I wish she hadn’t. It will make turning to look at her too conspicuous. I shake my head. Any minute now, her husband could walk in the room and wouldn’t I feel foolish then.
The door opens again and several more people file in filling the somewhat small room we’re in. After some discussion in the group behind me, the pretty woman I saw earlier walks up to me.
“Hi,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Delaney. The room is full, and it looks like you and I might be the only singles here, unless you’re waiting for someone.”
I take her hand, shaking it. “I’m not.”
She smiles and the sight of it nearly knocks me off balance. “Great. Would you like to share a station with me?”
“I would.”
Delaney puts her things down and climbs on the stool beside me. “I didn’t get your name?”
“Lathan.”
“Nice to meet you, Lathan.”
“You as well, Delaney.”
I clear my throat, noticing that I’m feeling a bit nervous around her. It’s been a very long time since a woman has captivated my interest so quickly. Delaney’s voice is soft and sweet, not at all like the edgy accents I often hear around this city. Actually, everything about her is soft and sweet.
The door opens again and a man I assume to be the chef, judging from the jacket he’s wearing, walks in. He turns and looks at us with a stern look on his face.
“Welcome to Cooking Basics,” he says. “I am Chef Robert. We’ll begin with a quick introduction and a brief explanation of your cooking background. Let’s start here,” he says, pointing to the front of the class.
Well, here we go.
Oh my god. How did I get lucky enough to be sitting next to this ridiculously gorgeous man? I can hardly stand it. I make a mental note to give Fallyn a big kiss later. I hope he’s nice. I hope he’s single. I hope he likes me.
I watch him from the corner of my eye, listening intently as every person in the room provides a quick bio. When it’s his turn, my ears perk up.
“My name is Lathan,” he says with an accent I can’t determine the origin of. It’s sort of English, but sort of not. “I have absolutely zero experience in the kitchen. I signed up for this class because I’m tired of eating out all the time.” He smiles. “And perhaps someday I’ll meet a special lady, and I’d like to impress her with the fine meal I prepared.” He glances at me as people in the room chuckle softly. Well, that answers at least one question. He’s single.
I realize people are waiting for me. “Oh, hey.” I wave. “My name is Delaney. My bestie signed me up for this class because I wanted to step out of my comfort zone and learn something new. I have a lot of experience in the kitchen, but all of it’s bad.” People around me laugh. “I’d just like to make a meal without burning down the house or poisoning my guests.” I smile, glancing back at the handsome Lathan.
We move on to the next person, and I pretend to pay attention to them, but really I’m only thinking about the man next to me. We keep catching each other’s gaze. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt instantly drawn to someone. Years, in fact.
When intros are done, the chef turns the lights down and starts a slide presentation about basic cooking terminology. I take notes, scribbling furiously while trying to listen and block out my wandering thoughts at the same time. When the lights come back up, I blink, adjusting to the sudden brightness. Glancing at Lathan, I find him sitting quietly looking down at his hands.
“Will you share your notes with me?” he asks, softly, and if I’m not mistaken, with a slightly flirtatious tone. “Since we’re cooking partners now.”
“Yes, of course.” I’d share anything he wanted me to.
Chef Robert looks up at the class. “Tonight, we’re going to make a simple dish, but I feel like
it’s a good place to start. Pasta con Pomodoro, spaghetti with a simple tomato and basil sauce. Let’s begin.”
The chef walks to each station and drops off a wire basket containing our ingredients. I peek inside, looking over everything. I’m so nervous. I want to impress Lathan, but there’s no way I will. I remind myself that we’re all here for the same reason.
“Class,” Chef Robert says. “Please open the cupboard below and pull out the large pot and a pan.”
“I’ll do it,” I say. I open the cupboard looking for the two items. Pulling them out, I put them on the counter.
“I recommend communication and teamwork to accomplish this,” Chef Robert says, walking around the room. “We’ll start with the onion.”
Lathan pulls the large purple bulb out of the basket. “I’ll handle this. Wouldn’t want you to cry.”
I smile. “Okay. I’ll do the next part.”
Chef Robert instructs us on how to dice an onion. I watch Lathan struggle. He’s even worse at this than I am, and I’m afraid he’s going to cut himself.
“Could I try a bit?” I ask. “Just for practice.”
“Of course.” He pushes over a small bit of onion and I try my hand at it, realizing quickly I had no room to judge. It’s much harder than it looks.
As I slam the knife down on the onion, pushing it with my hand, Chef Robert stops at our station, raising his hand to stop me. “That’s a good way to cut yourself,” he says. “Here.” Taking the knife, he shows me how to tuck my fingers away from the blade and how to hold the knife so that dicing is much easier. “Try it that way.”
“Okay.” I try again and the chef nods as he walks away.
“Let me try now,” Lathan says, taking the cutting board back.
He chops quickly, with his fingers dangerously close to the blade, and I fear he’ll cut himself. “You should tuck your fingers under, like Chef said.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Okay, but—”
“I heard him too. I was standing right here.”
I frown as I cross my arms. Clearly he doesn’t like being told what to do. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
Not a minute later, he swears as the blade comes right down on his finger. “Shit.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “Chef?”
Chef Robert comes over, surveys the damage and then offers a bandage to cover the cut. Fortunately, it’s a small cut, but I feel the wound to Lathan’s pride is much deeper.
“Satisfied?” he questions with a snippy tone once Chef walks away.
I narrow my eyes. “Why would I be happy you cut yourself?”
“You jinxed me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He rubs his now sore finger.
“So I’m guessing you don’t like women telling you what to do?”
Now Lathan’s eyes narrow. “I don’t like anyone telling me what to do.”
“Okay, well if this is gonna work for the next four weeks, we have to work together. That means sometimes I might make a suggestion. Can you handle that?”
“Why should I listen to you?”
Seriously? I pull my head back. “I’m not the one that cut myself, so there’s that.”
“Fair enough, Delaney. You can finish the dish.” He bows his head. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He walks out of the room, leaving me stunned. Really? What a big baby! He can be as cute as he wants, but if he can’t take a little constructive criticism, he can suck it. I should’ve known he was too good to be true. All of them are.
I notice his keys and wallet are still here so he’ll have to come back. Great.
After cleaning the knife, I finish chopping the onions and garlic and begin to sauté them as instructed by the chef. A few minutes later, the door opens and Lathan comes back in, his demeanor much calmer than when he left. He stands next to me, but I ignore him, continuing on my task.
“Delaney,” he says, softly.
“Yes?” I stir the onions, not making eye contact.
“I sincerely apologize.”
“For?”
“For my brutish behavior. I’m out of my element, you see, and it’s thrown me off a bit. I’m afraid I misplaced my manners in the process.”
“That’s fine. Do you want to do something?”
“I’d like to help, yes.”
“Okay.” I push the recipe toward him. “We’re supposed to chop the tomatoes.”
“I can do that.”
I finally look at him and he offers a smile. God, I wish he wasn’t so handsome. Looking back at the onions, they’ve gone from pale yellow to dark brown in the blink of an eye.
“Dang it,” I mutter, removing the pan from the heat. “I burned the onion and garlic.”
“My fault. I’m sure I was a distraction.”
“I’m not distracted by you. Not at all in fact.”
He nods. “Of course.”
I sigh, picking out the worse bits and add the tomatoes Lathan has already chopped. He makes a point of showing me his tucked fingers and I just shake my head, trying not to crack a smile. I need to keep my guard up. He’s cute and that accent is sexy, but his true colors slipped out a while ago, and I won’t forget that.
Stirring the tomato mixture, I watch him from the corner of my eye as he adds pasta to the boiling water. We have a few minutes of downtime while we wait for things to cook. Chef Robert walks around offering us glasses of red wine, and we each take one.
Lathan leans close to me, propping his elbow on the counter. “Can we start over? I’m afraid I’ve offended you.” He smiles. “Since we’ll be together the next four weeks, I’d like it if we could get along.”
I finally allow a smile. “I’d like that too.”
“Great.” He lifts his glass. “To leaving comfort zones in the rearview mirror.”
I tap his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
I take a sip of my wine as the boiling pasta water spills over the top of the pot. Lathan quickly removes it from the heat as I laugh. It’s time to add a tablespoon of sugar to the sauce to balance the acidity. I do, then stir it around. Finally, it’s time to drain the pasta and add it to the sauce.
“It smells good,” Lathan says. “We may have pulled this off.”
“Hope so.”
Chef Robert shows us tips for plating our dish, and we follow his instructions, ending up with two very pretty plates of spaghetti. Lathan puts a small sprig of fresh basil on each one.
“Okay, class,” Chef Robert announces. “Taste your dishes.”
I twirl my fork through the pasta, lifting a big bite to my mouth. As I chew, my nose scrunches up. Oh my god. It’s awful. My eyes shift to Lathan, carefully chewing, but expressionless.
I cover my mouth, wanting to spit it out. It’s bitter, salty, and overall just terrible.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Why?” Lathan asks, swallowing his bite.
“Because it’s awful.”
“It’s not. It’s just uh, perhaps a bit salty.”
I turn and look at my ingredients realizing with a sinking feeling that the tablespoon of sugar I added was actually salt. I lift up the bowl. “It looks just like sugar.”
Lathan explodes with laughter. “You added a tablespoon of salt?”
“I did.” I can’t help but laugh too. “I’m hopeless.”
“You’re not. You’re here and that’s a start.”
“I guess.”
Chef Robert stops by to taste it, but I warn him of my mistake. He takes a small bite. “The pasta is a tad overcooked.” Stirring my sauce around, he adds. “Clearly too salty, as you stated, and you burned the garlic and onions.”
“Yep,” I say.
“For future reference, if you were to make this again and burn the garlic, it’s better to start over.”
“Okay.”
“For too much salt, you can add more sugar to try and neutralize it.”
“Got it.”
> Chef turns to Lathan. “For overdone pasta, there is no cure but to start over.”
“I understand,” he says.
“Not a bad first attempt though.” He smiles at both of us. “Good job.”
We both perk up, surprised by the compliment.
“I guess we’re not total failures,” Lathan says.
“I guess not.” I put my fork down. “I’m not finishing this though.”
He chuckles. “Nor am I.”
We clean up our stations, loading the dishwasher and saying our goodbyes to everyone. Lathan helps me into my coat before walking me outside.
“You live close?” he asks.
“Three blocks. I can walk. You?”
“I’ll grab the train.”
I nod, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Okay, so I guess I’ll see you next week?”
“You will. Have a nice week.”
“You too, Lathan.”
We turn to leave, but as I start to walk away Lathan calls my name, quickly catching up with me. “I’d actually feel better if I walked you home.”
“Why?”
“Because despite my poor behavior earlier, I am a gentleman, and that’s what we do.”
“Fine. Okay.”
“Your boyfriend won’t mind?”
I smile. “I don’t have one.”
“Ah, well then, all the better I escort you home safely.”
“All the better.”
We walk down the sidewalk to my apartment.
“Are you from Boston?” Lathan asks.
“Born and raised.”
“Ah. I ask because you don’t have a typical accent for the area.”
“Well, if you’re ever lucky enough to witness me drunk or pissed, you’ll hear it.”
He laughs softly. “Drunk and pissed are the same thing where I’m from.”
“Oh, well pissed meaning angry.”
“Got it.”
I smile. “You’re obviously not from here.”
“No. I’m from a small country in Europe.”
“What brings you to Boston?”
“While I was looking for an American city to live in, it called to me. I was attracted by its historic origins.”
“Cool. I hope you like it here.”
“I do.” He grins. “Admittedly though, I need to get out more. Hence the class.”
Unexpectedly Royal Page 2
