“Why don’t you chop and I sauté this time?” he suggests.
“That works.”
I pull out the cutting board and the onion and begin the chore of dicing it up, while Lathan drains the canned tomatoes, and pulls basil from the stems. After putting the onions and garlic in the pan, I switch spots with Lathan, watching him stir the items around.
“Don’t let it burn,” Chef Robert reminds us.
“We won’t, Chef,” Lathan responds.
Watching him for a moment, I ask, “Where you come from are the roles more traditional?”
“Traditional?”
“Yeah, like men don’t cook. Women don’t tell men what to do?”
Lathan smiles. “You’re referring to my temper tantrum last week?”
“Your words.”
He nods. “Yes, as you say, the roles are traditional. I’m not used to any women in authority except my mother.”
“So if your mom said to tuck your fingers you would?”
“Honestly, I probably would have responded the same way, until she flicked my ear. Then I would’ve apologized and brought her a piece of chocolate.”
I laugh. “No you wouldn’t.”
“Yes, I would. It’s a sign of respect to offer someone a gift. If you make a mistake, you do your best to correct it.”
I tilt my head. “So you respect me?”
“Very much so.”
“How? You don’t even know me?”
“No, I don’t, but I know that it takes a lot to be independent in a city like this. I know that you must be brave and strong. Especially if you’re female. More so if you’re beautiful.” He smiles as I let his compliment settle over me. “For that, respect is deserved.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. So if you think I can’t handle an assertive woman, you’d be incorrect.”
I smile. “Good to know.” I nod toward the pan. “The garlic’s burning.”
“Dammit.” He laughs, shaking his head. “We’re no good at this are we?”
“So far, doesn’t seem like it.”
He dumps the burnt mixture onto a plate. “What do you suppose the soup will taste like with no onions or garlic?”
I shrug. “Let’s find out.”
I pour the tomatoes and basil in the pan as Lathan seasons with salt. We stir it for several minutes, then puree it as instructed by the chef. Once complete, Lathan ladles it into two bowls and I drizzle olive oil over it. Chef Robert stops by.
“It looks very nice. Have you tasted it yet?”
“Not yet, Chef,” I reply. Leaning forward, I taste a small spoonful, crinkling my nose. “It tastes like hot ketchup.”
“Ketchup?” Lathan repeats. “Never had it.”
“No? You don’t put it on your burger or fries?”
“Not yet.” He tastes the soup. “If it tastes like this, I don’t plan to.”
Chef Robert chuckles and then tastes the soup. “It’s flat. There’s no depth of flavor.” Then he spies the plate of burnt onions. “No onions or garlic in here?” We both shake our heads no. “Well, then it’s just tomatoes with a little basil.
I start laughing in spite of myself. “Sorry, Chef.”
He shakes his head, walking to the next student, as Lathan and I continue laughing while we start to clean up our station.
“At least we know how to make runny ketchup,” I say.
“Not a skill I need,” Lathan replies, laughing.
I shake my head. “Oh, this is funny. Fallyn is gonna die laughing.”
“Fallyn?”
“Best friend.”
“Ah.” He wipes his hands on a towel. “I’m sure mine will laugh.”
“What’s his name? I assume it’s a him.”
“Yes, his name is Tristan. We’ve been friends since we were babies.”
“Ah, that’s cute. Does he visit you here?”
“No.” I watch as sadness falls over Lathan’s handsome features. “No one does.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not. Maybe they’ll come someday, but everyone’s very busy.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
We finish cleaning up our station and then bundle up to head outside again.
“May I walk with you again?” Lathan asks.
“Sure.”
“Tonight was fun actually. I didn’t know if I would take to cooking, and clearly I haven’t, but it’s fun doing it with you.”
“I agree.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
As we approach my apartment, I wish the night wasn’t over already.
“Here we are.”
“Yes,” he says. “See you next week?”
“You will.”
“So we’ve made bitter spaghetti sauce and ketchup soup. I wonder what’s next?”
I laugh. “Something without tomatoes I hope.”
“Me too.” He bows slightly. “Good night, Delaney.”
“Night, Lathan.”
As he walks away, I wonder why he doesn’t ask me out. It seems like we’re hitting it off, but he’s holding back. I start to walk inside my building then look back to see Lathan glancing behind him at me. It brings a smile to my face. I guess when he’s ready, he’ll ask.
Walking to the T station, my thoughts linger on the beautiful woman I just left. Why didn’t I ask her out? We obviously get along. I think about her constantly since meeting her last week, but I let her go a second night? I chuckle to myself as I realize the answer. I’m afraid she’ll say no, ruining the remainder of our classes together. Perhaps by the end of the four weeks, I’ll be brave enough to ask her out. Yes, that’s a good plan.
The next morning, I wake up and start researching interior decorators in my area. It’s time I settled in. After two years, it’s obvious I’ll be here at least for the foreseeable future. I call a few places leaving messages when no one answers, but on my fourth try, a woman answers.
“Boston by Design, this is Sylvia speaking.”
“Hello, I’m looking to hire a designer for my apartment. Can you help me?”
“Yes, of course. Are you looking to come into the showroom for ideas or do you want a full consultation?”
“Consultation please.”
“Alright, I can look at my schedule.”
“Great.”
As I make plans to get my apartment decorated, I can’t help but laugh to myself. It’s taken a woman I barely know to inspire me to finally get my place in order. Ah, better late than never as the saying goes.
The following Thursday, I walk into the classroom excited to see Lathan who is already standing at our station with a tiny square of chocolate waiting for me. Smiling, I pull my coat off.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the chocolate square.
Lathan nods. “My pleasure.”
As class starts, I glance at Lathan while Chef Robert explains we’re making a cake.
“That sounds fun,” Lathan whispers.
“It does actually.”
“Class,” Chef Robert says. “Everything you need is set out in front of you. Again, teamwork is required. I recommend you look at the recipe and decide who is doing what.”
Lathan picks up the recipe sheet looking it over. “Chocolate.”
“Mmm.”
“What would you like to do, wet or dry?”
“I’m sorry?”
He smiles, handing me the recipe. “Wet ingredients or dry.”
“Oh, gotcha.” I glance at the card. “I can do wet, unless you really want to.”
“I like wet,” he says, smirking, “but I’ll defer to you this time.”
“Is that some kind of innuendo?”
He acts like he’s surprised. “Innuendo? No, of course not.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’ll start cracking eggs.”
“I’ll measure the flour.”
“Sounds good.”
We each start our tasks, stealing glances at each other. He’s so hands
ome, I can barely stand it. He’s charming too, and the chocolate gift is super sweet. Initial hissy fit aside, I’m starting to like him even more, and really hoping a date request is coming soon.
As I measure out the flour and sugar, I find myself practically entranced by Delaney. She’s even prettier tonight than she was last week. Her long blonde hair hangs down her back in soft waves, tempting me to run my fingers through it. As she glances at me, she bats her thick black lashes, slowly like a butterfly’s wings. I wonder if she’s aware of how lovely she is or if she’s one of those women who has body issues. I am tired of meeting women who are down on themselves. Delaney seems like she’s strong and brave and sure of herself. She certainly isn’t afraid to stand up to me.
As she unwraps a stick of butter and puts it in the mixing bowl, I watch her face. She twists her lips and furrows her brow with concentration, checking the recipe card several times. My eyes move away from her face, briefly, to admire her figure. She’s all covered up, but what she wears flatters her. I can tell she’s definitely got a nice body underneath the conservative clothes. She’s certainly an attractive woman.
“I’m ready for sugar.”
“What?”
Delaney smiles. “Sugar.”
“Oh, right. Yes.” I pour the measured sugar in the mixing bowl as she turns up the speed. I finish measuring the flour and other ingredients sifting them together as instructed.
“This is fun,” Delaney muses. “I’ve never even tried to bake anything except boxed brownies. You?”
“I’ve never even turned on the stove in my apartment.”
“So this is a big leap for you.”
“Huge.”
“It’s admirable you’re trying something new.”
“The same could be said of you.”
“Thanks. My mother says a woman should know how to cook for when she’s a wife and mother herself. I just wasn’t interested in it before.”
“No?”
“Not at all. I went through his feminist thing for a few years insisting I would never marry because it was a trap.” She laughs softly. “I refused to do anything traditionally feminine even shave my legs.”
“Interesting. You’re over that now?”
“Yeah, I shave.”
I laugh. “Good to know.”
“I’ve been trying to learn to cook for a while, but not to please a future husband. Just so I can make some nice meals for family and friends. Or myself even, you know?”
“I do. I wasn’t expected to do anything domestic. Moving here, being on my own, I’ve been trying to stretch myself to try new things, to live like American men do.”
“Not all American men cook.”
“No? There’s a channel on television where it seems most of the chefs are men.”
She nods. “Good point. I think it’s become more popular in recent years among non-chefs. Men have figured out it’s a damn good way to impress a woman.”
“I’ll look forward to when I can use my skills to impress a woman.”
“Are you making cake or cream?” Chef Robert’s voice interrupts our chat as he stands behind us peering in our mixer.
“Sorry, Chef,” Delaney says. “Dry ingredients, please.”
I quickly pour the flour mixture in, but Delaney turns the dial in the wrong direction increasing the speed instead of decreasing it. Flour flies into the air all over me. Suddenly the entire class is silent, and Delaney’s mouth hangs open.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.
I feel my jaw clench as I listen to the various chuckles and snickers from our class mates. Chef Robert just looks at me with pursed lips.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, walking out of the classroom.
Down the hall I find the bathroom and enter, laughing when I see my own reflection. I look ridiculous covered in white powder all over my black sweater. If my father could see me now. Wetting a paper towel, I try to clean myself off. Realizing it will take a shower and a dry cleaner to undo the damage completely, I chuckle, tossing the towel in the trash. It’ll have to do for now.
Glancing at the door, I wonder if Lathan will come back or if I blew it. I don’t think he thought being covered in flour was funny at all. I hope I didn’t ruin everything. We were having such a good time. Distracting myself, I finish adding the ingredients as the woman behind me taps my shoulder.
“Is your boyfriend mad?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just partners for the sake of the class.”
“Well, it doesn’t look like a successful pairing. Blind leading the blind, know what I mean?” She nudges her friend, laughing.
Crinkling my forehead, I reply. “You’re in the same class I’m in.”
“Yeah, but you’re hopeless. You don’t see flour all over my station.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?”
Her smile disappears. “Or what?”
“Or nothing. Just shut your hole.”
“Are you threatening me?” Her friend grabs her arm, pulling her back slightly.
I shrug. “Take it how you want. You started it not me.”
“I’ll finish it too.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Why don’t you worry about your cake and let me worry about mine?”
“I hate girls like you,” she says with snarled lips. “You think you’re so cute and that you can just bat your eyelashes at a man to get what you want.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I put my spatula down. “You don’t know me.”
“You don’t think we all can’t see you flirting with him? Maybe if you focused more on your recipe it would come out better.”
“Maybe if you had a life you wouldn’t have to worry about what I’m doing.”
“I have a man at home.”
“Good for you. I don’t give a shit.”
“You know what—”
“What’s going on here?” Lathan asks, suddenly standing next to me.
“This trick thinks she has the right to comment on my life.”
“Trick?” the woman says, pulling her head back. “You have some fucking nerve.”
“You do! You started it.”
“Janice,” the woman’s friend says. “Let it go.”
“Yeah, Janice,” I say. “Let it go.”
She glares. “Fuck you.”
“Is there a problem here?” Chef Robert asks appearing next to Lathan.
I glare at Janice waiting for her to say something.
“No, Chef,” she says. “We’re good.”
“Good. You should be getting your batter in the oven now.”
“Yes, Chef,” we say simultaneously.
After he leaves, she leans across her counter. “Watch your back, Blondie.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Lathan pulls my arm slightly. “What happened?”
“She started talking shit when you left.”
“What kind of shit?”
“I’ll tell you later. You want to start the frosting?”
“Sure.”
Lathan starts to unwrap the cream cheese as I pour the batter into the two cake pans. Carefully, I start to walk them over to the oven, only to have Janice come from behind and shove me so hard I drop both pans, spilling cake batter all over the floor and myself. She starts to laugh, while I stand stunned at her childish behavior. Chef Robert appears between us, with his arms crossed.
“Do you find this amusing?” he asks Janice. “I saw what you did, and I won’t stand for that kind of behavior in my class.”
Janice narrows her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you are no longer welcome in my classroom. Good night.”
“Seriously? Just because I bumped her?”
“Bumped her? You intentionally shoved her. I saw you.”
“It was an accide—”
“Good night,” Chef Robert repeats.
“Fine. I didn’t like this class anyway.” She stomp
s to the back and grabs her purse and coat storming from the room and leaving her friend speechless.
Lathan comes to my side, wrapping his arm protectively around my shoulders. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, it’s just cake batter.”
Janice’s friend walks over to us. “Sorry about my sister. She’s a hot head sometimes.” She looks down at the mess. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, but thanks.”
She rushes out while Chef Robert hands me a wet towel to attempt to clean my jeans and sweater. Lathan mops up the mess from the floor. After I get most of it off of me, I tap his shoulder.
“I’m gonna go.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’d feel better if I walked you home.”
“Fine.”
After cleaning up the rest of our station, we say goodbye to the chef and walk outside. After a few moments of silence, Lathan grabs my hand, stopping me.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Want to grab a bite to eat? We’ll share a piece of cake.”
I laugh softly. “Sure, Lathan. That sounds nice.”
We continue walking down the sidewalk to a block of restaurants.
“How’s this one look?” he asks, peering inside.
“Good.”
We go inside, and after waiting a few minutes, we’re seated in front of the windows. It’s a nice place, dimly lit with lighting fixtures made from wine bottles. The floors are wood and the walls are brick. It’s rustic, but sexy.
“You want to tell me what happened?” Lathan asks after the server comes over and we order a couple of beers.
“It was so weird. After you left, she just started talking mad shit to me. She said she hated girls like me. Girls that “think they’re cute”, I say, using quotation marks. I shake my head. “How do you hate someone you don’t even know?”
“She’s jealous, obviously.”
“But, why? When I told her to get a life, she said she had a man at home.”
“Not one that excites her.” He tilts his head at me. “In my experience, only jealously fuels comments like that.”
“I guess so. It’s just weird to me to be jealous of someone whose life you know nothing about. She doesn’t know me or what I think or do or anything. Stupid bitch.”
Unexpectedly Royal Page 4
