by K. K. Allen
As he speaks, his eyes start to flutter closed, and I wonder if there’s a different reason he wants to sleep here, a reason he doesn’t want to speak out loud. This studio was supposed to be his father’s after all. “Of course, Des. I’ll get the light.”
I leave the bed to flip the switch on the wall, leaving us in darkness except for the glow of the moon filtering in through the large box paned window. Desmond has already stripped himself of his clothes, and he’s holding the sheet open for me to slip beneath.
I remove my towel and join him. Our body heat collides as our mouths meet in a slow and tender kiss. It’s been days since we last made love, and while I desperately miss him, I know I can’t be the first one to make a move.
Our hands roam like we’re exploring each other for the first time, and maybe in a way we are. There’s no expectation and no agonizing build-up. We’re just two souls who had to get lost to finally find their way home. And with Desmond’s heart beating in time with mine, we lose ourselves to the rhythm of a new love. A pure love. A love that heals.
39
Perfect Recipe
Desmond
Maggie offers to cancel Saturday’s class to give me more time to deal with my father’s death, but I insist I’m okay. After nearly a week of being away, I’m craving my routine—hitting up the gym, shopping at the farmers market, testing new recipes, greeting and teaching my students, flirting with Maggie.
It was all such clockwork before, but today started out as a struggle. My ass was a lost cause at the gym, mostly due to my low energy level. Shopping at the market seemed like a chore more than ever before. And the thought of faking my smiles through a two-hour class feels damn near painful.
Thank God for Maggie. The moment my students start to arrive, she’s at the door, welcoming them with a smile, checking them in, and then chatting up each table just like I usually do. I’m a bit slower to make my rounds like I used to, but I find that with each table I talk to, my mood begins to lift more and more.
The kitchen has always filled me with joy—from the challenge, from the people, and the knowledge that I’m helping my students either at home or in their field of work. The kitchen gives me a purpose, and I’ll never take it for granted. Just like an artist who takes a paint brush to canvas, cooking is where I find my escape. In the various tools and ingredients, I get to create something that not only nourishes my body, but it replenishes my soul.
“I know the menu posted online says that we’re making zucchini lasagna today, but there’s been a change of plans.” I wave my recipe in the air while Maggie walks around the room, passing out the new ones. “Today, we’re going to make a sausage and broccoli rabe frittata. It was the first dish my father ever taught me how to make.” I flash the class my grin. “So this one’s for him. Hope you all enjoy it.”
We’re nearing the end of class when Faye slips in quietly and hangs out in the back of the room until everyone leaves. I’m almost dreading speaking to her again after Monday’s dress rehearsal. I left her hanging, and while it was for a good reason, I can’t imagine she’s back here with good news.
Maggie slides an arm around my waist. “I’m going to head to Shooters to meet Monica. You still up for it?” Her eyes dart from me to Faye, like she doesn’t know if she should stay.
“I’ll meet you there. This should only take a minute.” I lean in and give her a kiss, letting it linger for just a second before I release her. She greets Faye as she passes. Whatever animosity may have existed between the girls last week is no more. Maggie knows Faye isn’t a threat, and Faye knows by now what Maggie means to me.
When the door shuts behind Maggie, Faye approaches with a soft smile. “Hey.” She hugs me tight and steps back with a tilt of her head. “How are you doing?”
I don’t mind the sympathy, but I’ve started to hate that question. Every minute, every hour, every day is different. And while the pain feels less like a gaping hole in my chest, I never know how to answer such a simple question.
I take in a slow breath through my nose as we separate. “Just taking it day by day. Working helps. We cooked something in honor of my dad today, so that was nice.” I cock my head. Now that the niceties are out of the way, it’s time to address the elephant in the room. “I’m sorry the show didn’t work out.”
Faye’s eyes widen slightly and her mouth forms an O in surprise. “Sorry? You don’t need to be sorry.”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “I don’t? I thought you were here to let me down easy.”
Her laugh is light, her eyes still bleeding her sympathy. “No, Desmond. I told you I believe in your kitchen. I’m here to let you know that the studio gave us the green light and a reasonable schedule to work with… if you’re still interested.”
I can’t remember the last time I felt speechless, but there are so many thoughts running through my mind—questions, doubts, excitement—that I’m not sure where to start. “But… how?”
Faye’s smile grows. “Do you remember that footage I took of you and Maggie a couple weeks ago?”
I think back to the day Maggie moved in and I put her on the spot to help me cook. “Yes.”
“Well, turns out that was all the network needed to see to give the go-ahead. We’re approved for one season. My pitch to them was that we will focus on the heart of the kitchen and all it stands for. Farm to table, the charities you support, Seattle life. You’ll have final say in the content that gets produced. Since your brand is involved, we want to make sure you agree on how it’s represented.”
“Faye, I’m—”
She cringes like she’s afraid of my answer. “Ecstatic? Pumped?” she tries.
“I’m impressed, and relieved, and so damn happy.” I let out a laugh, feeling a little bit lighter than I did a minute ago. What felt so stressful just five days ago, now feels like a dream.
Faye presses her hands together and pops up onto her toes in the most un-like Faye pose I’ve ever seen her in. I can practically feel her excitement radiating from her entire body.
“So you’re in? Maggie’s in? We’re doing this?”
I nod, letting the smile push up my cheeks. “If Maggie’s still in, then so am I.”
Maggie
A crack sounds as the cue ball smashes into the top of the pyramid, creating a burst of color as the rest of the balls scatter everywhere. None of them land in a pocket.
“Gah,” Monica growls before walking over to her beer. “I’m usually better than this.”
I smirk at her and proudly step forward with my pool stick. “That was before you played me. One to zero, sister.”
Monica kicks her foot out and taps me on the ass with it. “Less talking. More playing.”
Chuckling, I lean over and set up my shot. “Five ball, corner pocket.” I lock in my aim and tap the cue ball perfectly. The five ball sinks and I shoot my sister a cocky wink over my shoulder. “Guess that makes me solids.”
Monica just laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re still annoying when you win, you know that?”
After making a couple more balls, I end up missing one. I walk toward the table we’re sharing and grab my vodka soda. “I was thinking,” I start before Monica walks off toward the pool table. “What if we host a Friendsgiving at the kitchen? Zach’s mom and brother will be in town. We can invite some of your friends like Chloe and Gavin.” I swallow before attempting my next suggestion. “And … maybe Dad’s family too.”
Monica blinks a few times and then nods. “I love that idea, Mags. But are you sure? I know you and Dad are talking now, but I haven’t even met his wife and kids. It could make for a super awkward Thanksgiving.”
I nod. “I know, which is why we’re doing a Friendsgiving. Besides, when is it not going to be awkward, you know? Desmond could use all the family he can get right now. And I’m starting to think ripping the bandage off might just be the best thing.”
Monica smiles. “I’m in. I’ll buy the chips and dips.”
I la
ugh at her blatant attempt to get out of cooking. While Monica is much more efficient in the kitchen than I, it’s still not her favorite thing in the world to do. “Nope. You’re preparing with me.”
“What? You’re dating a freaking chef.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want him doing all the heavy lifting this year. I’m going to let him enjoy the festivities while you and I cook.”
She twists up her face and lets out a groan. “Fine. But only because you let me drag you to all of those classes.”
Monica approaches the pool table to take her shot and my eyes wander to the entrance just in time. Desmond’s walking through the door with a big smile and more energy I’ve seen him carry all week. My heart starts to thrum faster in my chest. Faye’s news must have been good, but I’ll need to hear it to believe it. “Well?”
He stops in front of me and lifts my body so that my feet are off the ground and my face is parallel to his. “We got the show.”
Just seeing and hearing his excitement puts a full-blown smile on my face. I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck. “I don’t understand how, but I’m so happy for you.”
“For us,” he corrects.
“No way,” Monica says from where she stands on the other side of the pool table. “You guys got the show?”
Desmond nods, not taking his eyes from mine. “Faye showed them some footage from a class her crew taped a couple weeks ago and it was a done deal. You’re still doing this with me, right? You’re okay with it?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.” Whatever fear held me back from getting in front of the camera again simply doesn’t exist anymore. Not when I’m with Desmond. “Look at that. All your dreams are about to come true.”
He smiles and leans in to touch his nose to mine. “No, Mags. All my dreams came true when I met you.”
40
Permanent
Maggie
Music plays from the overhead speakers, a mixture of eighties pop, nineties rock, and today’s favorites. Desmond and I spent the entire night before putting together a playlist we thought everyone would enjoy, and so far, there aren’t any complaints.
Between Desmond, Zach, Monica, and I, we invited over thirty people to join us today. Chloe and Gavin are here with the young girl with the red curls I saw dancing it up at the wedding, along with Jazz and her husband Marco.
Zach’s mom, Rebecca, and brother, Ryan, showed up too and are currently seated on the couches talking with my dad, his wife, and two young girls. Ryan is the spitting image of his older brother, though a couple inches taller and thinner. Apparently he’s some big-wig baseball player who just turned pro. I don’t know how Rebecca did it, but she managed to raise two great men all on her own.
Some of Zach’s teammates showed up, too, including Balko, who is currently hitting on a very intrigued Phoebe. That’s a bit awkward, considering Phoebe and Justin used to date and Justin is somewhere in the room too.
Sandy, the owner of BelleCurve Creative, is perusing the artwork around the kitchen with her husband. I recently found out she’s a good friend of my dad’s and Zach’s. She’s also the reason Monica gets to go to a fancy art school tuition free.
While everyone mingles, Monica and I keep busy in the kitchen. She’s on turkey and stuffing duty, while I tackle most of the sides. I’ve made all the traditional ones, freshly prepared with ingredients from Pike Place Market. We also added the extras that Monica and I thought would be fun to throw in, like our grandma’s favorite Southern-baked macaroni and cheese, and a simple turnip au gratin.
All in all, I would say we’re kicking ass in the kitchen, but Desmond refused to let us do everything alone, so I put him in charge of setting the tables and playing bartender for the evening.
“Another Maggie special,” Desmond says as he carries over a fresh drink. He winks and sets it down in front of me. “On the house.”
I laugh. He started calling my vodka sodas Maggie specials because I always ask for three limes. “I think I’ve earned my keep today.”
“Food’s not done yet, but… ” His eyes roam over the kitchen counters to where we’ve started gathering and reheating some of the dishes. “Nothing’s burning. No one’s sliced a finger. No lobsters have died. I’m going to say things are heading in the right direction.”
I scoff. “You shouldn’t have expected less.”
He flashes me a grin. “I’m learning quickly.” His eyes flicker down and catch on the text of my apron, which reads “Boss of the Sauce” in glittery rose gold letters.
He tosses his head back and laughs. “At least this one is appropriate for a family gathering.”
I grin, remembering that day in class when he refused to give me a cooking certificate. I was wearing a similar apron with much filthier language.
His eyes bulge wide when they catch on something else on the apron. “Wait a second. That’s the Edible Desire logo.”
I stick my tongue between my teeth and grin. “Monica made it. Actually, she made a bunch of them.”
Monica’s ears perk up at the sound of her name and she bounces over to stand next to me. Her apron reads “Dessert First,” and there’s a strawberry beneath it, dripping with chocolate. “Are you talking about my aprons? They’re cute, right? I think we should sell them.”
Desmond blinks wide. “We?”
“Well, yeah.” Monica looks at me and twists her face to tell me Desmond is crazy not to understand. “I can design you an entire line of Edible Desire merch, and you can sell it for profit. I would get a cut, of course.”
I grin up at him. “It’s actually a great idea. We can make sure they’re family appropriate, but I’ve been thinking of all these ways you can make a little bit extra to support the kitchen’s growth in addition to the show, and—” Before I blurt out everything I’ve been working on over the last couple of weeks, I put a finger up signaling for him to wait. “We can talk about it later. Go mingle. We have things handled here.”
He leans down and narrows his lids playfully. “What if I want to mingle with you?”
My cheeks heat, and I have to bite back a laugh. “Later. I’ve got an important job to do, and I can’t have any distractions.”
His hands move to my hips, and he tugs me closer. “I’ll leave on one condition.” He looks between my eyes, and a devilish smile emerges on his face. “Wear that apron for me tonight.” Then he slides his lips to my ear. “Only the apron.”
A chill ripples through my body, and then my lips turn up at the corners. “I think I can manage that.”
As Desmond walks away, I catch Monica’s mouth drop open. “Sister,” she scolds under her breath.
“Hush.” I turn back to the sweet potatoes I’m preparing. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Well, I did.” Then she points at my apron. “I know you want to show him who’s in charge of the sauce tonight, but you ruin that and I’m charging you for the next one.”
I growl out a laugh as I pick up a rag from the counter and chuck it at Monica. “You’re so gross. Don’t think I’m unaware of your dessert fetish. I don’t even want to know what you and Zach brought for dessert.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Monica says with a shrug. “Zach took care of that one.”
“Smile for the camera, girls.”
We look toward our dad who has his phone aimed at us with a big grin on his face. We get close together and do exactly as he says. Then Zach comes up behind him and tells him to get in the photo. My dad hands off his phone and comes around to our side of the island. He stands between us and puts his arms around our waists, holding us tightly to him. It’s hard not to get choked up when I realize this is the first photo we’ve taken together since we were kids.
“Dinner smells delicious.” He squeezes both of our sides and then turns to face us. “I’m proud of you girls. One of these days, you’ll have to come to the house for dinner. Kristin makes some mean pork-and-prawn dumplings.”
“Yum.” Monica’s e
yes are so wide, I think she might start drooling.
I laugh at her reaction and push away that initial spark of discomfort at the mention of his wife. The fact that we’re all here today is a huge step, and day by day things will continue to get better. I’m ready to push through whatever awkwardness comes to get to a happy place for all.
“We’d love to, Dad,” I say. “Just name the date and time. I’m sure the season keeps you busy.”
“Sure, but everyone needs to eat, right? Besides, rumor has it we’ve got a television star in the family now. We might need to work around her schedule.” He winks. “When do you start taping?”
A genuine burst of excitement escapes my chest. “Officially January. The goal is to shoot the entire season in January, go to postproduction in February, and start airing sometime in the spring.”
“I can’t wait.” Monica beams. “I’m making all of your clothes. You know this, right?”
“I wouldn’t wear anything else.”
She squeals and throws her arms around my neck. “I love you, Mags.”
“I love you too, M. Now get off of me and finish basting all those turkeys.” I smack her ass, causing her to yelp and jump.
We’re able to get out of the kitchen for a short time before dinner is served, and I latch on to Desmond while he does his thing and makes his rounds. But unlike in his classes, he’s got a beer in his hand, and he’s shooting the shit with good friends. The way people respond to Desmond is one of my favorite things about him. I love the fact that he can make practically anybody smile, no matter the circumstance, and the way his quick wit gets him into just as much trouble as it makes people laugh.
