Chapter Thirty-Three

WALKING INTO MY PLACE with Donovan right behind me with a handful of grocery bags excites me, but a slight hint of unsureness creeps up on me as I show him to the kitchen.

He places the bags down on the counter, then looks around. “Yes, I would love to have a kitchen like this. After selling the house, I opted for a four-bedroom townhome. It’s one of those three level units. It has a decent kitchen, but nothing like this. I’m going to get my sister for not showing this place to me.”

I look around again.

“The kitchen in my villa in Paris is half this size. I don’t cook much, so I don’t need a large kitchen, but you’re right, this one’s massive and extremely nice, definitely built for a chef.

“Briana mentioned that the seller of this place is eager to sell it. My lease is up in a year, so maybe you can put in an offer!”

“Oh, so you’re only here for a year.”

The concerned look on his face is genuine this time.

“My company would like me to stay for three years.”

His shoulders relax. “Well, I hope they convince you to stay. I know I’m going to do my part.”

Don’t blush again.

Too late. The heat in my cheeks is betraying me.

The groceries are still sitting untouched. “Are you ready to prove to me that you can make egg rolls?”

“Do you have a couple of aprons?”

“We only need one. I’m not cooking!”

He gives me a sly smile. “My mother always says that the more hands there are in the kitchen, the faster one eats. I do remember someone’s stomach growling just a while ago.”

“Okay. I’ll do what I can, but I did warn you I’m no chef.”

“I know people who call themselves chefs but can’t cook, and I know people who can cook but would never call themselves chefs.”

“Which one are you?” I ask with a wink.

“Let’s find out together.”

I lean against the counter and watch as he pulls out a pack of frozen egg roll wrappers from one of the grocery bags. “We’ll let these thaw at room temperature. It should only take about forty-five minutes or so.”

Forty-five minutes? I pray my stomach doesn’t start growling again.

He begins opening each kitchen drawer.

“What are you looking for?”

“Found them. Here you go,” he says, tossing an apron at me.

Briana, this is your fault!

“What do you want to do first?” I ask, with as much displeasure in my tone as I can muster.

“You look cute when you pout, but cuteness isn’t going to get you out of this. Why don’t you start by placing the vermicelli rice noodles in a bowl and then filling the bowl with very hot water. Once that’s done, take two forks and begin to separate the noodles.”

Well, I guess that hot water button is going to come in handy again. “What does the hot water do?” I ask, as I cover the rice noodles completely with hot water and then grab two forks out of the drawer.

“After separating the noodles, you’ll let them sit in the hot water for about five to seven minutes to let them get tender.”

I start gently separating the rice noodles. “Am I doing this right?” He places the cabbage in his hands down and comes up behind me. “You do it like this.” He places his hands on top of mine, and we begin to separate the noodles together.

His breath lingers on my neck as he talks about the importance of using the forks to keep them from sticking.

“There,” he says, “that should do it. Let’s place them aside.”

“For seven minutes, right?”

“More or less,” he says, stepping away and returning to the lettuce. “After that, you’ll want to drain them in a colander. Be sure to drain them very well and then rinse them with cold water to keep them from sticking. The cold water helps stop the cooking process. The last step is to chop them up into about 1-inch pieces. Hopefully, there’s a cutting board somewhere in one of the cabinets.”

I open the cabinets until I find a cutting board, then give it a quick rinse off. “Do they stay in the cold water?”

“No, we’ll place them in a mixing bowl.”

“Okay, let me find that as well.”

He begins to slice up about four cups of green cabbage. “You’re pretty fast.”

He grins. “I’ve done this a few times, but the trick is to use a serrated knife. It helps create thin slices and doesn’t stick to the cabbage during slicing.” He places the knife down on the counter. “You want to give it a try?”

“Sure.”

Once again, he places a hand on top of mine and guides me as I slice the cabbage. “I can’t believe how easy this is,” I say as his cologne fills the air and me.

“You’re a natural.”

“Okay, what’s next?”

He grins again. “I knew you would enjoy this.”

The cooking or you?

“Grab those brown mushrooms over on the counter, rinse them in water, then pat them dry. Once you’re done, I’ll slice them up. They have to be pretty thin.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Funny.” He looks over at the rice noodles. “They should be ready to drain now.”

I start working on the noodles again while he slices up the mushrooms.

I could… No girl, you’ve had enough cologne moments for the day.

“When I’m done with these, do you want me to grate the carrots, or is there something special that needs to be done to them?”

“I saw a Julienne slicer in the drawer. You’ll use that to cut the carrots into matchsticks.”

“That sounds fancy,” I say, retrieving the slicer.

“I’ll work on finely chopping a medium onion after these mushrooms, and that will be all that’s needed for the prep work.”

“I’m all done,” I say, taking off my apron after finishing up the carrots.

“Oh no, you don’t. Put that apron back on.”

“I thought you said that was all the prep work.”

“It is, but now we move to the next steps.”

I place my apron back on reluctantly.

“We’re almost there, I promise.”

“I hope so. If not, you’re going to hear my stomach start to growl again.”

“If you look in one of the grocery bags, you’ll find a small bowl of fruit.”

“Nice,” I say, rushing over to find the fruit. “This will tide me over.”

He watches me for a second as I quickly devour a couple of pieces.

“Sorry. I’m so hungry. You want some?”

He shakes his head. “No, you go ahead and enjoy that.” He looks under the cabinet and grabs a skillet. “This is a nice skillet.”

“You’ll have to thank your sister for that. She thought of everything.”

“I see. I wonder why I didn’t get that kind of treatment when she sold me my townhome.”

“Did she get full commission?”

He smiles. “Good point. She did give me the ‘brother discount.’”

“Also, remember that I requested a fully furnished condo.”

“This one is definitely fully furnished.” He places the skillet on the stove and then grabs some olive oil and a container of shredded chicken out of a grocery bag. “I’ll get started on sautéing the shredded chicken in a little bit of this olive oil.”

“I would have never thought to buy chicken already shredded.”

“I usually make my own. Once I’m finishing sautéing the chicken, I’ll add it to the noodles in the mixing bowl and then come back and sauté the mushrooms, carrots, and onions together. Once the mushrooms, carrots, and onions are nice and tender, I’ll add our shredded cabbage, toss everything together and let it cook until the cabbage looks wilted, mix in about a half-teaspoon of salt, take it off the heat, and then transfer it to the mixing bowl with the chicken and noodles.

“Now I just need to add another half-teaspoon of salt, a half-teaspoon of black pepper, two tablespoons of soy sauce, and then one teaspoon of sesame oil.”

“Do you start building the eggs rolls after that?”

“We will.” He gives me a wink as I stuff a few more pieces of fruit in my mouth and then watch him start to mix everything together.

“Man, it smells and looks amazing. Can you use meat other than shredded dark meat chicken for the egg rolls?”

“Sure.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Briana likes to use pork.”

“You don’t eat pork, I take it.”

“It’s sort of like reading women’s fiction for me.”

I pick out a piece of melon and throw it at him.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to abuse the chef.”

“Sorry, Chef.”

He picks up a couple pieces of a mushroom and tosses them at me. “As they say… all’s fair in eggs rolls and cooking.”

“Who says that?”

He shrugs his shoulders, and we fill the kitchen with a bit of laughter.