Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 57897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Alright, so it will be a few more minutes,” he said. “If you want, you can come in.”
I opened the kitchen door excitedly and was impressed by what I saw.
A cast-iron pan was on the stove, two thick steaks in it. Jason was picking it up and sticking it inside the oven as I glanced around. There was a large pot that had mashed potatoes in them and another pan that had asparagus cooking. Watching him as he moved around so effortlessly and being so confident was yet another incredible turn-on.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” I said.
“Sort of. However, if you would like to build the salads, I would appreciate it.”
“Sure,” I said, happy to do something. Not that there was much to do. He had already cut everything up into salad-sized bites.
Once the salads were built, I sat back to watch Jason some more while he pulled the steaks out and placed them on a cutting board to rest and finished with the potatoes.
There were a lot of things I liked about him. He was gorgeous and built and tall, he was sweet and funny and kind, and all those things packaged together already made him nearly impossible to resist. But adding in the ability to cook was just too much. A man who looked like he did, who acted like he did, and who could cook was beyond the scope. How the hell was this man single?
He caught me looking at him, and when I smiled, he didn’t smile back. Instead, he instinctively reached up and brushed his hand over the scar that ran under his ear. I had barely even noticed it before, but the way he moved brought attention to it. I could see now that it went from behind his ear and down under his chin. Whatever had caused it had apparently done some massive damage. Yet another thing to be curious about.
“Alright, I have to ask,” I said, “where did you learn to cook?”
“Well, I don’t really have a whole lot of dishes I do,” he said. “Just a few basic ones.”
“Yeah, well, it’s impressing me so far. Those mashed potatoes smell incredible. Is that a grandma recipe?”
“No, those my ex taught me.”
I bristled. I shouldn’t have bristled. It was his ex, clearly. By definition, I had nothing to worry about. But still, the idea of someone else being with him elicited a streak of jealousy in me, and I shifted in my seat.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yeah. She was a terrible cook.”
I laughed. “Wait, what?”
“My ex, Charlotte. She was abjectly bad at cooking,” he said. “So, her solution was to go out to eat all the time. That was fun for about a week, and then I started realizing I was running out of money and got tired of eating crappy fast-food salads just to get some veggies in.
“I had liked cooking shows all my life anyway, and I taught myself how to make breakfast food. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, you know. The staples. Then I started modifying them into other meals. Then I added sausage, steak, hash browns. One day, I realized if I could do a breakfast steak, I could do a dinner one too, I just needed to learn how to do potatoes. Since I was already making hash browns and chopped potatoes for breakfast, it was a pretty easy transition to mashed ones. One thing always led to another. I’m still crap at anything that doesn’t have its roots in breakfast or pasta, though.”
“Good thing for you I love breakfast and pasta,” I said.
That seemed to get the smile back. He grinned wide.
“That is a good thing,” he said. “Anyway, my cousin Carter, he has this big meat chest in the garage. Tons of burgers and hot dogs and, as you can see, steaks. He told me to make anything I wanted while I was here, and they had to run out for a few days, so you get Jason Steak.”
“Fascinating story,” I said. The thing was, I was fascinated. Maybe the story wasn’t much of a page-turner, but the cover art was incredible.
“Alright, I think we are ready,” he said. “Would you mind setting the table while I plate these?”
“Not at all.”
As I set the table, I felt a combination of feelings run through me. On one hand, I had never thought of a man I would date being the one who wanted to set the table and have a home-cooked meal he made as a date. I just always assumed that I would be making food in any date scenario that didn’t involve a restaurant. Then, on the other hand, it felt a little like we were playing house. A childish excitement at being alone in a house with a boy I liked was making my skin break out into goosebumps and my chest tighten every time I thought about it.