“Understandable. It must have been nice to have parents who taught you how to do the most basic things to survive. My mom tried to teach me how to cook exactly one time.”
“It didn’t go well?”
“Not in the slightest.” I glance toward the stove remembering how horribly it went. “She got frustrated with me because I put a tad too much of one ingredient and claimed it would mess up the entire recipe. After that, she pretty much banished me from the kitchen.”
“That’s kind of sad,” he turns on the oven light and bends down to check the progress of the cheese before standing again. “But, so you know, on most dishes, you don’t have to worry about adding a little extra. My mom doesn’t measure anything when she cooks. She seasons until it feels right.”
“That sounds like magic.”
“It is in a way,” he grabs a hand towel, opens the over, and pulls out the dish. “Mom says once you’ve had practice, it’s easier to know when to stop,” he slides the dish on top of the stove, “and, now, dinner is served.”
I pull a couple of plates out of a cabinet and grab silverware from the drawer, setting them on the counter next to the stove. “It smells amazing.”
Xander grabs a plate and adds some of the casserole to it. Then does the same to the other. “If you like a little kick, add some hot sauce.”
“I think I’m good.” Spicy isn’t something I’m a fan of, unlike most of my friends. “I wish I had a small table in here for us to eat at, but we’ll have to use the coffee table.”
“It’s fine.” He grabs the bottle of hot sauce he bought and shoves it in his pocket before picking up both plates and carrying them into the living room.
The only drinks I have are bottled water and wine. I’m not sure what to pair with this, so I grab a couple of waters and follow after him.
There’s music playing softly from his phone on the table and he’s waiting until I join him before lifting a fork. “Sorry, I don’t have anything else.”
“You’re good,” he smiles at me as I set the waters down and join him on the sofa, “now, take a bite and tell me what you think.”
It’s unnerving having him watch me eat, but he went through the effort of making me a meal, and I’ll give him this small satisfaction. I scoop a bite of the casserole, making sure to get a little of each layer before lifting it to my mouth.
As much as I questioned the combination of ingredients, they work well together. The chips add a slight texture difference and it tastes like home. Not my home obviously, but what it felt like when I had dinner with my friends. Also, it’s weird to describe food as home, but I have no other way to word what it tastes like.
“It’s delicious,” I say after I swallow my bite, “really, it’s not like anything I expected.”
“Whew, I’m glad you like it.” The pride he feels in making something for me lights up his face. It’s in this moment I know I’m screwed because maybe, just maybe, love is what I’m starting to feel toward him.
Chapter Eighteen
Xander
Dinner last night was a success. I can only hope tonight is just as successful. She texted me earlier letting me know she’s still coming. Nerves shoot through my body about Kate meeting my parents.
When I made the offer yesterday, I thought she was going to turn me down. Her wide eyes didn’t give me much hope that she’d say yes. I do wonder if the conversation she had with Caroline the other night is part of the reason. Maybe she feels the need to prove her friend wrong. Either way, I’m officially freaking out now.
“Xander,” my mom yells from somewhere else in the house. She probably wants to ask about Kate, or get me to do something else around the house. Since I told her she was coming for dinner, she’s been in cleaning mode. Everything has to be perfect, or as close to, in her eyes before first time guests come over. After that, the guest is family and she doesn’t go overboard.
I double check my hair in the mirror before walking out of my room and closing the door behind me. Now to find my mom. It’s not a big house, but her voice carries and she could be anywhere.
She’s in the living room with a duster in hand. “You called me?”
Mom jumps at the sound of my voice. “Oh, I didn’t think you’d come so quickly. It usually takes you ages to answer me.”
Shrugging, I glance around the room. Did she move the furniture? “Being in my room and getting anxious about Kate coming over wasn’t helping matters. Do you need me to do something?”
“I need you to sweep and mop the kitchen.”
“Didn’t you do that this morning?” I honestly believe there is such a thing as over cleaning.
“Yes,” she sighs, “but your father was mowing and tracked grass all over the place.”
“Anything else you need me to do?” She keeps tapping the end of the duster on the shelf and I know her nerves are as high as mine are. They may actually be higher.
