He swung his legs off the couch and stood too quickly. Elijah didn’t let the discomfort stop him. If his mama was in his kitchen cooking biscuits and salmon cakes, he wouldn’t be the only one in the house to realize it. If he wanted to snatch as many croquettes as his belly could handle, he’d have to beat his big-headed brother to the table first.
A mad dash up the stairs and a few minutes at his bathroom vanity, and Elijah was presentable enough to sit at his table. He stopped in the kitchen doorway to take in a deep breath. “I swear, Mama, every time you come up here I gain ten pounds. You can’t keep feeding me like—”
Elijah stopped talking when he saw Camden standing in front of the stove, tending to a sizzling cast-iron skillet. He seemed odd, out of place. He could probably tell you the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork, and where they should be positioned in a place setting. But few people knew how to cook with a cast-iron skillet. That shit took skill built on years of practice. The care instructions alone demanded a mastery most kitchen novices wouldn’t know how to accomplish.
His shoulders were stiff, and he held the spatula at a weird angle that didn’t seem like the most efficient way to scoop or flip a salmon cake in hot grease. It was amusing to see this man who always looked so put together—even when he was puttering around the house in Elijah’s borrowed clothes—with an old apron tied around his waist and his hair hanging into his face as he watched the sizzling patties carefully.
Awkward and unsure as he may be, he was doing it right. Well, the kitchen wasn’t filled with smoke, and nothing was on fire, so he assumed Camden was doing it right. Warmth spread through Elijah at the disheveled sight of Camden. It was hard to imagine, but his uncertainty in Elijah’s kitchen made him even sexier than before.
As adorable as Camden was at his stove, Elijah knew there was only one reason they weren’t choking on smoke right now. He took in the scene, scanning the room, looking for the only plausible explanation for this “fish out of water” scene. His search landed on his mother sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of coffee and munching from a plate stacked with salmon cakes and biscuits.
Elijah walked over to the table and greeted his mother with a kiss to her cheek. “What’s that about?” She looked up at him, following the finger he had pointed to Camden at the stove.
“Last I checked, they called it making breakfast, son.” Elijah glanced over at Camden, who lifted his head long enough to greet Elijah with a smile and then returned his focus to the skillet in front of him.
“You mean you let Camden make my salmon cakes?” Elijah paused at the disappointment in his own voice. His voice took on that whiny sound that only an annoyed kid could produce when talking to his parents. “Ma, you know I love those.”
“You do know I can hear you, right, Elijah?” Camden’s question didn’t sway him. As cool as Camden was, Elijah doubted the man could replicate his mother’s skill when it came to this dish. There were just some foods only certain people got to make, and salmon cakes were always made by his mother.
“Camden, I’m sure you’ve tried really hard, but I’m not about to let you mess this up for me. My mouth is all the way fixed for some salmon cakes this morning. I ain’t even about to play with you.”
Camden moved the frying salmon cakes from the skillet onto a platter. He turned the range off, then brought the batch of food over to the table. “Why don’t you at least taste one before you insult my cooking?”
Elijah looked at his mother, then returned his gaze to Camden. He narrowed his eyes before snatching one of the golden-brown croquettes out of the plate. “Salt and pepper is not seasoning. If that’s all I taste, I swear I will get my gun.” Elijah took an angry bite and chewed. “Got me in here eating bland-ass salmon cakes early in the morning.”
He was about to say something else when his taste buds recognized the familiar savory flavors filling his senses. He thought it had to be a fluke. No way could Camden, or anyone else as far as Elijah was concerned, cook this signature dish like his mama. He popped the last bit into his mouth, waiting to be proved right. But as he chewed, he could feel the satisfied groan climbing from his chest, looking for an escape through his lips. Elijah went to grab a second cake from the serving platter, but Camden placed a hand on his arm and stared at him with a skeptical lifted brow. “What?” Elijah chimed with a mouthful of food. “I’m just making sure they’re not poisonous. It’s my job to serve and protect.”
Camden folded his arms in front of his chest as he leveled his gaze at Elijah. Apparently, he wasn’t buying Elijah’s bullshit about checking for poison in the food. “A’ight, I can’t lie, these are good.”
Elijah swallowed, humming not so quietly as he savored each bite. He knew Camden had a smartass “I told you so” waiting for him. He didn’t care in the least. This was his favorite dish, and a man who was becoming more likable by the hour had toiled to gift him with this spread. Showing his appreciation by humming was the bare minimum Elijah could do at the moment.
The oven timer dinged, pulling Camden away from the table and giving Elijah the chance to slide into the seat next to his mother. “How’d you get him to slave in the kitchen?”
His mother shook her head, then sipped from her cup of coffee. “It’s salmon cakes and biscuits, Elijah, not a seven-course meal. I don’t think slaving is an accurate description.”
He took the serving tongs and placed several of the fried patties on his plate. He’d pay for these later in the gym, but for now, he’d eat until his stomach couldn’t hold any more. “I’ve made these before, Mama. They ain’t as easy as you make them out to be, especially without a deep fryer. You’ve got that boy in there sweating over hot grease and the inferno of the oven. How’d you do it?”
Elijah was partially distracted as he watched Camden bend over to remove what looked like another batch of his mother’s homemade biscuits. Elijah licked his lips, not sure if it was because of the food or the perfect way his sweatpants molded Camden’s ass. He didn’t have the chance to figure out which before he heard his mother chuckling beside him.
“I know this might be a strange concept to you, son. But you’d be surprised what you can get people to do if you simply ask.”
Elijah glanced at his mother and watched as she used her coffee mug to hide the glib smile on her face. Asking. It seemed like a simple thing. Except there was nothing simple about him and Camden. Yeah, they’d talked, and talking made it so much easier for Elijah to give in to the very thing he desired. But knowing what you wanted and knowing you could have it were two different things.
There was no doubt in Elijah’s mind he wanted Camden. If Camden gave him the chance, Elijah would do all he could to explore what they shared. All he needed was the opportunity, and Elijah could move mountains if he put his mind to it.
His mother’s soft hand rested on top of his as she stood up from the table. “I already took some plates downstairs to Manny and Viv, and one upstairs to your father. I think it’s gonna be a lazy day for everyone in the house until we leave tonight. Maybe now might be a perfect time for you to kiss the cook?”
Elijah squinted his eyes and looked up to her. “Now see, that seemed like a fantastic idea before my mama said it. No man wants to hear things like that coming from their mom.”
Evelyn waved a dismissive hand at him before she spoke again. “Boy, how do you think you got here?”
Elijah covered his ears with his hands as he shook his head back and forth. “Nope, nope, nope. We will not have this discussion. You will not ruin sex for me for the rest of my life by putting that image in my head.”
Camden returned to the table, looking from Elijah to Evelyn and back as he tried to decipher what was going on. “What exactly did I miss?”
“Just my grown child behaving like a two-year-old. I’ll leave him in your capable hands, Camden. I’m gonna make a quick run to the market so I can teach Camden how to make your favorite dinner before we leave tonight.”
“Give me a minute to throw some clothes on, and I’ll take you, Ma.”
