“Wow.”
“Wow?”
“Yes, wow. I had no idea. This is way deeper than I thought.”
I turned toward her. “This is your art, Alivia. This is youlooking at a rainbow of colors and picking up the tubes you want to paint with. This isn’t pouring a gallon of paint into a container and rolling it onto a wall. The latter is what we do every night at Charred. What we’re doing here … is different.”
Fuck, I meant that in every sense of the way.
Because even having this conversation with her, nothing felt the same.
“My art.” Her voice was low, her stare as intense as ever.
“Show me how you can paint.”
She moved toward the section of protein, taking her time as she studied the various options, eventually lifting a piece of Chilean sea bass into her hand.
“I like where you’re headed.”
My response caused her to look at me.
“I’ve never even tasted it. I’ve only seen it in cooking videos.”
“You’re going to taste it tonight.” I pointed at the vegetables. “Now think of how you’re going to paint the background. It’s a light fish with a buttery texture. You want a pairing that won’t contrast the flavors, but enhance them instead.”
She ran her fingers across the rows of vegetables and stopped at the stalks of bok choy.
“Fuck yes,” I roared.
“And this.” She lifted a box of cremini mushrooms.
I nodded toward the exit. “Go set up your workstation.”
She gave me a smile that was so achingly breathtaking, I wanted to pull her into my arms. She rushed toward the gas range, setting three pans on top of the grates, and started a low fire below them. She then removed a cutting board and displayed her knives next to it before giving the vegetables a quick wash and positioning them on the heavy wooden block.
“Where do I start?”
I stayed nearby, giving her plenty of space to move betweenthe cooktop and counter. “What’s going to take the longest to cook?”
“The vegetables.”
“Think back to the painting.” I leaned on the counter, picking up one of the mushrooms, wishing it were strands of her hair that I could wrap around my fingers. “If there’s a cabin in the center of the canvas, what would look more beautiful—a sunrise or a sunset? That’s what you have to ask yourself when you think of the accompaniments. You don’t want them to overshadow the star of the show, you want them to enhance it.”
“Small, bite-sized pieces so you can fit in some veg with every mouthful of fish.”
“Yesss.”
I could tell she’d been practicing her cutting skills. That she’d listened to every goddamn word I told her. The chef’s knife slid right through the bok choy, and she was using a perfect wave of wrist motion. Once she finished with the mushrooms, she brought the piles of each to the stovetop.
“Oil or butter?” she asked.
“From here on out, you’re going to repeat in your head,Do I want to overshadow or enhance?That’s your answer.”
She picked up a bottle of olive oil and drizzled it onto the stainless steel pan, tossing the vegetables in.
“Alivia …”
She halted. “You would have chosen butter?”
