Mal winced. “That’s Bia. It’s probably fine. Last time, only two jars exploded.”
Before Walker could process that, a teenager with curly brown hair burst into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel covered in mushrooms. “You must be Walker,” she said with a smile, pulling him into a hug that smelled of vinegar and rosemary. “I’ve heard everything about you. Good job with the prank, by the way. Mal totally deserved it.”
Walker blinked. “He told you about that?”
“Yep. He was proud of you two.”
“Bianca,” Mal said, drawing her name out as he stomped his foot. “I told you not to tell them that.”
She shrugged with a smirk and went back to the kitchen. “I’ll move my jars, and we can start the show.”
“Bring the squirrel, Walker.” Mal smiled sweetly. “It will be your personal assistant.”
“Really?” he asked with a sigh.
Janelle nudged him with her elbow. “This is better than the alternative. We don’t want to be looking over our shoulder forever, waiting for Mal to prank us back.”
“Smart woman,” Mal smirked.
A few moments later, they all stood in a large kitchen with several cameras watching them. Mal had them hanging from each corner of the room, the fridge, and the center light fixture. The red lights blinked on.
“Are we live?” Walker whispered out of the corner of his mouth, smiling so hard his cheeks ached. He held his taxidermied squirrel in one arm.
“The cameras have been recording for one full minute,” Bianca said. “So, if you’re going to panic, do it charmingly.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Walker. We aren’t live, and I edit thoroughly.” Mal faced forward, palms flat on the butcher-block counter. Copper pans hung behind them, and a pot of water boiled on the stove. The kitchen glowed warm and gold.
“Welcome back toSimply Living,” Mal said, voice smooth as whiskey. “I’m Malcolm Benson, and today’s episode is special because instead of pretending I cook like this every day for imaginary friends, I’ve invited some real ones.”
Walker, Janelle, and Bianca moved to stand next to him at the island.
“We don’t know what we’re making,” Janelle told the camera, already sipping from a glass of white wine she’d found somewhere.
“That’s not true,” Mal said with a smile. “We’re making rosemary lemon chicken with roasted potatoes and a summer tomato salad.”
Janelle leaned on the island. “For the record, all he told us was to come over hungry and camera-ready. That’s it.”
“My name is Walker,” Walker said suddenly, blinking nervously.
Bianca snorted a laugh and patted his back. “Yes, it is, big guy. I’m Bianca, Mal’s daughter from another life, and that there is Janelle.”
“You’re too sweet.” Mal patted Walker’s cheek. “Now that the intros are out of the way, let’s proceed.” He clapped his hands once. “Okay. First step: Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Walker, that means you turn the dial behind you.”
Walker stared at the stove like it had personally offended him. “Wait. Why is it analog? That’s too outdated for a professional. Even Ferdie and I have a new digital model.”
“You sound like my husband. It builds character, okay,” Mal said, rolling his eyes.
“It builds lawsuits,” Janelle muttered, but she was already zesting a lemon into a bowl, bright curls of yellow falling like confetti.
“I like it better than a digital model because it’s more reliable,” Mal said with a pout. He crushed garlic with the flat of his knife, and the sharp, clean scent rose into the air, followed by the scent of chopped rosemary. “Ignore them, my lovely audience. Cooking with friends,” Mal said to the camera, “is about controlled chaos. You want enough people to make it lively, but not so many that someone sets a towel on fire.”
Walker froze, holding a dish towel dangerously close to a burner. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”
“As usual, I sourced as much of my ingredients locally as I could. Hobson Hills has a lovely little store calledFarm Fresh,which is where I get most of my produce.” Mal passed the bowl of marinade to Bianca. “Olive oil, lemon zest, juice, garlic, rosemary, salt, pepper. Give it a stir.”
Bianca did, efficient and focused. “You’re actually measuring today. That’s new.”
“I usually measure on camera,” Mal said, sniffing, nose in the air. “Off camera, I follow my heart.”
