I laugh, dropping my forehead to his chest.
“What’s so funny?”
I give him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. “Babe, I can’t cook for shit, but that is one thing I know how to make.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
HAYDEN
Santino’s version of ramen is just pouring hot water over a bowl of dry noodles, mixing in the seasoning, and letting it sit for a few minutes. I’m going to show him how toreallymake ramen.
“Is it really ramen if there are so many steps involved?” Santino asks as he washes the bok choy in the sink.
“Of course, it is. It’s basically the same thing. We’re only adding a few extra ingredients.”
Santino eyes the eggs, green onions, and slices of cheese on the counter. “There’s not even any meat.” He pouts.
I laugh, marveling at how foreign it sounds to my ears. It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed like this. Like everything is right with the world. “You won’t miss it, I promise.”
Pulling out two pots, I fill them both with water and set them on the stove.
“Is this good?” Santino shows me the bowl of washed bok choy.
“Perfect.” I grab my chef’s knife from the magnetic strip on the wall. “Do you know how to chop green onions?”
Santino eyes the knife warily. “My dad taught me how to carve a turkey?”
I tilt my head. “Not quite the same thing. Come here.” I wave him over to the cutting board set out on the counter. “Give me your hand.”
When he holds it up, I help him wrap it around the knife’s handle. “A lot of people hold a knife like they’re shaking hands with it. But actually, your palm should be on top of the knife handle, like this.” I let go and Santino turns the knife back and forth, getting used to its weight. I grab the green onions and set them on the chopping board.
“When you’re holding the veggies or meat or whatever you're cutting, you want to curl your fingers so your knuckles stick out.” I reach around him to position his other hand on the green onions. “Then lean the flat part of the blade against your knuckles. That way you won’t chop your fingers off.”
With my arms around Santino and my hands on top of his, we chop the green onions together. It’s a little awkward, but about halfway through, he picks up the feel for it. I lift my hands off and settle them on his hips as he keeps going.
“That’s it. Perfect.”
“This is dope.” He sounds so excited.
“It’s just chopping vegetables, babe,” I plant a kiss by his ear.
He looks over his shoulder at me and steals another kiss from my lips.
I show him how to soft-boil an egg, then dunk it in ice water so it stops cooking. And what order all the ingredients should go into the ramen. He stares slack-jawed when I lay slices of cheese on top of the boiling pot of noodles and soup.
“You can put cheese in ramen?”
“Yup. At least with Korean-style ramen. It might not be as good with other kinds.” Pulling out two bowls, I divvy up the noodles, then drop one peeled egg into each.
We carry it over to the dining table and Santino lets out an indecent groan when he takes his first bite.
“Oh my god, this is so good,” he says around a mouthful of noodles.
I take a bite too and I have to agree. This might be the best bowl of noodles I’ve ever had—because I made it with Santino.
We’ve just finished eating when Santino’s phone starts buzzing. He pulls it out of his pocket and the sated, content expression he’s wearing melts into dread. “It’s my mom.”
