“Yes,” she fired back. “Icancook.”
“Uh, yeah, I mean, I didn’t hear the smoke alarm, so …” Cash hooked the back of his neck, which was turning red.
She should have been mad at him for teasing her about burning the muffins that first morning, but something in his boyish embarrassment tickled her. She tossed the hot pad at him. “I was learning a new oven.”
Cash and James ducked. “Sure. Sure,” Cash grinned. “I’ve heard that one before.”
She threw the other hot pad at his head. He caught it in front of his face.
“Well, if you’re so sure you don’t want any …” She turned her back on the two, washing her hands in the sink.
James cleared his throat. “I don’t know about Cash, but I’d love a home-cooked meal.”
Maggie perked up. She hadn’t cooked for anyone in a while, and getting a second—and third—opinion on the cinnamon chicken would be so helpful. As much as she trusted her own taste buds, she desperately wanted to see the effects of her food on other people. That was the whole point of the cookbook—bringing families together.
She turned, leaning one hip against the sink. “Well, if you really want to try it—you should go wash up.”
James grinned. “I’m on it.” He took off down the hall.
“Hey!” Cash yelled after him. “This is my house.” He picked up speed. “I get first dibs on the bathroom.”
Maggie shook her head at the two of them. They acted like brothers more than employer and employee.
She opened the fridge and pulled out the asparagus and butter. She had just enough time to fry the vegetables and get the rice in the rice cooker before the meat was done. She turned on the oven light and checked to make sure it wasn’t ready yet. The last thing she needed was to overcook this meal. She’d never hear the end of it.
Pretty soon, she had a kitchen full of bubbling and sizzling noises and the smell of butter melting filled the air. She took a deep breath, enjoying the sense that all was right with the world. See, this was what she loved about cooking, what she wanted to bring into people’s homes with her cookbook—this feeling that good things were about to happen.
Deciding to civilize the apes pounding away down the hall, probably wrestling for a position in front of the sink, she pulled out the white plates. Smiling to herself, she rolled her eyes at them. Their antics made this place feel homier.
Just as she was setting the glasses on the table, they piled through the door, holding their hands up in the air to prove they were clean.
“Have a seat.” She pointed to the two chairs at the end of the table.
“Do you want help?” Cash asked, hovering while James slid into his chair. He had such a hopeful look on his face that it tugged at Maggie’s heartstrings. He’d said that he came from a rough background; how many family meals did he share? Her mom and dad had taken turns cooking dinner for the three of them. She’d never had to wonder when or what she would have for dinner, because it happened every night at 6:30.
“I got this.” She smiled softly at Cash. He hadn’t had family dinners either. Putting food in front of them, food she’d carefully flavored and prepared, provided a sense of accomplishment and also a feeling of being kind. Was that prideful to think that way? To recognize that she was extending a kindness that these two obviously craved? She hoped not. The feelings inside of her didn’t make her feel above them or like she was some sort of saint. The warmth in her soul was more like God could see what she was doing and it made Him happy.
She hoped they liked the cinnamon chicken—it could be an acquired taste. Although … watching them choke it down if it was awful would be hilarious. Neither would want to hurt her feelings by telling her it was awful. She’d seen enough of them over the last few days, listened to the way they talked to their crews, that she knew they were good guys.
Cash reached out and touched her arm. “Thank you.” His voice was low and his touch soft. Her heart stopped, her breath caught, and a thousand memories washed over her—all of them filled with the sense of being cherished and cared for above all else.
The oven timer went off, breaking the spell he’d cast over her. She turned away from him, grateful for the work that allowed her to gather her thoughts. Keeping her hands busy was a good defense against thinking about what had just happened.
The things she thought she felt around Cash were fake. Or at the very least, they were one-sided. She might have felt cherished by him at one point, but he didn’t actually cherish her. If he had, he wouldn’t have broken up with her. Cash was an easy fall and a hard landing. She needed to remember that.
She quickly plated three meals and brought them to the table, resting the third plate on her forearm like a talented waitress.
“This looks so good.” James lifted his fork, ready to dive in.
“Do you mind if we say grace?” asked Cash.
Maggie about fell out of her chair. “You want topray?”
He folded his hands together and bowed his head. She and James quickly followed his example, and Cash spoke a simple blessing over the food, thanking the Lord for Maggie and her efforts.
That feeling of being special came up again, and Maggie grabbed a hold of it and pulled it back, trying to stuff it into the box it popped out of.
They chorused an amen, and then James and Cash dug in. Maggie was too nervous to eat. She cooked often—when she had a kitchen. But it’d been a while, and this was one of the recipes she wanted in her cookbook. If it was horrible, she would call Sammy and ask him to drop her as a client.
