I pulled one out of the drawer, making sure it was the frilliest one possible with pink lace and flowers all over it.
“That’ll do.” He happily took the smock from me, tying it around his neck and middle after removing his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
“What else?”
“Keep me company and be prepared to have your taste buds dazzled with delight.” Waylon winked at me. “How’s your drink?”
“Perfect,” I replied on an exhalation, smelling the whiskey’s intoxicating aroma.
Looking down at his recipe card, Waylon started rattling off the ingredients as he took them out of the reusable bags he’d brought. “Sherry vinegar, unsalted butter, extra-virgin olive oil, shiitake mushrooms, Kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper, and a rack of lamb spareribs.”
“A chef needing a recipe—not something you’d expect,” I baited.
Furrowing his brow, Waylon looked up from the card then handed it to me.
The paper was yellowed and worn with gorgeous cursive scrolled across it.
“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. I have read those words a thousand times, but I still like to count off the ingredients just like I used to with her when I was a boy.”
Talking about a heart-melting moment.
“That’s pretty adorable.”
“You’re pretty adorable,” Waylon countered. “Now, to getting this braised and sautéed.”
Watching Waylon work his magic was incredibly fun. He hummed and danced around the kitchen, turning it into a spectacle to behold. Sneaking a quick video, I sent it off to Ellis and the Happy Hour Club.
All of a sudden my phone started erupting with text after text.
Ellis: That is one of the funniest things ever. Not even mad that he is wearing my apron. It looks good on him.
Harper: You got him to cook for you on the first date! I’ve never been able to pull it off even with my amazing blowjob skills.
Sawyer: Don’t be gross, Harper. Get it, Annie! I hope the dinner is just as good as I hope the dessert will be.
Harper: Now who’s the one being gross, Sawyer?
Caroline: This is the best video I have ever seen! Have a blast, sweets.
After quickly skimming the messages, I put my phone back down.
“Little Miss Popular over there,” Waylon teased while checking on the lamb.
“Just my nosy friends trying to see how tonight is going,” I confessed.
“And how do you think it’s going?” he asked, walking over to wrap me in his arms.
“So far so good. Your dance moves might need a little work though.”
“I am teachable.” He kissed my forehead before hurrying over to stir the mushrooms.
I giggled. “I’m not the one you want teaching you how to dance.”
“I will be the judge of that, but later. Grab some plates—it’s time to eat,” Waylon instructed, taking the lamb out of the oven.
I helped him plate the food and freshen up our drinks before leading him into the dining room.
The food smelled so good, I didn’t even want to eat it—I wanted to bathe in it.
