He woke me up later, and I followed him to his room. I slid into his bed, immediately jealous of how big and comfortable it was. He tried to play it off, talking about I was scared because ofSaw. I let him have that. Between what I knew and what he thought, it didn’t matter—I wasn’t going anywhere. When the lights went off, the silence felt less eerie than the nights before. Kier pulled me in without making a thing out of it, and I let myself relax into him.
I slept peacefully through the night.
eleven
. . .
The next morning,I woke up to Kier wide awake, stretched out against the couch, fully invested in the nextSawmovie. Grown self had a whole setup going, eating a bowl of cereal with the box and milk sitting right next to him like he planned on staying there for the entire day. I gave him hell immediately for watching it without me, still half asleep but annoyed enough to sit up and press him about it. He tried to play it off like he was letting me sleep in. I wasn’t letting that slide. I teased him right back, calling out how quick he switched up after talking all that shit the night before. Because now he couldn’t even wait on me to keep going.
I grabbed the cereal, poured myself a bowl, and sat onto the couch beside him. Before long, we were right back in it, going back and forth over the movie, him questioning everything, me filling in just enough to keep him hooked. Time passed without either of us paying attention, one movie rolling into the next, the morning easing into the afternoon until it hit us at the same time that we actually had somewhere to be. Next thing I knew, we were both up, showering and getting ready for our evening date with the chef.
The chef arrived, and the kitchen suddenly felt alive. He pulled out pans, cooking utensils, and a slew of ingredients. The scent of garlic and herbs hit me first, followed by the freshness of the protein that was available. Chef Laurent navigated the space calmly, super focused and confident. He acknowledged Kier with a nod, then turned his attention to me.
“So, you’re the one cooking tonight?” He asked.
“I am.”
Kier leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the interaction because it was clearly entertaining to him. “She’s LEARNING to cook, chef,” he added, not helping. “Instead of learning how to cook, she learned how to build torture chambers and-”
“Oh, stop it, I can cook,” I whined, popping him on his abs. “But I didn’t say I was a professional.”
“That’s alright. We’ll see what you can do.” He smiled, encouraging me.
“We’re going to do a pan-seared Chilean sea bass with a lemon butter sauce, on a bed of microgreens. Now I’ll let you choose the side. Asparagus, risotto, or a parmesan mash. What are you thinking?”
Thinking wasn’t necessary, I knew what I wanted. “Let’s go with the parmesan mash. I’ve seen cooking shows enough to know how easy it is to mess up risotto. And asparagus makes your pee stink.”
They both laughed. I stepped closer to the island, tying my hair back as I looked over the ingredients. I searched for seasonings, but that was the difference between regular people and chefs. We layered on the normal, onion powder, garlic powder, Tonys , and maybe some sazon. But Chef Laurent had nothing but herbs and oil. Guess I really was learning something new today.
“Alright,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “Let’s start simple.”
Kier pushed off the counter and came closer, not too close, but close enough that I felt it. His attention wasn’t on the chef; it was on me.
“Simple?” He repeated. “You sure that’s the route you wanna go?”
“Yes, Kier. Simple is how you don’t mess things up.”
“Or,” he said, stepping just behind me, his voice lowering near my ear, “it’s how you play it safe.”
“He’s not wrong.” Chef Laurent joined in, clearly amused.
“I’m not listening to either of you,” I said, but there was a smile sitting in my voice now.
“So, the key to the sea bass is to keep it crispy and golden on top, but soft on the inside. You have to control your temperature when cooking. And just like with most fish, you don’t have to cook it too long.”
“So that means we need to start on the potatoes first?”
“Exactly.”
“Um, so you do know something.” Kier teased me.
“Told you!” I smiled.
I gathered about four red potatoes and began chopping. The knife tapped steadily against the cutting board. Kier stayed close, occasionally reaching past me to grab something before I asked.
“You cut like you’re thinking,” he said.
“I am thinking,” I replied, not looking up. “I want the cubes to be perfect.”
