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They entered the kitchen and Cordelia gasped. Every inch of counter space was covered in green. There were herbs of every variety, a neat line of asparagus on a cutting board, and scallions sitting in a colander. A huge strip of steak was laid out on brown paper next to the stove.
“See what I mean?” Colin said. He was filling a glass with ice. “Gin and tonic? That’s what we’re having, but I can make you something else if you’d like.”
“No, that’s perfect,” Cordelia said. “Wow.” She glanced at the countertops again, feeling dazed. “This is—”
“Far too much food?” Colin said, pouring a healthy amount of gin into the glass and filling the rest with tonic.
“Oi,” Niall said, raising a knife so that it glinted in the overhead lights. “Don’t be slagging me. The chef is armed, remember.”
“Can I help with anything?” Cordelia asked.
“Do you know how to cook?” Niall said brightly.
“Um … no,” she admitted. “Róisín thinks I live on cheese and chocolate.”
Colin laughed, squeezing some lime into her drink and pushing it into her hand.
“Sit with me,” he said, hopping onto a stool and patting the one beside him. “See, now what I like to do when Niall cooks is, I pretend I’m a judge on one o’ them cooking shows like MasterChef.”
“Oh god, please do not do that again,” Niall said as he rinsed the scallions and put them aside. Then he grabbed the salt and pepper and started to season the meat.
“Seasoning is key,” Colin said gravely, putting on a studio announcer voice. “But let’s see if Niall O’Connor can get the temperature right. A fillet steak is a tricky thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Niall said, exasperated.
Cordelia giggled. She took a sip of her drink—it was tart and fresh and the bubbles filled her nose.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a bunch of what looked like long thin blades of grass.
“That’d be tarragon,” Niall said. “For the chimichurri.”
“Chimi-who?”
“Oh, lord,” Colin said. “Now you’re going to get him started and he’ll never fecking stop.”
“She should know what it is she’ll be eating,” Niall said. “Now, a classic chimichurri is like a green sauce to put on meat or fish. Usually only has parsley, coriander, and oregano, but I like to add as many herbs as I can.”
He stood at the island across from them, peeling a large shallot and dicing it, then smashing a clove of garlic flat with the side of his knife and mincing it. It was fascinating to watch—Cordelia sipped her drink and wondered how he didn’t cut his fingers off. Niall’s movements were fluid as he switched out tarragon for parsley, then coriander, and on and on. The scent of mint and basil filled the air. Niall put the chopped herbs, shallot, and garlic in a bowl, doused it all with olive oil, added some red wine vinegar and chili flakes, and wiped his hands on his apron.
“That’s one thing done,” he said.
Colin pointed to the camera she’d placed on the island. “Show us the photos you took at the seisiún. I want to see how devilishly handsome I look.”
She gladly obliged, but her eyes kept drifting to Niall. The process of cooking had always seemed dull and arduous to Cordelia. But Niall made it look fun. Like an adventure. Or creating a piece of art.
He sliced the meat into several pieces, then set a large pan on the stove. Cordelia hadn’t realized how long she’d been staring at him until he glanced up and caught her. His eyes glinted merrily, a lock of raven hair falling over his forehead. He pushed it back with his wrist and said, “Have I got something on my face?”
“No,” she said, flushing. “Watching you cook, it’s like … like a dance.”
Colin let out a guffaw but Niall seemed oddly touched.
“I’m a bit out o’ practice,” he admitted. “It’s been a while since I … danced.”
“You can’t tell,” Cordelia said.
“I want this one,” Colin said, thrusting the camera toward her and pointing to a photo of himself sharing a laugh with Fergus the drummer.
“I’ll email it to you,” she promised, taking the camera back. She lifted it to her eye to gaze at the kitchen through the lens, the darkening night outside the window a perfect contrast to the warm light inside. She found herself focusing on Niall, who was now leaning over some potatoes and carefully slicing into them.