all anyone could do in my kitchen.” He had two drawers, three cabinets, a dorm-style fridge, a two-burner stove with minuscule oven, a teeny tiny microwave, and about four inches of counter space on either side of the sink. “Please tell me you know how to cook.”
Romeo squinted and shifted his feet. “Um...”
“Oh God. Really?”
“I do know how. Mama taught me. She taught all us kids. It’s just that...”
“What?” That came out louder than Teddy intended, and he lowered his voice. “Just pick a couple of your best recipes, okay?”
Frowning, Romeo shook his head. “Look. My parents came from a tiny little place in Mississippi that you’ve never heard of. Population about five hundred. They got married, moved to Chicago, and did their damnedest to help their children succeed.”
“And they did,” Teddy said gently. “You and your sisters have all done so much.”
Romeo gifted him with a brief smile. “Yeah, we have, but that’s not my point. Mama still cooks the way her mama did, and I’m sure her mama before her. Catfish. Fried okra. Collard greens. Black-eyed peas. Biscuits and gravy. Cornbread. A sweet potato pie you’d trade your soul for. And that’s what she taught us. I don’t regret any of that. But it’s not what a famous rich white lady in her fancy-ass mansion wants to eat on Valentine’s Day.”
Teddy traced a finger along a vein in the marble. All those foods sounded delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good home-cooked meal, and the mental image of a very young Romeo sitting at a table with his family made him envious. Neither of Teddy’s parents enjoyed cooking, so they’d done a lot of takeout and premade grocery stuff even though that twisted his father’s thrifty heart. Teddy hadn’t been deprived, but he’d rarely had the chance to enjoy a warm kitchen filled with good smells and friendly chatter.
But he wasn’t Joyce Alexander, was he?
“I guess you’re right,” he said slowly.
“So what do we do?”
“Look up recipes on our phones. You know your way around a kitchen at least, and we can follow directions. How hard can it be?”
Chapter Fifteen
As it turned out, it could be very hard.
The first challenge was finding acceptable recipes. They agreed on parameters: elegant and interesting, doable within their time frame, and excluding overly exotic ingredients.
Beyond that, however, the negotiations broke down.
Romeo, who claimed little confidence in his cooking skills beyond his family’s recipes, pushed for a few simple dishes. “They can be fancy, though,” he said. “Shrimp cocktail, a nice steak, maybe—”
Teddy mimed a huge yawn. “We’re being tested on creativity, remember? That’s gonna earn us an F-minus. We can’t afford to flunk this one.” A note of desperation had entered his voice. No, not a note. An entire goddamn chorus.
“But we won’t pass if we screw up the meal.”
“Then we need to make sure we don’t screw it up.”
They glared at each other before returning to their phones. Occasionally one of them would throw out a suggestion, only to be shot down by the other. Meanwhile, the clock was ticking.
“How about if we pick a theme?” Teddy finally offered. “That’s creative, right?”
“Like what?”
“Well, Valentine’s Day, I guess, but maybe that’s too obvious.”
“Probably. We could pick a country—maybe one that’s a little more unusual for Americans. Uzbekistan? Mauritania? Suriname?”
“Hmm.” It was a good idea in principle. Teddy was fairly certain he’d never had foods from any of those countries. In fact, he had no idea what dishes might be involved. “I think this violates our exotic ingredients rule.”
Romeo sighed heavily. “Yeah.”
Then brilliance struck—or at least Teddy hoped so. “Flowers!”
“What?”
“We’re Reddyflora—so how about if we make things that include flowers as ingredients? That’s kind of Valentinish too.”
Although Romeo looked skeptical, he didn’t say no. “How do you cook with flowers?”
“No clue. We can google it.”
“But it’s February.”
Oh. Yeah. This problem hadn’t occurred to him. Teddy’s succulents—may they rest in peace—had been his only houseplants, which is why he occasionally used fake foliage in décor. “Maybe...florists? I don’t know. It’s Washington, not Illinois. There’s plenty of green stuff around right now, so maybe there are flowers too.”
Romeo was scratching his lip, which wasn’t a good sign. But then he gave a small shrug. “Let’s come up with a list and see if Dave can come through for us.”
It took them another long period to agree on a menu. Eventually they settled on chive flower flatbread, a smoked salmon salad with greens and flowers, herb and flower pasta, and lemon