the first time, and maybe in a way we are. There’s no expectation and no agonizing build-up. We’re just two souls who had to get lost to finally find their way home. And with Desmond’s heart beating in time with mine, we lose ourselves to the rhythm of a new love. A pure love. A love that heals.
39
Perfect Recipe
Desmond
Maggie offers to cancel Saturday’s class to give me more time to deal with my father’s death, but I insist I’m okay. After nearly a week of being away, I’m craving my routine—hitting up the gym, shopping at the farmers market, testing new recipes, greeting and teaching my students, flirting with Maggie.
It was all such clockwork before, but today started out as a struggle. My ass was a lost cause at the gym, mostly due to my low energy level. Shopping at the market seemed like a chore more than ever before. And the thought of faking my smiles through a two-hour class feels damn near painful.
Thank God for Maggie. The moment my students start to arrive, she’s at the door, welcoming them with a smile, checking them in, and then chatting up each table just like I usually do. I’m a bit slower to make my rounds like I used to, but I find that with each table I talk to, my mood begins to lift more and more.
The kitchen has always filled me with joy—from the challenge, from the people, and the knowledge that I’m helping my students either at home or in their field of work. The kitchen gives me a purpose, and I’ll never take it for granted. Just like an artist who takes a paint brush to canvas, cooking is where I find my escape. In the various tools and ingredients, I get to create something that not only nourishes my body, but it replenishes my soul.
“I know the menu posted online says that we’re making zucchini lasagna today, but there’s been a change of plans.” I wave my recipe in the air while Maggie walks around the room, passing out the new ones. “Today, we’re going to make a sausage and broccoli rabe frittata. It was the first dish my father ever taught me how to make.” I flash the class my grin. “So this one’s for him. Hope you all enjoy it.”
We’re nearing the end of class when Faye slips in quietly and hangs out in the back of the room until everyone leaves. I’m almost dreading speaking to her again after Monday’s dress rehearsal. I left her hanging, and while it was for a good reason, I can’t imagine she’s back here with good news.
Maggie slides an arm around my waist. “I’m going to head to Shooters to meet Monica. You still up for it?” Her eyes dart from me to Faye, like she doesn’t know if she should stay.
“I’ll meet you there. This should only take a minute.” I lean in and give her a kiss, letting it linger for just a second before I release her. She greets Faye as she passes. Whatever animosity may have existed between the girls last week is no more. Maggie knows Faye isn’t a threat, and Faye knows by now what Maggie means to me.
When the door shuts behind Maggie, Faye approaches with a soft smile. “Hey.” She hugs me tight and steps back with a tilt of her head. “How are you doing?”
I don’t mind the sympathy, but I’ve started to hate that question. Every minute, every hour, every day is different. And while the pain feels less like a gaping hole in my chest, I never know how to answer such a simple question.
I take in a slow breath through my nose as we separate. “Just taking it day by day. Working helps. We cooked something in honor of my dad today, so that was nice.” I cock my head. Now that the niceties are out of the way, it’s time to address the elephant in the room. “I’m sorry the show didn’t work out.”
Faye’s eyes widen slightly and her mouth forms an O in surprise. “Sorry? You don’t need to be sorry.”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “I don’t? I thought you were here to let me down easy.”
Her laugh is light, her eyes still bleeding her sympathy. “No, Desmond. I told you I believe in your kitchen. I’m here to let you know that the studio gave us the green light and a reasonable schedule to work with… if you’re still