With a laugh, she tapped her spoon clean. “Impressive.”
“Hey, I saw that Julia Child movie.”
She wiped her hands on her apron then grabbed a sieve from a cabinet under the island. “So that means you won’t complain if I ask you to hold this for me?” It was time to strain the sauce into the casserole dish, and balancing everything always gave her arms a workout.
“I’ll do you one better.” He took up both sieve and saucepan with an easy confidence that surprised her. “I’ve got this, you just scrape.”
She couldn’t help but think of Damien, who was so powerful and in control in other aspects of his life, but magically turned useless whenever he got near a kitchen.
Billy added, “I’ll only complain if you don’t let me eat it when it’s done.”
She raised a brow. Taken aback, but not in a bad way. “Sorry, Sheriff. If you saw that movie, you’ll know this sucker doesn’t go in the oven till tomorrow.”
He inhaled deeply. Straining the sauce had spread the rich aroma into the air even more than before. “Well, I’ll just have to take a rain check. I’d cross an ocean for a good beef bourguignon.”
Sorrow paused at that. “Would you really?”
He gave a hearty nod. “I love Sierra Falls, but…good restaurants? That’s the one thing I miss about living in the city. No offense to your tavern,” he added quickly.
She laughed. “Believe me, no offense taken. I’d rather…I don’t know…set my hair on fire than eat Sully’s ‘Prospector’s Pie’ one more time.”
Billy’s laugh was loud and deep. “What on earth is that?”
“Meat pie,” she said, scrunching her face.
“Hey, sounds good to me. What kind of meat?”
“All kinds.” She shuddered.
He laughed at that. “Just how many kinds can there be?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” She brought the casserole dish to the refrigerator.
He jumped to open the door for her. “Is that why you learned to cook? An aversion to mystery meats?”
She bumped the fridge door shut with her hip. “Necessity is the mother of invention.” But as she washed the dirty sieve, she found herself giving him a real answer. “If I can’t whisk myself off to another country, well, cooking is a way to bring other countries to me. It lets me travel to other places in my head.”
Wiping her hands, she turned around, and her smile faded. He stood so close, his body a commanding physical presence suddenly so near, in her private space, the kitchen.
The silence hung.
She racked her brain for words and automatically asked, “Can I get you something to eat?”
“I…I think…” His stomach took the opportunity to rumble, and they both laughed, the awkward moment passed.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Sorrow.
“If your apple bread and the smell of that sauce are any indication, I must confess, I’d love a taste of what you’re serving.” A look washed over his face, and it gave his words a double meaning. “I mean…if you’re sure you don’t mind. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
“Not at all. I have to eat, too.” She ducked back into the fridge, rifling more than was strictly necessary. The cool air was a relief on her warm cheeks. What was wrong with her? “How do you feel about pasta?”
“I feel good about pasta.”
She smiled. Finally a man who didn’t shy away from carbs. “I can pull together a quickie Aglio e Olio.”
“Sounds fancy.”
She grabbed the olive oil and made sure there was enough garlic. “It’s just Italian for ‘garlic and oil.’ Nothing to it.”