do I do with it?” he asked, accepting the offering.
When Bricker glanced to the sheets of paper, Cale followed his gaze, but all the recipes were for sauces, and there didn’t appear to be a recipe for Trout Amandine. He supposed chefs were expected to know how to make it.
“Hang on, I’ll pick Bev’s brain again,” Bricker said on a sigh.
“Again? “ Cale asked as he started to move away.
“How do you think I found out where to get the fish and to coat it with flour?” he muttered before hurrying away toward the redheaded Bev. It didn’t take him long before he was at Cale’s side again. “Right. Brown the trout in three tablespoons and one teaspoon butter for fouror five minutes, and then turn them and brown for another two minutes. Then you sprinkle them with lemon juice and cook another minute or two while you brown the almonds in another pan, no butter, then sprinkle the almonds and some parsley over the trout and send it out.”
As he spoke, Bricker was dumping butter in a small frying pan and setting it on the grill. He turned the flame on under it, then reached for the plate of trout. Cale took it from him at once.
“I’m supposed to be doing it,” he reminded him grimly.
“Right. You do it,” Bricker said at once, releasing his hold on the dish.
Grunting with satisfaction, Cale took the plate and turned it over the pan so that the fish dropped on top of the pats of butter. The other man immediately sucked in a dismayed breath.
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to wait for the butter to melt before you put the fish in,” he said with alarm.
“You didn’t say that,” Cale snapped, and reached to grab the fish back out, but Bricker caught his arm.
“Never mind. Just leave it.”
“A problem?” Alex asked, turning to peer in their direction with worry.
“No,” Cale and Bricker said as one, both of them shifting to hide the fish from her view.
Alex frowned slightly, but then turned reluctantly back to Sue, who, Cale was guessing, was in charge of the waitstaff.
“Here.”
Cale turned to see that Bricker had found a fork somewhere and was sliding it under the fish, trying to mash the butter, presumably so it would melt faster. The action scraped away a good portion of flour from the fish, however, and judging by the man’s curse, that wasn’t a good thing. Frowning, Cale glanced around, spotted a plate with a powdery white substance on it he thought was what Bricker had used to coat the fish, and picked up a handful. Turning back to the pan, he dumped it on the fish, bringing a squawk from Bricker.
“What are you doing?” the man cried with alarm.
“Cooking,” Cale said with irritation.
“That’s not—""Is there something wrong?” Alex asked, and Cale glanced around to see she was coming toward them.
“No,” he said quickly.
“Everything’s fine,” Bricker assured her in strained tones. “You go on and take care of … whatever.”
Alex hesitated, but then her expression went briefly blank before she nodded and moved back to Sue.
Eyes narrowing, Cale glanced to Bricker, not at all surprised to see that his expression was concentrated. He’d given Alex a mental nudge to make her return to her conversation. The younger immortal was controlling his woman.
“Stop glaring at me,” Bricker muttered, turning his attention back to the frying pan and starting to scrape off most of the flour Cale had just put on the fish.
“Stop controlling my woman,” Cale countered.
“I’m just trying to help,” Bricker said grimly, and then cursed.
“What’s wrong?” Cale asked, glancing worriedly at the pan. The butter was melted now. It was also turning brown and bubbling angrily around the fish.
“I put the fire on too high,” Bricker admitted on a sigh.
Cale pursed his lips. He suspected there was more wrong than that the heat was too high. The butter had become a thick, flour-filled soup. He didn’t think it was supposed to be. And, while he was no cook, he was pretty sure the fish was burning. Clearing his throat, he suggested, “Perhaps I should turn the fish now.”
“Yeah,” Bricker agreed, his mouth twisting with dissatisfaction. “Go ahead.”
Cale took the spatula he handed him, quickly slidit under the strips of fish, and turned them. He and Bricker then both sighed unhappily at the result. The fish was covered with blackened flour in places and bald in others, half of the flour coating left behind and stuck to the pan.
“Maybe we