has to keep a roof over our heads!” Grace shrieked.
“And that someone would be me,” I said, walking over to drape the comforter around her, one, because she did seem uncomfortable and was turning red, and two, because I wanted my comforter to smell like her.
Her grandmother paused mid high kick, gave Grace a look, and jerked her head in my direction.
Grace made a face then said, “I was going to have breakfast made when you got up.”
I gave her a slow smile.
“You were going to cook breakfast for me? But I’m the one who owes you a favor.”
“Don’t get too excited,” she grumbled. “It’s not anything fancy. The overnight delivery options were limited.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Grace!” her grandmother said. “Grace and I are descended from hardy German stock, and Grace is going to cook you up a filling German breakfast.”
“Hence the five a.m. jazzercise,” Grace explained, gesturing to the TV. The comforter slipped a bit, revealing a strip of creamy midriff between the waistband of the skintight yoga pants and the crop top.
“I’ll just get changed,” Grace said, flinging the comforter at me.
I buried my face in it, breathing in her scent as I took it back to my bedroom.
The doorbell rang as I was putting on a shirt and pants. When I walked out into the open kitchen and living area, Grace was unpacking several paper sacks. I reached for one to help her.
“I have it,” she insisted, grabbing the bag from me.
I pulled the handle back toward me. “You think I don’t know how to cook.”
“I know you don’t know how to cook,” she retorted. “Your fridge is filled with the saddest little prepared meals in Manhattan.”
“I’ll have you know those are prepared by five-star chefs. And what are you making, Ms. Cooking Expert?” I said, peeking into the nearest bag. “Holy shit, that’s a lot of potatoes.”
“They wouldn’t let me order less than five pounds!” she wailed. “We’re going to be eating potatoes forever!”
The thought of having her in my house, us in the kitchen together going through five pounds’ worth of potatoes, honestly didn’t seem like a bad idea.
“I’ll help you peel them,” I said suddenly.
“Have you ever peeled a potato in your life?”
“Yes,” I lied. It can’t be that difficult.
She sighed. “I guess the better question is, do you even own a potato peeler?”
“Of course,” I said confidently.
Grace motioned grandly to the kitchen. “Then where is it?”
“Uhhh.” I chose a drawer at random. It was filled with…
“Candle-making supplies?”
“Oh for the love of—” Grace slammed the cabinet drawer shut. “Gran!”
25
Grace
“I just don’t see what you have against candles!”
“Not in Chris’s apartment,” I said in a low voice, clearing out the drawer. Then I shoved all of the candle-making supplies in her arms.
“It’s like living with the candle Grinch!” Gran complained, stomping away to her bedroom.
I dumped the bag of potatoes out in the sink and turned on the water.
“I think I found it!” Chris said happily.
He displayed a series of four kitchen utensils: a butter knife, a spiralizer, a pasta scoop, and a slotted metal spatula.
“I’m pretty sure one of these is the potato peeler.”
“You’re zero for four.”
“Shoot.” He studied them. “Really? Are you sure you couldn’t just use this thingy,” he said, picking up the butter knife, “to peel the potatoes?”
“Not if you want to be here all day, and I have several wedding events booked.”
I opened up a drawer in the island that was about the size of my apartment bedroom.
“Found it!” I handed him the potato peeler.
“I missed that.”
“You had no idea what it looked like,” I replied, rapping him lightly on the bicep with it.
Chris grabbed my wrist and took the potato peeler out of my hand.
“I would have figured it out eventually.”
He picked up a potato out of the sink and started attacking it with the peeler.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. “You might as well just chew it.”
“I’m peeling it!”
“You’re ruining it.”
I stood slightly to the side of him and grabbed his hand.
“It’s a long stroking gesture,” I explained. “Then the potato skin just peels off.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk about peeling long strips of things off things when you’re standing that close to my junk,” he joked.
I jumped back, suddenly realizing how close I was to him.
“I just don’t want you to ruin the potatoes,” I muttered and hurried to chop up the onions, bacon, and leeks. Then I sliced the potatoes as Chris handed them to me.