“Bet you didn’t think you scored a wife who could cook!” Gran said, elbowing Chris in the side.
“And wowza! Have you felt his chest, Grace?” she exclaimed, rubbing her elbow. “He’s hard as granite.”
“Yep,” Chris said smugly. “Pretty much everywhere.”
“You sure you want a divorce?” Gran quipped as I scooped the crispy Bauernfrühstück onto three plates.
Chris had gotten the hang of potato peeling a little too quickly, and we ended up with a mountain of food.
“There’s a lot, guys,” I said, putting the cast iron skillet with the rest of the dish in the center of the long reclaimed wood table.
“Leftovers are always good,” Gran said, squirting ketchup all over her eggs.
“That’s not German,” Chris remarked.
“But it’s American,” Gran said sagely, “and that’s what’s important.”
I rolled my eyes and took a bite of the food. Along with Käsespätzle, Bauernfrühstück was one of my go-to comfort foods.
“I should make a candle that smells like this dish!” Gran said happily. “Bet it would sell out.”
“Forget that, you should quit weddings and just sell plates of this stuff off the side of the road,” Chris suggested.
I looked at his almost-empty plate.
“Did you just inhale that?”
He took another huge forkful. “It’s amazing. Best thing ever. Grace, you’re a star!”
I felt a rush of pleasure that he enjoyed what I cooked!
“Eat more,” I ordered, loading up his plate.
“Nothing better than a man who knows how to eat,” Gran quipped.
“They didn’t have enough food at the event last night,” Chris said, hoovering up the rest of his plate while Gran and I watched in wonder. Even the parrot gazed upon him in awe.
Chris reached for another helping then gave me a sheepish look.
“Anyone else want any?”
“You go right ahead!” Gran said, scraping the rest of the breakfast onto his plate.
“This is probably the first time I’ve had a home-cooked meal since…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Since Addison?” I asked.
Chris glowered. “As if she would ever cook anything. She thought organizing catering was too much work.”
“Grace can cook anything you want!” Gran bragged.
No, I could not. My repertoire consisted of working-class German food. Anything fancier was a no-go.
“Lasagna, fresh homemade pasta,” Gran listed off, lying through her teeth.
Chris perked up at the mention of lasagna.
“Gran.” I could not cook lasagna.
“What?” she said. “You are a great cook.” She patted my hand.
“I like lasagna,” Chris said hopefully.
Fuck. Now added onto my to-do list was figuring out how to make lasagna. Maybe Elsie could give me a tutorial. Wait, why was I going to make lasagna for Chris?
“Your husband wants lasagna,” Gran said reproachfully.
“Chris might need to make it himself,” I said.
Chris looked hurt. Gran kicked me under the table. Right. We did not want to end up homeless.
“Sure, I can make it.”
“Your famous lasagna?”
Jeez, Gran.
“Yep, world famous!”
I made a mental note to beg for a recipe from Elsie.
“But unfortunately, I have to go. And I’m sure Chris is busy.”
“Actually, I thought I would spend the day with you,” he said. “I could be your assistant.”
“You don’t have to work? Wait. What am I saying? Of course you don’t have to work!” I laughed.
Chris’s face hardened.
I felt like a bitch.
Gran kicked me harder under the table.
“What I mean is, I actually work alone.”
“Right, of course,” Chris said, standing up to clear the plates.
The parrot bit me.
I rubbed my arm and gritted my teeth. “Or, I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can come. You do owe me a favor after all!”
Chris turned to give me a brilliant, happy smile then scooped me up in his arms and spun us around like I hardly weighed anything.
“We’re going to be the best wedding photographer team ever!”
I gulped. I knew I should be worried about him distracting me.
But I was really more worried about spending all that time alone with Chris.
26
Chris
“So what’s first on the agenda?” I asked as I loaded Grace’s camera equipment into the back of the town car.
“I have an engagement shoot, then a bridal portrait session, then a former bride wants me to photograph the surprise anniversary party for her husband she’s throwing, and in the evening I have to do a romantic proposal dinner.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I said.
Grace snorted. “We’ll see if you can keep up.”
“It’s only four events! How hard can it be?”
I stifled a yawn as I held the diffuser up over the bride, her flowing white train arranged on the flagstone floor behind her.