It wasn’t quite what I’d planned, but after cooling my hand off and setting the table, putting out the apple sauce and sour cream that I’d read you should use as sides, I had to admit I liked watching Gus work. He hummed to himself as he cooked, and kept tossing little comments to me as they popped into his head.
Plus, it was much easier to stare at his ass when I didn’t have to pay attention to the pan.
The things I could do to that ass. Just because I hadn’t had sex with many guys didn’t mean I didn’t have ideas.
Finally, Gus pulled the last batch of latkes off the paper towel where they’d been drying and plated them in a pile, then brought them to the big wooden table in the center of the kitchen. He offered the platter to me, and I took three, then watched Gus do the same.
“Is there some kind of Hanukkah grace we should say first?” I asked.
He laughed. “I’m pretty sure saying grace is a Christian thing.”
“No, but like, there are prayers you say. Like at a seder or something?”
“Seders are for Passover. That’s in the spring. How do you know all of this, anyway? I thought I was supposed to be the Jewish one here.”
I flushed. “I did some research. I wasn’t sure when Hanukkah was, and one Wikipedia page led to the next and it sort of spiraled from there. But I swear there are prayers you’re supposed to say when you light the menorah.”
Gus laughed again. “Well, unless you’d like to line these latkes up in a row and set them on fire, I think we can skip that part.” He speared one of his latkes with his fork and held it up in the air. “Cheers.”
I stabbed one of mine and bumped it against his, sending a shower of crispy golden flakes down to the tabletop. “Cheers.”
I didn’t even bother to set it back down, just brought it to my mouth and sank my teeth into it. The crunch outside gave way to a creamy center. That seemed promising.
I chewed once. Twice. Tried to swallow. Couldn’t quite manage it. Tried to swallow again, and fought the urge to spit it out.
It was terrible. What the hell? On the third try, I managed to swallow the bite I’d taken, then set the rest of the latke down on my plate, my fork sticking off the edge like the prow of a ship. That was what latkes tasted like? And people liked them?
I looked down with misgiving, wondering how I was going to force myself to eat enough to be polite, when I heard a gagging noise from the other side of the table. I looked up just in time to see Gus spit something into his napkin.
“Shit.” My stomach sank. “I fucked it up, didn’t I? I knew I got the wrong kind of potatoes. The recipe didn’t specify, but I probably—”
“I don’t think it’s the potatoes, dude,” Gus said with a giggle. An actual giggle. At my incompetence. “How much salt did the recipe call for?”
“I don’t remember. But I was a little worried it wouldn’t be enough—you always talk about how important salt is for seasoning when you cook. So I might have doubled…or tripled it?” I pulled my phone out and called the recipe back up. “Look, you can see for yourself.”
Gus took my phone, glanced at the screen, and winced. “Uh, can you show me the measuring spoon you used?”
Confused, I pushed my chair back and went hunting for it over by the sink.
“Here,” I said, holding it up.
Gus’s giggle turned into a full-fledged cackle.
“Oh my God. Holden, that’s a tablespoon, not a teaspoon. And you tripled it? I can’t even—” Anything else he said was lost to his guffaws.
I sank back against the counter, dejected. “Dammit. I knew this was a bad idea.”
“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Gus said, coming to join me by the sink. “It was a sweet idea that just didn’t quite go according to plan.”
I looked at the table, the latke platter piled high with inedible potato pucks. “What do we even do with them now?”
“Give them to Frog?” he suggested.
“He’d murder us in our sleep.”
“Prank Daisy by saying they’re from your friend Hadley, and they just came special delivery, and she has to try one?”
“She’d team up with Frog to take us out.”
“Well, then I guess setting them on fire really is the only option.”