“It’s not all that’s different. Instead of breadcrumbs or crushed Cheez-Its, we’re going to use the oatmeal we grabbed at the market today.”
She makes a face but starts slicing the tomatoes into slivers. I watch the way she holds the knife perfectly, with her fingers tucked back toward her hands so she doesn’t cut herself. It looks like Maggie picked up more from my classes than she ever let on.
“Now what?” she asks, resting the knife on the cutting board.
“Do you remember how to cut the basil?”
She makes a face. “I don’t think so. Show me again?”
I force back my smile, loving the way she just asked me that. Then I step behind her and wrap my arms around hers. It’s completely unnecessary, but I tell myself that this will give me a feel for her technique. In fact, this position is becoming all too familiar when Maggie and I are in the kitchen together. When I’m this close to her, I get to smell the mango scent that rises from her skin and the cherry lip balm I’ve seen her apply too many times.
“Stack,” I say while helping her gather enough basil for the recipe. “Then roll, just like this.” I move her hands in mine, ignoring the way my heart pounds heavily in my chest. “And then snip.”
She takes scissors to the stems as I step away from her, knowing that at any second, she’ll feel closer to me than she ever wanted to. But if I could describe my biggest turn-on, it would be this. Cooking with this woman. There’s something about it that’s so innocent and intimate at the same time. Yet it’s something I’ve never done with a girlfriend. Not that I’ve had many of those.
“I bet the ladies you bring home love this.”
There she goes, reading my mind again.
“Love what exactly?” I want to hear her say it.
She eyes me with amusement. “A man cooking for a woman. The whole reverse-stereotype thing.”
“Is that still a thing?”
“According to the men I’ve gone out with, yes.”
“Well, clearly you’ve been going out with the wrong men. I promise you, that is not the way we all think. And I’m not just talking about guys like me who happen to own a cooking school. I’m talking about every guy I know that does most of the cooking at home.”
Maggie blushes and shrugs before turning back to the stove, where she has the freshly chopped ingredients slow cooking. “I guess I didn’t know those kinds of guys really existed.”
I watch her face intently as she stirs, wondering who Maggie Stevens really is. Who is the woman behind the camera-ready makeup and trendy clothes? There’s no question in my mind that there’s more to her than first appearances. I may have neglected to see that before, but now that she’s here and unavoidable, I have an intense desire to peel back more and more layers.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
19
Auditions
Maggie
Desmond is walking me through creating a grocery list based on the recipe for tomorrow when the door to Edible Desire opens. In comes Faye with her short blond bob, tan spike heels, and effortless smile. She’s a woman on a mission, seemingly always ready to set the world on fire. I can feel it in her presence, the same way I would when a supermodel walked into the room in Los Angeles.
And right now, the world is Faye’s oyster, and Desmond is her pearl. I see the way her eyes lock on him like a prowling tiger ready to pounce. Clearly the two have been more than business associates. It’s written all over the way she lifts her lips in a sexy smile.
A jolt of jealousy hits me in the chest, but something about Desmond’s reaction relieves me some. When he sees Faye, his jaw locks, and his shoulders stiffen. It’s almost like he’s growing uncomfortable with the woman who is promising him the world. Or maybe that’s my wishful hoping.
“You’re early,” Desmond says, stepping away from me and leaving a draft behind him as he meets Faye halfway.
“Only by fifteen minutes, darling.” She places her hands on his broad shoulders and reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Everything ready for the crew?”
“I suppose. Do you need me to clear out an area?”
“No, but…” She taps her mouth as she looks around the space. Then she points at a cooking station near the front of the room. “There. We’ll put them at the cooking station