Page 38 of That First Flight
“Why are you wearing that? And does your apron saySnaccident - When you accidentally eat all the bacon?”
“Yup. And I’m wearing this because we’re going to figure out your recipe. Right here. Right now.” I point toward the ground in an over-exaggerated motion to make sure she understands.
She brings herself directly in front of me, placing both hands on my chest to stop me from tying the back of the apron. “No. You don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t ever do anything I don’t want to do.”
“You’ve been traveling all day. Go to sleep.” She pats my chest. “I’m going to get this stuff put away and I’ll try again another day.”
She tries to walk away, but I stop her by wrapping a hand around her wrist.
“I don’t ever do anything I don’t want to do,” I repeat. “And right now, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than helping you make this happen.”
Her green eyes glisten as they stare into mine.
Fuck, it’s like those eyes have a spell on me. I can’t ever look away from them.
But, the way she’s looking at me right now, tells me that she’s not used to getting help from anyone.
No one has ever taken care of her before.
The realization makes me equally angry and eager to change that.
“Now, tell me what I need to do and where you need me.”
I don’t care how exhausted I am or what kind of day I had, this is exactly where I want to be. I meant it when I said I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.
Macey stares at me and blinks three times before finally snapping herself out of her state of shock that I’m offering to help her. “Uhh,” she starts. Her eyes land on a bowl and she picks it up and puts it in my hands. “How about you start by cooking the spinach?” She says it like it’s a question.
“Done,” I say firmly, making my way to the stove
Damn, I haven’t turned this thing on in years probably. Okay, I might be exaggerating, but it feels like it. I notice there’s already a pan on the stove with remnants of spinach from her first attempt at making it.
“You just want me to dump this bowl in this pan?” I ask. Macey lets out a soft chuckle and I can’t help but do the same. “It’s nice that someone finds humor in my lack of cooking abilities.”
“I’m not laughing at you; I’m laughing with you.”
I turn on the stove and pour the bag of spinach into the pan. Within seconds, it starts to sizzle. I turn to face her and use my pointer finger to tap on her nose. “For your information, I was only laughing because you made me.”
She blushes at my words.
My smile grows. It just can’t help it when I look at her.
“What next, chef?” I ask.
“You can use this to move the spinach around a little in the pan.” She hands me a wooden spatula. “This way, all of it gets cooked thoroughly,” she adds.
I finally look down at the pan to start mixing it around and my eyes go wide. “Woah. Woah. Where did all my spinach go?”
Macey covers her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement, but fails miserably when my eyes meet hers. She snorts out a laugh I’ve never heard before. This time I’m not laughing with her.
“Are you playing jokes on me, Macey? Did you take half my spinach?” I point the wooden spatula at her.
Her body bends over and the sweet song of Macey’s laughter fills the kitchen.
God, that laugh.
“Oliver,” she huffs out, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard. “Spinach shrinks when you cook it. You put that whole bowl in there and you end up with a quarter of the amount, it seems.”