Page 97 of Second Down Fake

“I can’t wait for you to tell me what you’re cooking.” I set my chin on her shoulder and wrapped my arms around her waist. Even with the fire alarm seconds from screeching, I could get used to having her in my house. Having her waiting for me at home.

“Country fried steak, green beans, and potatoes.” She mixed the burping flour mixture before slipping out of my arms. “Your mom said it was your favorite.”

Her cheeks turned red as she opened the fridge and emerged with two pieces of steak. “I’m not really sure what country gravy is, and I think I screwed it up.”

“It looks great.” I picked up a whisk, pushing aside the chunks of potato to incorporate the flour into the sauce. “You called my mom?”

Cassandra set the steak on the counter, opening the drawer underneath to grab a pair of tongs. “We chat. Does that bother you?”

“No. Not at all. Just surprised.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have known that Mom would fall for Cassandra as fast as I did.

“Well, she’ll probably stop answering my calls if she finds out how badly I butchered her recipe.” She picked up a steak with the tongs and lowered it into the pan of oil. The flour coating sizzled on contact, and she placed a splatter guard over the top.

“We’ll keep it our little secret.” I bounced against Cassandra’s shoulder with a grin.

Her smile faltered. “We keep a lot of secrets, don’t we?”

The observation cut through my teasing. “But not from each other.”

“We don’t?”

I shook my head. “Never from you.”

“Same.” The tension drained from her shoulders and the edge of her lips turned up.

“And in the interest of not keeping secrets from you, I have to tell you that the gravy goes on the meat and isn’t used to braise the potatoes and green beans.” I moved the green beans to the corner of the pan and fished out the potato chunks, setting them in a bowl on the counter. “I’m not sure what got lost in translation between you and my mom.”

“I might have been a little overconfident about understanding how to make this meal.”

“Well, that’s her fault. She’s seen you cook.”

“We were on the same page until she started talking about the gravy. I thought she meant turkey gravy. The conversation got real confusing after that. Apparently, there are fifty different types of gravy and I’ve been living in a world with only one. I’m pretty sure she’s planning on hosting a gravy tasting seminar next time we’re in Mississippi.”

I bit back a grin. Next time we’re in Mississippi.

“Good thing we’re knocking one gravy off the list tonight, then.” I grabbed a whisk from Cassandra’s side of the oven and stirred the gravy. Even with the vegetables gone, the lumps remained.

“I’m not sure if what I made is going to count,” Cassandra said slowly, clenching her jaw as she assessed the gravy.

“I can fix it,” I insisted, grabbing a sieve from under the counter and a second pan. “Hold this.”

She took the sieve, holding it up over the empty pan on the back eye of the stove. I drizzled the lumpy gravy into the sieve, taking the sieve back and pressing the gravy through with a wooden spatula. “All better.”

“As long as it tastes good.”

I swiped a finger over the bottom of the sieve and tasted it. “More pepper and it’s perfect. My mom will turn you into a cook yet.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, but I’m glad I’m not about to ruin your favorite meal.”

With the last steak cooked, we plated up dinner. Cassandra salvaged the green beans with a fried onion topping and I added enough butter and cheese to the potatoes to mask the aftertaste of gravy. For someone who burned an entire skillet of pancakes just a few weeks ago, the meal looked pretty good.

I took a pull of my beer and settled down next to Cassandra at the table, suddenly aware that I hadn’t actually sat at the table for a meal with anyone else since I’d moved into the house three years ago. I ate most of my meals at the kitchen counter, phone in my hand, or in the basement with the TV on.

“So, how’d I do?”

“It’s a good first start. I’m prepared to let you try as often as necessary until you nail it.” I grinned and Cassandra ducked her head, hiding a smile. “Is Becca’s apartment empty?”

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