Page 36 of The Kitchen Contract

Normally, we try to record at least two recipes when we get together and set everything up, but I don’t see it happening this evening. In addition to butting heads, the weather is also killing the atmosphere. I hear rumbles of thunder, and the sky is dark enough that there isn’t a lot of natural light filtering into the kitchen. The mood in the kitchen is somber at best.

But I’m not ready for Nora to leave yet, so I do some quick thinking while she puts away the leftover food.

“How do you feel about something sweet?” I ask her. She looks like she’s about to say no, but then she bobs her head.

“I could eat some dessert,” she replies with a small smile. I’m glad we’re both down for drowning our feelings in sugar. It’s good that we’re compatible in that way.

“Great, I have a plan. You sit down somewhere, and I’ll take care of everything.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I’m just supposed to sit and watch?”

“You don’t even have to watch. If you want, you can go put your feet up in the living room. The recliner directly across from the TV is the most comfortable one, and the remote is right there on the table.”

I pretend not to notice her hovering uncomfortably in the doorway as I bustle around, preheating the oven and pulling out bowls and ingredients to clutter up the counters we just cleared. After a moment, I catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye as she slips out of sight into the living room.

For the next thirty minutes, I stay seventy percent focused on the task at hand, mixing, scooping, and baking. The other thirty percent of my brain is wondering what Nora is doing and trying to convince me to go check on her. All I can see when I peek around the corner is the top of her head over the back of the recliner. I’m glad she decided to relax for a few minutes, although I’m not sure what she’s doing since the TV isn’t on.

Finally, I heap stacks of slightly cooled cookies on two plates and add mugs of cold milk. I carry them to the living room and stop in front of Nora. “Dessert is served.”

She looks up from the book she’s reading like she’d forgotten I was even in the house. Holding up my copy of Michael Crichton’s Timeline, she grins sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind. I found it in the drawer of this side table.” She tips her head toward the table where I keep the remote and set drinks while I’m relaxing. “I read the description, and then one thing led to another…but I didn’t lose your spot.”

“No worries. Why don’t you take it home with you and finish it?”

“Really?” She looks like I’ve given her a diamond necklace or a sports car. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all, Rose.” I’d let her take anything in my house if it makes her this happy. No need to tell her I was actually quite enjoying the story myself. “Now, do you want a cookie, or do I have to eat them all myself?”

She hastily sets the book aside, flipping it upside down to mark her place, and reaches for a plate which I gladly relinquish. I settle onto the loveseat catty-corner to her recliner.

“Mmmm. Alex these are so good.” She licks a dab of melted chocolate off her finger and sighs happily. “Nothing beats a classic chocolate chip cookie.”

I take a big bite out of my own, and I have to agree, they turned out pretty well.

“I can’t believe how far you’ve come in just a few weeks,” she says, her compliment slightly garbled by another bite of cookie. “Your confidence and skill in the kitchen have grown so much. I’m so proud of you.”

It’s the same thing she said at the cookout, and I find I love hearing it just as much the second time. I don’t remember the last time someone said they were proud of me, and now she’s said it twice.

It makes the cookies twice as sweet.

I watch as she dips her cookie in the milk and nibbles the edge, her tongue sneaking out to catch a drop of milk on her bottom lip, her eyes half-closed in bliss. It feels good to know I contributed to that contented look. It feels good sitting with her, here in my living room, relaxing quietly, just the two of us. I realize that this is what I’ve been craving, this peaceful, quiet time with someone I care about.

And I do care about Eleanora Rose Beckham. All my hesitations around dating her fall squarely under the “it’s not you, it’s me” umbrella. The more I get to know her, the more I realize she’s so much better than I deserve.

And that is a punch to the gut because what I want more than anything is more nights exactly like this one. Except maybe with both of us on this loveseat together, her giggling while I feed her bites of cookie…

“What are you thinking about?”

Nora’s voice jolts me out of my daydream, and I blink at her. “Nothing important. Why?”

She tilts her head. “You were smiling.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Just enjoying these cookies.”

“They are pretty good.” She smiles and pops her last bite into her mouth before lowering her recliner. “But I need to get going. If I have one more cookie, I’ll go into a sugar coma and end up spending the night right here.”

“If you fell asleep in that chair with cookie crumbs on your shirt, I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She glances down self-consciously and I laugh. “I’m just kidding, you’re crumb-free.”

She shoots me a look and gets to her feet.

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