Page 8 of The Kitchen Contract

She takes her time chewing, swallowing, and wiping her mouth on a paper towel she rips from the roll I set out before answering.

“I think I’m sold. As long as you’re sure that it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”

“I’m sure. I’m thinking of it like having a personal chef who is also teaching me to cook. Really, I should be paying you.”

She chuckles. “When you put it like that, I start to think I might be getting ripped off.”

“Oh, you definitely are. But it’s too late to back out now. It’s in the contract.”

“What contract?”

“The ‘kitchen contract.’” I set down my pizza to free up my hands for air quotes.

“I don’t remember hearing anything about this.” She squints and frowns, but there’s a slight uptick at the corners of her mouth that hints at playfulness.

“That’s because it’s up here.” I tap the side of my head. “I haven’t typed it yet.”

“Ah, I see. And will you type it up at some point or will it always live in your cranial filing system?”

I can’t hold back a burst of laughter. “Cranial filing system?”

“Can you think of a more flattering term for keeping something in your head instead of writing it down?”

I shake my head. “No. No, I can’t.”

She smirks. “I didn’t think so.”

“How about I promise to print out an official agreement before we start filming?”

“Deal.”

“Excellent.” I clap my hands, excitement zooming through me like electricity. “So, what happens next?”

“Next?” She hesitates, as if unsure. “I suppose we set a filming schedule. I’m planning to keep it simple and just use my phone to shoot—it’s pretty new and has a decent camera, so I’ll just need to order a tripod.”

I nod along, thinking. “If you get two tripods we can use my phone too. Shoot from different angles.”

She tilts her head and blinks dark lashes over bright blue eyes. “That’s a good idea.”

“Why, thank you,” I say in what I imagine is a gracious fashion. “What do you plan to cook?”

“I have some dishes in mind that I think would be good for a beginner to start with, but I also want to hear what you’d like to learn how to make.”

“I want to learn to make tacos. Everybody loves Taco Tuesday, right? So as long as I only invite people over on Tuesdays, I’ll be a popular guy.”

Nora’s eyebrow shoots up again. It’s always her left one, I’ve noticed. “You know you can make tacos any night, right? There’s no rule that says you can’t serve tacos on Saturday night.”

“I mean, I guess not an official rule,” I concede as I reach for a third slice of pizza. “But I think of Saturday as a grilling night. You know, burgers, steaks, chicken…”

“Do you ever make any vegetables to go with all that meat?”

“Sure.” I wipe my mouth and grab my water glass. “Potato chips.”

“Oh boy,” she says, shaking her head. “We have a lot of work to do. I think we should start inside, but maybe once we get the hang of what we’re doing, we could do a special episode outside and I could show you how to make grilled corn and zucchini.”

I raise my glass like I’m toasting her. “I’ll drink to that.”

She settles back with another slice of pizza and tucks a stray lock of silky-looking pale blonde hair behind one ear. “So if Saturdays are for grilling and Tuesdays are for tacos, do you have food assignments for other nights of the week?”

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