Page 30 of House of Desire

“Ladies, today you will have one hour to create a home cooked meal for Parker. Whomever creates the best one will be the winner of a solo date,” Jacob Jacobson says, from the monitor on the wall.

We haven’t seen Jacob in person since the first night. Since Lucy was sent home after their solo date, the elimination was just a time for us all to hang out. My guess is most of these messages were recorded beforehand since he’s dressed in the same suit in them and eliminations are the only time he’s live.

“Parker, do you wish to say anything to the ladies before they begin?”

He stands before us in tight jeans and a black t-shirt, leaving his bulging biceps on display. His black boots are scuffed and well-worn while his wrists are littered with leather bands and simple beaded bracelets. There is one simple, metal ring around his middle finger. His blond hair is wavy and kind of a mess but he looks perfect.

The desire to snuggle into his broad chest is strong. But so is the desire to lick his neck.

Luckily, I have enough self-control to keep myself from doing both of those things.

But only just.

Two of the camera people move around, recording us and Parker from different vantage points. I keep my eyes glued to him, having been yelled at not to look in the camera one time too many.

“Ladies, I’m not terribly picky. All I ask is there is no cilantro. It tastes like soap and I will die on this hill,” he says, and I laugh.

Dominic has been telling me the exact same thing his entire life. I don’t agree, but I’ve gotten so used to cooking any meal without it, that it’s not something I have in any of my kitchens.

“On your marks. Get set,” Jacob says, pausing for dramatic effect. I hate to say it works, but my heart rate picks up noticeably as I feel like I’m standing on the starting line of a hundred-meter sprint. “Go!”

We’re off. Everyone scrambles around the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients and kitchen tools. While baking is my passion, cooking is a little different. Baking tends to be more precise than cooking. With cooking, a little extra of something can typically be dealt with while still having an edible result at the end. In baking, a result can be different because of something as simple as weighing your ingredients versus scooping them.

One of my favorite meals to make for Dominic whenever we want something comforting, delicious, and easy is a creamy sausage tortellini dish.

Making my way over to the ingredient area, I mentally run through the recipe. Heavy cream, tomato paste, sausage, various spices, and cheese filled tortellini. Normally, I would make the tortellini by hand, but with only an hour, I just don’t have time.

Production provided us baskets, but they are off to the side of the ingredient station and unnoticed by the majority of the women. I snatch one up, not wanting to make multiple trips, and begin shopping. The basket is heavy on my arm as I make my way to my cooking station.

Carmen is in the station next to me and already measuring things into a bowl, her perfectly chic outfit covered by an apron. After winning a one-on-one date with Parker during a group date a few days ago, she came home talking about how good of a kisser he is, I’ve been annoyed by her.

Her hair is too perfect.

Her face is too beautiful.

Her voice is too captivating.

In every way I can see, she’s perfect, and all I want to do is fake trip and spill a glass of wine down the front of her dress.

What’s even worse is Parker’s eyes are glued to her movements.

Pushing my childish thoughts from my mind, and ignoring the stunning man with his sharp eyes, I put on my apron and get to work. This is a recipe I don’t need a card for. It’s also one where precision isn’t required and things can, generally, be measured using my eye. After watching my mother make this dish all throughout our childhood, I know if I have the mixture correct based on the color of the sauce.

Once I have all the ingredients ready, twelve minutes have disappeared from the clock. A bead of sweat runs down the side of my face from both the heat of the stoves and ovens as well as the stress of the competition and wanting a chance to spend more solo time with Parker since night one.

I want to get to know the man Lore thought would make a good match for me.

My deep skillet sits on the stove warming over medium heat with a drizzle of oil, waiting for me to add the sliced sausage. As the meat cooks, I look at the other ladies.

Carmen is cool and collected as expected. On her other side, Zoey is a tornado of movement. I can’t tell from here what she’s making, but there’s a particular scent of burning coming from her pan as she turns the dial on the stovetop. On my other side, Leslie stirs at something in a pot. From what I can gather, it seems as if she’s making a soup of some sort.

On Leslie’s other side is Maya who, much like Zoey, is a blur of motion. But where Zoey feels chaotic, Maya feels like a performer hitting their mark, moving like the dancer she is.

Minutes tick by as we all finish making our dishes. As I finish spooning mine into the bowl, Jacob Jacobson comes onto the screen to announce our time has run out.

“Contestant number one, please present your dish to Parker,” Jacob says before the screen goes black once more.

Zoey picks up her plate, and carries it over to him with a grimace on her face. She sets the plate in front of Parker.

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