Page 23 of Three Pucking Wedding Dates

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know my skills in the kitchen are unparalleled,” I retort, rolling my eyes playfully.

“Unparalleled disasters, maybe,” he teases, chuckling lightly. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s not entirely wrong. My cooking abilities leave much to be desired, but there’s no way I’m going to let Reid have the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Watch and learn, Archer,” I warn him, trying to keep the laughter from my voice. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“By all means, Price. Show me your magic.” Reid grins, leaning back in his chair. The challenge is on, and I’m ready to prove him wrong—or at least give it my best shot.

Gray picks up a cookbook, flipping through its pages until he finds the recipe we’re about to tackle. I watch him intently, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that runs down my spine when his eyes meet mine for a brief moment. He clears his throat and begins to speak.

“Alright, everyone, today we’re going to be making beef Wellington,” Gray announces, his voice steady and confident despite the unexpected turn this cooking class has taken. “First things first, let’s preheat our ovens to 425°F.”

“Preheat the oven, got it,” I mumble to myself, hurrying to follow his instructions. The heat from the oven warms my face as I set the temperature.

“Once your oven is preheating, we’ll start by seasoning our beef tenderloin with salt and pepper,” Gray continues, demonstrating each step as he speaks. “Then, we’ll sear it in a hot pan with some oil until it’s browned on all sides.”

“Easy enough,” I think, grabbing the tenderloin and seasoning it generously. But as soon as I place the meat into the pan, I realize my mistake—the oil isn’t hot enough, and instead of sizzling, the tenderloin just sort of…sits there. I bite my lip, willing the oil to heat up faster and hoping no one notices my blunder.

Thankfully, Reid is too focused on his own dish to look at mine.

“Next, we’ll remove the tenderloin from the pan and let it rest while we prepare the mushroom duxelles,” Gray instructs, his eyes scanning the room as he speaks. “Make sure you finely chop the mushrooms, shallots, and garlic before sautéing them.”

“Chop, chop, chop,” I mutter under my breath, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of Gray’s instructions. My knife skills leave much to be desired, and I find myself struggling to get an even dice on the mushrooms. In the process, I accidentally nick my finger, causing a small bead of blood to well up.

“Damn it,” I curse quietly, pressing my finger to my mouth to stop the bleeding. I glance over at Reid, who seems to be handling the mushroom duxelles with ease, his knife moving effortlessly through the vegetables. A pang of envy courses through me, but I quickly push it aside, determined not to let him see any weakness.

“Okay, now we’re going to spread mustard over the seared tenderloin and wrap it in the mushroom mixture and prosciutto,” Gray says, demonstrating the process flawlessly. “Finally, we’ll wrap the entire thing in puff pastry and brush it with egg wash before placing it in the oven.”

“Wrap it up like a present, huh?” I say aloud, trying to make light of my less-than-perfect cooking skills. Following Gray’s instructions, I smear mustard onto the tenderloin, doing my best to ignore the fact that it’s not as browned as it should be. Then, I attempt to wrap it in the mushroom mixture, only to have the prosciutto slide around and create a sloppy mess.

“Maybe it’ll still taste good,” I think to myself, feeling slightly deflated.

I glance over at Reid, who’s smirking at my less-than-perfect attempt at wrapping the beef Wellington. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he leans in closer to me.

“Having a little trouble there, Oakley?” he teases, his voice low and playful.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I refuse to let him win. “Oh, like you’re such an expert chef,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. Yet, despite my annoyance, I find myself grinning at his antics.

“Hey, I never claimed to be. But I think even a blindfolded monkey could do better than that.” He points at my mess of puff pastry and prosciutto, laughing softly.

“Very funny,” I retort, playfully nudging him with my elbow. “Just wait until we taste it. You might be surprised.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and leaning in even closer.

“Maybe,” I whisper, feeling the warmth of his breath on my face. The air between us is charged with an energy I can’t quite put my finger on, but it sends shivers down my spine.

“Alright, you two,” Gray interrupts, his voice stern as he looks at us from across the room. “Let’s focus on the cooking, please.”

Reid and I exchange sheepish glances before turning our attention back to our respective dishes.

“Here, let me show you how to properly seal the pastry,” Reid offers, his fingers brushing against mine as he guides my hands. The simple touch sends a jolt through me, and I can’t help but steal a glance at Gray.

His jaw clenches, and I realize that witnessing Reid’s closeness with me must be stoking the flames of his jealousy. A part of me feels guilty—I never intended to hurt him.

“Alright, let’s move on to the next step,” Gray announces, his voice firm. I can tell he’s trying to regain control of the situation, but I can’t shake the weight of his dark gaze.

“Almost done,” Reid whispers, his breath tickling my ear as he steps back. The momentary intimacy sends shivers down my spine, and I bite my lip, unsure of how to navigate these newfound feelings.

The heat of the oven brushes against my cheeks as I slide my beef Wellington onto the top rack. The smell of baking pastry fills the air, mingling with the myriad of scents from the other dishes being prepared. I feel a swell of pride at my creation, despite the minor hiccups along the way.

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