Page 58 of Go Cook Yourself

“Are you sure? Because I’d hate to see that again,” he replies, peeking between his fingers. His cheeky grin makes me want to smack him on the shoulder, but I resist.

“You’re such an arsehole,” I grumble, eventually testing my wobbly legs and taking the cheese board from him. I gasp. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Brie, fondue, Wensleydale, cheddar, and loads more cheeses cover the board. He’s added grapes and different types of crackers, olives, pepper, hummus, and cherry tomatoes and made roses from slices of cured meats. He’s even decorated the board with nuts, berries, small orange segments, and more meats.

His smile spreads as I pop a grape in my mouth. I sink my teeth into it, and the taste explodes against my tongue. “How did you do this so quickly, and where did you get all the food?” I eventually ask.

“I rustled it up from the things for the wreath making workshop. I’ll replace it all before the first one on Monday.” He says it like it doesn’t mean anything, but it does. Even on my lowest days, Neil wouldn’t make me a crisp sandwich. “I found a bottle of red that will go well with it. Are you up for it?”

I nod eagerly, too nervous to share my thoughts. I can’t date Garett, but as he runs down the stairs to fetch the wine and glasses, I press my fingers to my lips, remembering our pub kiss.

His footsteps hit the stairs. I bite the inside of my mouth.

Nothing can happen tonight.

???

We spend the next hour laughing as we share the cheese board. We stick to the one bottle of wine. I don’t want my inhibitions lowered any more than necessary. But being with him is fun and a little like an evening with a great friend. A friend you want naked, but I’m pretending I’m not fantasising abouthim even though I remember how hard his thighs were beneath my fingertips. I wish he wouldn’t waggle those forearms when he talks.

He tells me stories of growing up in a family that knew nothing about cooking, and I share moments of the trouble I used to get into at the old Cloud Cookery School and some of the clients my family put up with.

“My mum once burnt our ready meal pasta dinner,” he explained. “It wasn’t a bad smell. A bit like roasted fennel.”

“Weird. But sometimes people get distracted when cooking, so—”

“She was heating it in the microwave. She decided that less than a couple of minutes wouldn’t kill the fridge germs.” I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t ask. Anyway, she put it in the microwave for twenty minutes. That’s not the worst one. She once tried to cook raw chicken in the microwave in a foil tray.”

My eyes are going to pop out of my head.

“I know. It was lucky I saw it because we’d have needed the fire brigade. I did all the cooking from about eight years old, so as soon as I heard the microwave go, I was on high alert.”

“You were so young.”

Maybe he senses I have more questions because he diverts me with a request. “Tell me more stories about your grandparents and their wars.”

“One day, Grandad convinced Grandma that there was a new spice he’d learnt about called tamagotchi. He explained that it was electrifying. She asked everyone about it and how to add it to her cooking. When one of the participants in the school explained it was a toy from the nineties, it kicked off.”

“What happened?” He sits close to me on the sofa bed as we grab the last bits from the cheese board.

“They went to war.” I giggled. “Initially, it was salt in his tea rather than sugar, but it escalated to things like bread dough in his hair until Kath stepped in and stopped their fight.”

“Kath is wise.”

“We should have listened to her today, and I shouldn’t have stayed to bake.” Our hands linger on the last cracker. “You have it.”

“No, you,” he replies quickly.

“Share?”

He nods as I break the cracker. His fingertips brush mine, bringing tingles all the way to my neck.

“So why did you stay? I thought you were going home.”

“I wanted to learn this new technique and needed time out. Amber is at Mum and Dad’s tonight, and I didn’t want to be sat in her house on my own after a difficult week. She’s secretly crying about Kalen. She doesn’t want me to know. Last night, I stayed up until the early hours to make her some treats.”

“You’re a good sister.” I shrug and lower my eyes, but he brushes his fingertips across my cheek, and I look back at him. “Rubes, you’re a good sister.”

“I wasn’t always. That’s why this thing between us can’t happen.”

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