Page 17 of No More Love Songs

“I thought onions are supposed to make you cry.” I’m about halfway through this one and haven’t felt the sting of tears once.

“Not everyone does.” He nods at the onion bits piling up under my knife. “Plus, the yellow onions aren’t as harsh as some of the others.”

“Oh. Good.” I use my hand to bring back the larger slices trying to escape my blade. “For a moment there I thought maybe I’d grown so cold and numb, even an onion couldn’t make me cry anymore,” I mutter dryly.

“I take it you’re not the emotional sort?” He skillfully scoops the minced garlic with the blade of his knife and moves it to a small dish near the stove. Then he gets the pan ready by coating it in a hearty drizzle of olive oil.

“In the presence of others? Absolutely not.” I try my hand at his move. I only get about half as much on my blade, but I’m still impressed with my newest of knife skills. “Alone I cry all the time.”

His brow crinkles and he stops short of cutting into the giant tomato he just placed down to dice up next. “You do?”

Maybe I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I definitely didn’t mean it to sound the way it did. “I mean,” I pause my words to collect my thoughts. What do I mean? “It’s not because I’m always sad. A lot of the time I’m deep in some meditation when something moves me to tears. Or I’m writing and it triggers some emotion or another. It’s more like a release of excess feelings than anything.”

This seems to make sense to him because he picks up where he left off with his tomato. “I meditate.”

I watch him cut the tomato into quarters and find myself focusing on that more than necessary to keep from showing how unexpected I find it to hear he meditates as well. “Yeah?” I peel my eyes away from his tomato cutting and reach for a tomato of my own to try and mimic his efforts.

“Yeah. Started shortly after I opened this place. We host a lot of yoga retreats here.” He sets down his knife for a moment and chuckles, thinking back. “At first, I kind of poked fun at it all. Not to any of my guests, obviously, but to Ari and Mavis. Not even sure how it happened, but one minute I was mocking the Zen life and the next I was seeking it out for myself.”

“You practice yoga too?”

He nods. “Flexibility is a big part of rock climbing.” He goes back to his cutting. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re never gonna catch me taking a class at some fancy studio in the valley, and I definitely don’t roll out my mat alongside my guests, but don’t be surprised to find me sitting under some tree somewhere with my legs crossed, my eyes closed and my mouth moving in rhythm with some mantra or another.” He smirks. “Don’t go telling Grayson any of this. What happens at the lodge stays at the lodge.”

“Deal. But I’m going to need that to apply both ways.”

“Seems fair.” He finishes quartering the last of the tomatoes and moves on to the bell peppers. “Wanna grab one of those wooden spoons and run it through the pan to keep things from sticking and burning?”

I nod and do as requested. Once at the stove, it becomes my new designated spot through the remainder of our cooking lessons. I learn how to let the onion and garlic brown before we add in the tomatoes and bell peppers, which we cook just long enough to heat through. Then we toss in the arugula last for a quick simmer. Along the way, Kit encourages me to experiment with seasonings, suggesting some over others, but ultimately telling me to smell and taste as I go and decide accordingly.

While I’m busy with the veggies, Kit brings out a second pot and fills it with water which he brings to a boil briefly before adding the frozen ravioli. After a few minutes cooking time, he’s scooping them from the water and gently transferring them to our sauté pan to mingle with the veggies.

“Do you prefer a bowl or plate?” he asks, moving to the cupboards along the back wall.

“Bowl, please.” I double check the burner to make sure I’ve turned it off.

“Wanna serve?” He holds two large bowls in bold teal, red and yellow patterns out toward me and I happily fill them.

“Oh, what about the basil?” I ask, catching sight of the greens still in our prep space.

“Final touches, Sky.” He smiles setting down the bowls. “You add the basil and I’ll grab the sunflower seeds.”

“Sunflower seeds?” I thought parmesan was the traditional topper.

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “Sunflower seeds go on everything. It’s like my secret magic ingredient.”

I’m not convinced. My face must show it.

“Trust me, Sky. You’ll love it. The texture factor alone changes the entire experience of the meal.”

I watch him sprinkle a healthy serving of seeds over both our dishes. “If you say so.”

He picks up both bowls again. “I do.” Then he looks toward the back door he came in through earlier. “Al fresco?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

He laughs quietly and heads for the door. With Grayson I tend to think the laughing is directed at me, but with Kit I think it’s just a genuine state of joy, a concept I find all together fascinating and fully intend to learn from him right along with everything else he’s willing to teach me while I’m here.

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