Page 31 of The Arrangement
“How much longer?” Rome whined.
“Soon. The noodles need another minute. You get the colander ready and grab the plates.”
Rome softly squealed and snagged the two blue plates that had been set aside for us and added the colander in the sink. After one last test of the firmness of the fettucine, I had him pour the noodles into the sieve while I stirred the sauce. As soon as he had a proper nest of pasta in the center of each plate, I poured a portion of the rich, creamy white sauce on the fettucine. It smelled like heaven. As good as anything I’d eaten in a restaurant.
I glanced up as I placed the sauce on the burner to find that the other couples were all settling into their plates of food. The instructor’s assistant was refreshing everyone’s drink while the instructor gave each station a basket of warm bread.
“Are you ready, cooking partner?” Rome inquired as he grabbed his fork.
I nodded, too excited to even try to speak. Over the years, I’d taken two dozen cooking classes. Fiona had joined me for a few, but she didn’t enjoy cooking. The rest I’d done on my own, and I’d loved them, but I had to admit that this was the first time I would claim that I’d actually had fun. Rome had turned it into an adventure, and now I was both excited and nervous to taste what we’d made together.
After twirling some fettucine on my fork, I hesitated, watching as Rome shoved some into his mouth.
“So?” I asked.
Rome moaned loudly, his eyes rolling back into his head.
A laugh almost choked me at his antics. I shoveled my bite and hummed as the delicious combination of cream, garlic, and parmesan hit my tongue. And the fettucine. God, there was something about fresh noodles that made my toes curl. So much better than the dry stuff.
“Wow, we are such good cooks,” Rome said around another mouthful of pasta.
“The best.”
“The only thing this is missing is some shrimp.”
I grabbed some bread and dipped it into the sauce. “I was thinking grilled chicken.”
Rome grunted and nodded, barely breathing between bites.
“Um…so…this chef. He also teaches a class in making homemade cheese ravioli.” I kept my eyes firmly on my plate. “In case you were interested in learning how to make that.” After a heartbeat, I glanced up to find him watching me, a forkful of pasta hanging in the air in front of his mouth.
“Are you planning to take the class?”
“Maybe. Kind of depends on my schedule.”
Rome made a noise and filled his mouth again. I turned my attention to my half-eaten pasta.
“Well…I think it sounds cool,” Rome ventured. “I’m a big fan of cheese ravioli.”
I nodded. “I like the cheese and mushroom. Though I could figure out adding the mushroom on my own. The hard part is learning the technique for ravioli.”
“True. True.” Rome licked some sauce off his bottom lip. “If you think you’re going to do it and want a cooking partner, shoot me a message. It’s probably better if you’re not trying to do ravioli by yourself. Two sets of hands and all.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sounds good.”
My heart fluttered, and I stuffed a large hunk of bread into my mouth to stop my awkward talking.
But…had I just made a date with my enemy?
It didn’t sound like this was part of the arrangement. While we’d never discussed it, there was a tacit agreement that each date would be different. A second cooking class wouldn’t count.
Was this hanging out?
And why was I suddenly looking forward to it so much?
11
ROME ASHBRIDGE
