Page 14 of Falling for the Forbidden Fighter
“Never really had one.”
“Well, you’re getting the real deal tonight.”
Catherine changes into an oversized tie-dye shirt and sits on a stool at the counter. For a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of her legs in the TV’s reflection, but I don’t linger on it. If she’s going to be lounging around in just a t-shirt like that, I’m going to have trouble keeping my eyes to myself.
Thoughts of her father’s warnings try to pummel my mind, but I dance around them. I’ll face that fight when it comes, no matter the consequences.
“So, you cook?” she asks as I start assembling our sandwiches. “They teach you that in an orphanage? I figured all you ate growing up was gruel.”
I’m happy that she doesn’t feel the need to walk on eggshells with me. Lots of people handle me like glass when they find out I was an orphan. I don’t get it. All that apologizing and pity makes me feel isolated, less than them.
Catherine makes me laugh at my painful memories.
“I wasn’t in an orphanage,” I say, dropping two plates with overflowing sandwiches on them. “All right, so they didn’t have the hoagies or the peppers I wanted, but this is as legit a cheesesteak as you can get this side of the Mississippi.”
She takes a slow, big bite. The cheese stretches from her lips, followed by a little moan that makes me hold my breath.
“Oh, wow,” she mumbles through a full mouth. “Mmm!”
Nothing like watching somebody take that first bite of your food and loving every second of it. Now, I can eat.
I lean against the counter, diving into my own sandwich.
“Louis,” she hums, shoulders bopping back and forth, “where did you learn to cook like that?”
“Anyone from Philly should be able to make this. It’s like… nachos in New Mexico.”
“Really? You thinknachosare our go-to?”
“Burritos?”
Catherine rolls her eyes, swallowing another bite. “Chiles Rellenos. Chile burgers… anything with chiles, really. Come on, this is insanely good. You throw down in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her, letting myself feel proud for once. “I was a line cook on the ship. We fed a whole damn carrier, almost five thousand people. I learned a lot, mostly about making a ton of food fast, but I was all right on the grill. Burgers. Omelets. Whatever.”
“Better thanall right. This is fantastic.” She gives me an amusing look. “And if you want to make a habit of cooking me dinner, I would not mind.”
“I’ll do the dishes, too.”
“You cook, I’ll clean. Deal?”
She holds her fist out. We knock knuckles.
“Deal.”
Our cheesesteaks get devoured. Catherine even fingers the extra cheese off her plate. She pats her stomach, groaning.
“Food baby,” she says. “You ever consider being a chef? Culinary school?”
I grab our plates. “No.”
“Why not?”
I shrug, busying myself in the sink. “Can’t.”
“Hey, I said I’d clean.”
Catherine comes around the counter, jostling me.
