Page 28 of A Me and Him Thing
“Um, will antibiotic ointment and a bandage do?”
“Yes. Where are they?”
“In the medicine cabinet in my upstairs bathroom. Don’t look at my girl stuff.”
“Be right back.” He pauses when he sees the blood that dripped on the chicken. “Today’s menu will now be veggie fried rice.”
“Sorry, Ren. You were warned.”
“No, my fault. I’m sorry I left Miss Scarlett alone in the kitchen with a knife. And turned my back. It won’t happen again. Keep that finger under the running water. I’ll be right back.” He turns for the stairs.
“I’d say ‘Watch out for logs,’ but in this case, you’re right.”
When he returns, he carefully dries my hand, puts the antibiotic ointment over the cut, and covers my finger with four over-the-top bandages. I love the feel of my hand in his, and the way he takes care of me so tenderly.
“Okay, crisis averted. You okay? Need pain meds?” The pain meds question was asked with sarcasm.
“I’m good.” He made me better.
Ren tosses the chicken in the garbage. “Okay, let’s get the rice cooking and scramble some eggs. You got this, Bree.”
“By the way, I can make the best light and fluffy eggies you’ve ever had in your life. That’s one thing I do know how to do.”
“Eggies?”
“That’s what Josie and Jordyn called them. I had to master eggies, toast, mac and cheese, and grilled cheese or they would’ve starved.”
“I knew you weren’t as bad as you were insinuating. Since you know how to do eggies already, I’ll have you do the rice.”
Ren explains how to put rice in boiling water, turn it down to a simmer, then cover it with a lid. Don’t remove the lid, the steam is what makes the rice so perfect. Then set the timer for about eighteen minutes.
I guess I can handle that.
Then his phone rings. After he answers it, he says, “I’m sorry, I have to take this. You can finish up the eggs, right?”
“Sure.” They’re not eggies anymore. They’re eggs. So disappointing.
Then he steps onto my patio and closes the door for privacy. Does a restaurant owner need privacy for a business call? What could possibly be so secretive that he can’t talk about it in front of me? Secret recipes? Plans to take over another restaurant?
The sound of water boiling over catches my attention. I remove the lid—doing exactly what he told me not to do and burning my hand in the process—and turn down the heat untilthe water settles. Then I replace the lid, using a potholder this time.
When I turn back to the eggs, they’re already ruined. A light brown layer has already formed on the bottom of the pan. I hate the smell of overcooked eggs. I try giving them a stir to save them, but there’s no hope. I remove them from the heat, stare at the stains all over the rice pan, and realize my secret’s out. The evidence is there for all to see.
I turn to the sink to hold my burning hand under cold water.
When Ren returns, he takes in the scene, and starts to laugh. “You were not kidding.”
“I warned you. You should never leave me alone in the kitchen.”
“What happened to your hand?” He frowns.
“I didn’t realize the lid would be so hot.” Hurts like heck.
Ren grabs a plastic bag and fills it with ice. “Come. Sit.”
I plop down on my couch. He sits next to me, holding the ice on my hand.
That went so much worse than even I thought it would. “Now I have two injured hands. Death is imminent.”
