Page 18 of Hey, Stepbro

Blakely pauses, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I mean, I know the basics. I'm not a master chef like you, but I can handle myself in the kitchen."

"Really? That's awesome. I could teach you a few things if you want."

"I can make a mean macaroni and cheese," he says with a smirk. "It's not exactly gourmet, but it's better than most."

"Excellent," I say, turning to the stove and starting to melt butter. "I'm sure Dad and I will enjoy it."

Blakely snorts. "Don't get your hopes up. I doubt I'll be cooking for you anytime soon."

"No worries. I'm not a Mac and cheese guy anyway."

"Bullshit. Everyone's a Mac and cheese guy. Don't lie to me."

As I take out the bread and slice it into thick pieces, Blakely turns to me.

"What about you?" Blakely asks, sprinkling some sugar over the eggs. "Have you been cooking for long?"

"Yeah, I guess." I shrug and dip the slices of bread into the egg mixture, coating them with the batter. "Carlos taught me some basics when I was a kid, and I've been experimenting ever since. I'm not a pro, either, though."

"Carlos?"

Blakely doesn't know much about my life. How would he? I've never confided in him that Carlos cheated on Nathaniel or that his infidelity broke me. Our dads only married a little while ago, and it's not like we ever had a big family sit down to learn about each other's lives. We're open, but we're not that kind of family.

Maybe our dads thought Blakely and I would chat to one another sooner. I'm glad it's finally happening and I can share my life with this mysterious literature buff I'm living with.

"Uh, yeah. He's the one who taught me to cook." I pause, unsure of how much to tell him. I decide to keep it brief. "He was my other dad. Nathaniel’s ex-husband. But he's not around anymore."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Blakely looks away, sipping coffee.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. I don't want Blakely's pity. I want him to understand what it's like for someone to leave you when you need them the most.

"It's fine," I murmur, turning my attention back to the stove. "He's gone, and that's all there is to it."

"Hey." Blakely places his hand on mine. "You don't have to tell me about it before you're ready."

"I appreciate it."

"We should put some cinnamon in the batter," Blakely says, looking over his shoulder at me. "It'll give it a nice spice."

I nod and sprinkle some cinnamon into the bowl. "Good idea."

After, I turn on the front burner, then smear sizzling butter on the griddle once it’s hot. Blakely watches me as I fork the egg-soaked bread onto the pan.

"You know," he says, "you're really good at this. I'm impressed."

I laugh. "Thanks," I say as I flip the pieces of bread. "But I don't know. I like cooking, you know? It's a way to relax."

"And you do it well," he says.

The smell of cinnamon, butter, and sugar fill the kitchen, and I smile. I can't believe I'm actually cooking with Blakely—it's something I never imagined myself doing.

When the French toast is finally cooked, I plate it, and we both take a bite.

"Damn," Blakely says, eyes widening. "This is a really good French toast recipe, man. You should open up a restaurant."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Maybe one day. But until then, I'm happy to make it for you anytime."

"I'd love that," Blakely says, causing my heart to flutter.

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