Page 19 of Choosing Their Omega

“Now that’s over,” Miles says, “I’m going to start on dinner.”

“Oh, please let me help. I’m a pretty good cook.”

“You really don’t have to…”

“If you’re someone who doesn’t let anyone else into the kitchen while he’s cooking then I’ll get out of your way, but please let me help if I can.”

Miles looks pleased, his mouth curling up into a warm smile. My stomach flips. “All right. If you really want to. Roll up your sleeves.”

I’m determined to earn my keep here. I know that my job will mostly be nannying for Ben, but I want to help out any other way that I can.

“What are we making?” I ask. My mouth waters instinctively when Miles opens the fridge and I see all the healthy, wonderful, fresh food inside.

Miles sees me looking and pauses, his face going soft. “You can eat whatever you like. Be sure to put your favorites on the grocery list here.” He taps a dry-erase board that’s on the fridge door.”

My face heats up. I know that Miles isn’t judging me, I just still feel embarrassed about my whole situation.

Miles frowns and closes the fridge. “Hey, you know that what happened isn’t your fault, right?”

That startles me. “What?”

“You’re pretty self-sufficient, it sounds like. I get it. It’s easy to think every hard time you hit is somehow a failure. We struggle with it a lot in hockey. But sometimes life just comes at you, and it’s not your fault.”

I don’t tell him about how I quit my job. That definitely put me in the financial hole. Maybe I would’ve been kicked out of my apartment anyway, but quitting ensured it.

Then again, what were my choices? Quit or stay in that bad environment, where I wouldn’t feel safe? That’s not a choice at all.

And Miles sounds so sincere when he says it to me. My eyes get a little wet. “Thank you.”

He smiles and then goes back to the fridge. “So, you ever made pasta before?”

“Um… I mean yes, but the pasta itself was pre-made and I have the feeling you’re about to bust out some fancy pasta machine at me.”

He pulls out some dough that’s apparently been chilling in the fridge. “Good guess.”

With a wink, he tosses the pasta dough to me, and we get to work.

It’s been a while since I could make a full, proper meal, and I’ve never had access to such a big, beautiful kitchen before. It makes my chest feel light but full of warmth.

Miles is a patient teacher when it comes to showing me how to work the pasta and make the sauce. The room soon fills with the delicious smells of tomatoes and garlic and other spices.

“You’re a natural at this,” he remarks as I add some salt to the sauce and stir it in.

“I’ve always liked cooking. There was a… a kind of fun aspect to being… well it wasn’t fun being poor, I’m not saying that. But it did force me to get creative about meals so that they would still taste good on a budget.” I smile. “But this is a lot more fun, when you can afford all the ingredients you need. I ate a lot of beans and rice.”

“Cooking is how I relax,” he explains. “And it helps me feel like I’m taking care of my pack. You’re always welcome to join me, it’ll be fun to have a partner. I like trying new things.”

“He also likes watching competition cooking shows and judging the contestants,” Lawson says, poking his head in from around the corner.

“It’s not my fault I’m right for saying that trying to make a risotto in only twenty minutes is a mistake.”

“And I’m saying I’d like to see you go on the show and actually do it, I bet it’s different when you’re a contestant.”

“Next time they do a charity one with celebrities or whatever, then I’ll think about it.”

“Charity?” I ask, confused.

“The show I like to watch usually has a cash prize,” Miles explains. “But occasionally they do a special where people who don’t need the money compete and the prize goes to a charity they’ve chosen instead. They’ve done movie stars, professional chefs, each one’s a theme.”

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