Page 54 of Butter My Biscuit

“Sounds like a unicorn. Not sure they exist,” I tell her.

“What I’ve learned is all the good ones are always taken.” She watches me push the block of cheese down the grater.

“Want to try?” I scoot over, and she hops down and joins me. “Just go slow.”

Grace takes her time, slowly shredding the cheese, keeping her grip tight on the block.

I reposition her hand on the top of the grater. “Like this. Add some downward pressure to better stabilize it. Not too much more. We just need half a cup.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

Once we have enough, I open the mozzarella and give it to her.

When the water begins to boil, I slide the noodles inside.

“Oh, you mean no homemade noodles?” Grace snickers.

“Maybe next time.”

My arm brushes against hers as I reach for my wine. The buzzing begins, and I see goose bumps on her arms as I drop them in the water.

“So, teach me the Valentine way of making this sauce.” Grace looks at the ingredients that we prepared.

“After you,” I say, holding out my hand for her. “You’re the chef tonight.”

I move behind her, giving her plenty of space. “Put three tablespoons of butter and some oil in the bottom.”

She reaches for the spatula, and that’s when I notice her ass cheeks are peeking from under her shorts. Going forward, I will be keeping my eyes above the waist.

“Lord help us,” she says, mixing it around.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

A smile touches her lips as she slightly looks over her shoulder at me. “We’ll see; maybe I won’t fuck it up this time.”

“I hope not,” I say, knowing we’re talking about two different things. Maybe one day, Grace will realize what’s right in front of her.

I give her the next step, and she adds the cream and garlic, then stirs.

“So, what about you? What’s on your partner’s wish list?”

“I’m keeping my options open. No wish list means no disappointments, ya know?”

She shakes her head. “Not good enough. There’s got to be something.”

“Okay, she has to be caring. Isn’t afraid to be herself. Independent. Have her own style and march to the beat of her own drum.”

“I’m sure there are some single elementary school teachers in town.” She snickers.

“Perfect place to search for babes. Gah, I should’ve thought of that myself.” I tap my head. “Oh, time for the final two steps. This is where the magic happens.”

Grace reaches for the Parmesan and dumps it in.

“Now, stir until it’s mixed and smooth. Then, we’ll dump the mozzarella and do it again.”

After it’s made, I add salt and pepper, then take the wooden spoon and lift it to Grace’s lips. “You have to try it.”

She tastes it, her eyes widening as she pulls away. “Wow.”

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