Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“I didn’t want to create a fire hazard,” he said, and rushed over to light them.
She watched as he lifted a remote and soft music filled the air that wasn’t too loud.
There were little jars with single roses dotted around the room. The ambiance was incredible, then he opened the doors that led into his backyard. It looked amazing.
He pulled out a chair. “Would you care to take a seat?” he asked.
She couldn’t help but smile, then sat down, and he pushed her chair under the table.
“I’ll be right back.”
Tillie didn’t have to wait along. She watched him walk into his kitchen and go to the stove, where he pulled down the oven door and eased out a pot.
“I thought you said you didn’t cook,” she said.
“I don’t cook, but I wanted tonight to be perfect, so I followed a recipe from one of my mom’s cookbooks. I know my dad absolutely loves her version of chicken cacciatore, and she had everything in her pantry and fridge, so I left her some money, took the ingredients, as well as her cookbook, and spent all afternoon making this.”
“Wow,” she said.
“I know, but you haven’t tried it yet, and I’m hoping I haven’t messed this up. My mom’s an amazing cook.”
She watched as he served it with some pasta, which he loosened up with the sauce.
“Shit, I don’t think I should have cooked the pasta in advance.”
“Sometimes it’s best if you don’t. When did you cook it?”
“Before I came and got you, I put it in the oven to keep warm. Uh, you know what, we’ll just give it a go.” He shrugged.
She found it adorable as he served both of them, and then carried over the dishes. He wasn’t done, though, as he went back to the fridge.
“Mom always served this with white wine,” he said. “And yes, I took her white wine as well.”
He came to the table, opening up the bottle of wine and filling their glasses. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she wasn’t a drinker, and what she tended to do was buy a quality wine, measure it, and freeze it in quantities she needed to make a dish. Instead, she offered him a smile and thanked him.
It never harmed to have a sip, which she did. It was nice—subtle—but still had that wine taste, which she wasn’t a big fan of.
He sat opposite her, and his smile was nervous.
“It smells so good,” she said.
“I wanted it to be perfect.”
Tillie lifted her knife and fork and as she put her fork into the spaghetti he cooked, the strands didn’t loosen. It all came together as she went to twirl her fork. The pasta was hard. Not rock-hard, but hard.
“Fuck me,” he said, running a hand across his face.
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” she said.
Slicing into the chicken, it was tender and fell completely off the bone. If she was going to fear anything, it was undercooked chicken. She took a bite, and the flavors were amazing. There was nothing too strong, it was all a perfect balance of herbs, garlic, and chicken.
“This is absolutely delicious,” she said.
All of a sudden, her plate was taken from her, and she frowned. “I was eating that,” she said.
Jaxson didn’t say anything, as he worked in the kitchen, and she couldn’t quite see what he was doing. However, he returned moments later with fresh bowls and the chicken inside, with another couple of spoonfuls. “I couldn’t watch you eating around the spaghetti, or risking you chipping a tooth on one of the strands.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why it is so funny.”
“Because, isn’t pasta supposed to be one of the easiest things to cook?” he asked.
“Oh, trust me, it is. But it’s also one of those things you need to cook right and then know when to serve it.” She smiled at him. “However, your mom’s chicken cacciatore is absolutely delicious. I love it. When my mom did her version, she always put in a little too much rosemary.”
“I didn’t do too much?” he asked.
“No, this is stunning. I’m not just saying that, but I am shocked you cooked for me.”
“You’re special, Tillie. Of course I was going to cook for you.”
She didn’t know if it was suddenly getting warmer, or if she was the only one feeling heated.
Chapter Seven
Neither of them drank the wine, and that was because Jaxson wasn’t a wine drinker. He liked beer, and never went fancier than that. However, his mom’s notes said the bottle of wine was essential. He would take the rest of the wine back to his parents for them to enjoy. The food was delicious, apart from the disaster of the pasta.
Next, he even wowed with his mom’s chocolate pudding recipe, and yes, he paid for those ingredients out of his mom’s pantry as well. There was no point in rushing to the grocery store, and if his mom needed it, he’d go for her in the coming week.