Page 79 of Summer Reading

“Just dinner.” I nodded.

“Yeah.” He grabbed Tyler’s blue apron from the other hook and slipped it over his head. “Tell me what you’re doing while you cook, and I’ll do the rest.”

I met his gaze and allowed myself to think—what if, what if I could actually do this?

“All right.” I said. “Let’s get this party started.”

“That’s the spirit.” He moved to stand beside me.

I had been a professional chef for almost a third of my life. I was confident in my culinary abilities. But I had never had a distraction like Ben in the kitchen with me. Wanting to jump on your sous-chef and have your way with him was not a challenge most chefs had to deal with.

I shook my head to clear it.Focus, Gale.I used a two-quart pan to start the rice. Then I put a large pot on the stove and turned the heat to medium. Ben opened up his laptop and started typing.

“What are you typing?” I asked.

“Large pot and medium heat,” he said.

“Oh.” Feeling like a dope, I went to the refrigerator and started pulling out my ingredients. Mercifully, tosave time, I had done the prep work before I picked up Tyler. I grabbed my items and placed them on the counter by the stove.

I unwrapped a stick of butter and dropped it in the pan. Ben was watching me and I met his gaze and said, “One stick of butter.”

He grinned and started typing. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. I gathered more ingredients while the butter melted completely and started to sizzle.

“Half an onion, diced, sauté for five minutes.”

Ben continued typing. “That smells amazing.” He lifted up his phone and took another photo of me beside the stove. I glowered. “What? You look adorable.”

I rolled my eyes even though I was flattered, no question. “Six garlic cloves, minced, sauté also for five minutes.”

I tended the rice, adding the grains to the boiling water. Then I reached for the key ingredient in a small mason jar.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“The pepper sauce,” I said. “Or as Vovó called it, pimenta moída.”

“Is it homemade?” he asked.

“Yes. You can buy a variation of it at most Portuguese markets but Vovó taught me to make it, so I always prepare my own.” I opened the jar and spooned out the savory crushed peppers.

He looked at me expectantly and I said, “One heaping tablespoon of pimenta moída.”

“We’ll have to include a recipe for that in the book, too,” he said.

I stared at him. His confidence in me and this project confounded me.

“What?” he asked.

“You.” I waved my hands at him, indicating his entire person. “You make it all seem... possible.” I felt a fluttering in my chest that I assumed was excitement about actually starting the cookbook, but I didn’t know how to embrace the feeling, so it came out of my eyes in big fat tears.

“Samwise, are you crying?” Ben asked. He left his laptop and came around the counter to hug me from behind.

“No, it’s the onions,” I lied.

“Ah.” He kissed the top of my head. “Do we need to stir this?”

“Yes,” I answered but I didn’t pick up the wooden spoon I’d placed on the counter. I didn’t want to leave his arms. Ben reached around me with one hand to grab the spoon. He held it over the pot until I put my hand on his. Together we stirred in the pimenta moída into the garlic and onions.

“It needs a pinch of salt.” I sniffed.

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