Page 92 of Advanced Chemistry

The steak began to smoke, with a circle of black forming on the pan. Black was never a good sign in cooking.

“I’ll Google,” I said.

Anton smacked his own head. “Of course! The internet!”

I pulled up an article titled broiling for idiots. Very appropriate for the current state of affairs.

“It says to cook steak on the middle rack, then broil on the top rack.” Our oven was so small would it even make a difference?

“The oven? We’re roasting potatoes in the oven,” Anton said.

“Shit. Did we set a timer for that?” I asked, just as a burning smell took over the cramped space.

“Relax. I set a timer on the microwave.”

“But I used the microwave to melt the butter,” I said. “Shit. I think I canceled your timer when I put in the butter.”

We turned our heads to the microwave, which read the current time. No countdown.

“Do you know how long the potatoes have been in there?”

Just as with Beverage Solutions, Anton wasn’t the best at the small details. He was a big picture guy.

“Uh, a while?” Anton put on a cow-shaped oven mitt and opened the door. A plume of smoke blew out, clouding the kitchen.

“Shit!” We yelled in unison.

Our eyes watered, and I couldn’t stop coughing. With my lungs filling with smoke by the second, I reached out for the fire extinguisher. Visibility was low. My arm knocked into a rod, but why would we have a rod sticking out?

Unless that rod was actually the skillet handle.

The sound of the steak splatting on the floor rose above the din of chaos only to be outdone by the smoke alarm going off.

“Why didn’t you use your iPhone timer like a normal person!” I yelled.

“Why didn’t you Google broiling before we started cooking?” He yelled back.

We were both bad Gen Zers.

Anton pulled the fire extinguisher from under the sink. I found it strange that Savannah gave us a fire extinguisher as a housewarming, but now I understood just how well she knew us.

The white foam of the extinguisher sprayed across the stove and into the oven, adding to the cloud of chaos.

A few seconds later, the clouds of smoke and foam fell, leaving us with a clear view of Chase standing in the kitchen doorway, a bottle of wine hanging from his hand and a stunned look hanging on his face.

“I take it dinner will be a while.”

* * *

Fortunately,wine went great with delivery pizza.

“Congratulations on landing your biggest client thus far.” Chase held up his wine for a toast.

Three glasses clinked in the center of the dining table, which we had set before the cooking fiasco. The fancy napkins were perfect at soaking up the grease on the pizza.

“I assume that the larger client load means longer hours for you.”

Anton and I shared a look, our excitement colliding with cold, hard reality.

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