Page 34 of Starting Over in Cedarwood

“Sure.” Shaun sprayed the pan and set it on the burner, then focused on the chicken.

While Shaun worked on the main course, Kevin added water and salt to a saucepan, then dribbled a bit of oil into the water.

“I’ll turn this one once you get the chicken into the skillet.” Kevin rested his hip against the counter. “As for allergic to lactose, I’m not.”

“Good.” Shaun finished cleaning the chicken, then washed his hands and turned on the burner. “My friend Cheryl called me. We were apartment mates in college. Us and three other people. Made the rent better and we had our own little squad that way. She studied finance and works at a bank, and I went toward advertising. All these years later, we still check on each other every so often. She called while I was on my way over here to see what I was doing. I told her…you. Why don’t you turn the water on? Do you have tongs to turn the chicken?”

“Here.” He grabbed the tongs and turned on the burner. “How is she?” He had no idea who this Cheryl was, but she sounded nice and Shaun hadn’t made a big deal about him mentioning the L world.

“She’s good. She divorced her husband about five years ago and never quite got her groove back. I think she’s waiting for the right guy to come along.” Shaun shrugged. “Took me this long to find you, so I doubt I’m going to be much help to her. But she called.” He turned the chicken over. “She wanted to know about you.”

“And you told her?” He retrieved the pasta tool from the drawer. “My vital stats?”

“Sort of.” Shaun moved the chicken around in the pan. “She asked a bunch of questions I can’t answer.”

“Like?”

“Your favorite color, your birthday…middle name. Stuff like that.” Shaun turned the chicken pieces over again. “She got after me for not knowing.”

“She’s just concerned.” Kevin opened the box of pasta. He didn’t blame her for wanting the information, since she wanted to make sure he was happy and safe. “It’s the sign of a good friend.”

“She’d like hearing that—or she’d call you a sweet-talker.”

Kevin moved the pasta around in the pot. “My middle name is Reece. It was my mother’s maiden name and she liked it. My favorite color is pink. I love how it looks so delicate and pretty, but can be garish, too. I’ll take any color over black—my work clothes are black and it’s so boring.”

“Makes sense. Plus, you end up with a huge headache when you’re at work.”

“I do,” Kevin said. He checked the time on the pasta and calculated how much time it had left to cook. “My birthday is February twenty-fifth.” He met Shaun’s gaze. “What about you?”

“Shaun Michael Fallows. I was born on April nineteenth. I don’t have a favorite color, though.” He grinned. The circles under his eyes seemed to fade. “I love classical music and listen to Mozart to settle my mind when I’m stressed.”

Kevin stirred the pasta. “I don’t think I could pick out a piece by Mozart if I tried.”

“You know more than you realize.” Shaun turned the chicken over again. “Do you have a cheese slicer?”

“It’s better if you use a knife.” Kevin abandoned the pasta and withdrew another knife from the block. “Like this.” He cut pieces from the chunk of cheese. “It’ll be so gooey and delicious.”

“I know.” Shaun kissed his cheek. “This is so nice. I’ve never had anyone want to cook with me.”

“You’ve been with the wrong people.” Kevin rubbed Shaun’s back, then pressed his mouth to the soft spot where his neck connected to his shoulder.

Shaun sliced the cheese. “We’ll need a pan to put this in the oven so we can melt the cheese.”

“Done.” Kevin produced the pan and sprayed it. “Go for it.”

Shaun grinned. “Should be about time to drain the pasta.”

“On it.” Kevin turned off the burner, then placed the colander in the sink. “Watch out.” He carried the pot to the sink and drained the water. Steam billowed. “Whew.”

“While this melts, add the sauce and put the pot on the remaining heat.” Shaun pushed the pan into the oven. “Won’t be long now.”

“Nope.” Kevin did as told and mixed the pasta and sauce. “You must be a good influence. I’m never this slick in the kitchen. I make more of a mess than food actually cooked.”

“It happens,” Shaun said. “I didn’t bring wine, so we’ll need something else to drink.”

“Water works.” Kevin poured two glasses of water, then added a bit of food to Leo’s bowl. He retrieved two plates, napkins and silverware. “We can eat at the coffee table again. It’s sort of our spot.”

“It is.”

---