Page 37 of Perfect Pairing
“I’m not. Actually…” I trailed off, wondering if it was wise to inform him of our previous, albeit inconsequential, connection. Then, I thought,screw it, and did it anyway. The man was already intimately acquainted with my private parts; this little admission wouldn’t make a difference.
“You guest-lectured in one of my classes during my own culinary arts program. You probably don’t remember, but you were showing us how to properly prepare—”
“A roast chicken,” he piped in, cutting me off.
“Yeah. You…remember?”
“Vaguely,” he said. “God, that had to be, what, threeyears ago now? Did you just do the program or get your Associates?”
“I went the Associates route,” I said. “I wanted to learn as much as I could, so I did that, followed by getting my Associates in Pastry and Baking Arts, and topped the whole thing off with the Restaurant and Culinary Management program.”
Ezra whistled low. “Damn. That’s impressive, Brie. I only did the culinary arts program, so I don’t have any fancy degrees, but…”
“You don’t need them,” I assured him. “Some people just have natural talent, and you’re one of them.”
“I could say the same about you.”
My cheeks heated with my blush, and I was grateful he couldn’t see me preening at his words.
The oil in the pan began to sizzle, so I moved back to the stove and dumped the lamb in, spreading it out in a single layer so it would cook evenly.
In truth, I probably hadn’t needed Ezra’s help for this. I could read a recipe just fine, and a quick Google search would’ve yielded something perfectly simple to prepare for tonight. But I liked talking to him, and for some reason, when my earlier stress was spinning me out of control, he was the first person I thought to call.
We chatted idly about inconsequential things while I prepared the rest of the meal. He told me more about Hansen and his dad. Not that I needed to hear them, because I was well aware how amazing they were, but he sang my parents’ praises. I got the feeling there was more to his relocation than he was letting on, but he wasn’t saying, and I wasn’t about to ask. That wasn’t my place.
Even though we’d only spent a few amazing afternoons together, he calmed me. Being around him, or talking on the phone with him, as it were, was so easy. I could imagine days like this, dancing around a kitchen together instead of separated by hundreds of miles.
I wanted that for myself: a simple life with a good man who made me feel things no one ever had. Unfortunately, I had found him—but I wasn’t allowed to have him.
FEBRUARY
“Hello?”
“Hey, honey,” I said, unable to hide the smile in my tone.
Barely two weeks after her dinner party dilemma, we were on the phone again—though this time, I was the one who needed help.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Uh…what’s up?”
“I need your help.”
She chuckled. “Are you experiencing déjà vu, or is it just me?”
“Trust me, the irony of this moment isn’t lost on me.”
“So what can I do for you?”
“Valentine’s Day is on Wednesday.”
“I’m aware.”
“And instead of doing boxes and paper valentines, Hansen’s preschool teacher got a stick up her ass, and each of her students has to bring a treat to pass around. It has to be gluten, dairy, and nut free, and…”
“And sweet treats are not your forte,” she said with a giggle. “So you’ve come to the master.”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Please, O Wise One, teach me your ways.”
“Gluten, dairy, and nut free, you said?” she asked, and I could hear what sounded like the rustle of pages in the background.
