Page 42 of French 75
Guiding my hands, we do as he says, and my eyes widen when the yolk comes free. We gently drop it into a different bowl and discard the rest.
“Your turn,” he tells me, letting go of my hands, and I almost whine at the loss of his heat.
I chew on the inside of my cheek and shake my head. “I don’t think I can do it on my own.”
“Of course, you can,” he says with a reassuring grin. “Just try it.”
I suck in a deep breath and nod. I can do this. Cassius just made it look like the easiest thing on the planet. Granted, everything comes easy to him, but if he can do it, so can I. I stick my tongue out in concentration as I try to mimic the movement he showed me, and I let out a little cheer when the yolk separates perfectly.
“See,” he insists, rubbing the back of my neck with his large hand. “I knew it.”
I beam with pride as we go through the rest of the eggs that need to be prepared. We follow her instructions to the T, preheating our individual ovens and combining all the ingredients into one bowl. We bring the heavy cream to a simmer in a saucepan and wait a few minutes for the next step.
“Okay,” the instructor says. “Next, we’re going to gradually whisk the hot cream into the egg yolk mixture. But make sure to do a little at a time to prevent the mixture from scrambling.”
As I go to do as she says, a hand on my wrist stops me. I blink up at Cass and cock my head. “What?”
“If you do it like that, sunshine, you’re going to put too much in at once. Can I show you?”
I nod. He takes my hands once again and demonstrates how I should do it, guiding my other hand to start whisking. “Like this.”
While I follow his instructions, he goes to prepare his own mixture. I purse my lips, not in displeasure, but in curiosity. “Cassy?”
“Yeah?”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
It never occurred to me to ask him. I guess I just assumed he came out of the womb a master chef, but now I’m not so sure. He’s not only creative in the kitchen, but he’s proven to be technically sound. I feel like that kind of thing has to be taught.
He blushes as he whisks his mixture. “It’s really not a lot of stuff.”
“But it is,” I insist. “Did you, like, watch videos or something? Reality television? Someone must have shown you all of this.”
“I—” He bites his tongue and shakes his head. “It’s embarrassing.”
I gasp. Cassius isneverembarrassed. I don’t think he even knows the meaning of that word. Why would anyone so composed and cool ever be embarrassed. “Cassy…”
“Okay, okay,” he says at my tone, ducking his head, his long hair falling over his face as he avoids my gaze. “I might have taken a cooking class when we first moved to Miami.”
My eyes widen. “You took a cooking class?”
“Or maybe seven cooking classes?”
“Cass!”
“I just…” He finally looks up at me and gives me a small shrug. “I just wanted to be able to take care of you. We didn’t eat right growing up, so…”
My heart swells. More than it usually does around him. That’s so… That’s so sweet. “Why did you never say anything about it?”
He snorts. “Because it wasn’t a big deal. Still isn’t.”
“Cassius!” I argue. “It’s a huge deal— Oh, shit!”
In my frazzled and overwhelmed state, I raised my hands to emphasize my point, but ended up taking the mixture-covered whisk with me. That ended up splattering curdling egg yolk and cream all over his black band shirt.
When Cassius stares at me, slack-jawed, I shrug. “Oops?”
“Oops,” he mimics, dragging one finger down his chest, collecting the mushy mixture, before turning on me. “I’ll show you oops.”
