Page 70 of I Love to Hate You
“Oh yeah?” I ask. There’s a growing part of me that is ready to skip dinner and get right to dessert.
“One hundred percent,” he replies. “But,afterdinner. I didn’t cook this for nothing, so bring your gorgeous little ass in here and let’s eat.” Kendrick takes a step back and I groan as I roll my eyes, smiling the entire time as we step into the house and he closes the door behind us.
The house smells incredible. I don’t know if he was planning on attending culinary school before deciding to go to Temple for marketing, but based on the aromas in the air, Kendrick knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. As he steps in front to lead me inside, I see tons of spices and seasonings on the counter right next to the stove, which lets me know he didn’t just place them there for aesthetics, he’s actually using them.
“Wow. Somebody knows what they’re doing in here,” I say, taking in the sight of a man who knows his way around a kitchen.
Kendrick whirls around, tosses his towel onto the counter and picks up a red seasoning. He twirls it, flips it into the air and catches it, before popping open the lid and dashing it on top of the shrimp he has in a bowl.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, as he playfully sets the seasoning down and shakes the bowl around. “This is where I reign supreme, Baby Girl. My mother is a fantastic cook, and she raised me to be the same way. Any time you come over to my house, you can expect me to be behind the stove whipping up something scrumptious for us, because I got it like that. How about you? Do you know how to cook, or is your specialty more along the lines of being really pretty and mean at the same time?”
I gasp as my jaw drops. “I’m not mean.”
“Oh, so you agree?”
“What?”
“You think you’re really pretty?”
“Oh, my god,” I bark, laughing. “I didn’t realize I was auditioning for Mean Girls.”
“Well, if you did audition, you’d get the leading role and be the prettiest, meanest girl on the set. So, how about it? Can you cook?”
I shake my head as I lean against the counter and watch Kendrick fixate on completing our meal. “A little, but nothing crazy. Like, I couldn’t do whatever it is you’re doing right now. Maybe you should show me a little something really quick.”
Kendrick scoffs. “What? No. This is my masterpiece. I don’t need you coming in here and trying to run with my idea. We got enough of that with Denver today, didn’t we?”
“Oh, my god. Tell me about it. I swear, if he messes up that pitch tomorrow, we’re going to riot.”
“Damn right,” Kendrick agrees as he adds seasoning to small slices of chicken sizzling in a skillet. “To his credit, he seemed like he was retaining everything we were telling him today, and the way we laid out the presentation should make it really easy for him to pick up the scent if he loses his way. He really shouldn’t be able to go wrong, but I don’t know Denver very well, so I guess we’ll see.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty foolproof, so I think he’ll be okay. We just have to be optimistic, which has never been one of my strong suits.”
“I feel you on that one.”
Kendrick walks over to the largest pot on the stove that’s filled with boiling water and lifts it up to carry it to the sink, where he pours out the contents into a green colander. The water spills out, leaving behind thick noodles that he pours back into the pot and seasons with butter, salt, pepper, and a little bit of pasta sauce.
Instead of speaking, I choose to stand behind him and watch as he works magic before my eyes. After he’s satisfied with the noodles, he moves over to the chicken and mixes it with a spatula, before turning off the burner and grabbing two plates from the cabinet. He sets the plates down and picks up the bowl of shrimp, pouring it into the pot of noodles and mixing it around before using tongs to place noodles and shrimp onto the plates. He tosses the bowl into the sink on top of the colander and picks up the skillet, carefully grabbing pieces of sliced chicken and setting it on top of the noodles as neatly as possible. Before he’s finished, he selects a Cajun seasoning and sprinkles it on top of the entire dish before finishing it with a small green garnish.
He turns to me and holds out his arms. “Dinner is served. Cajun chicken and shrimp pasta.”
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief as he picks up both plates and brings them for me to see.
“Where have you been my whole life?”
“Apparently, just a couple of neighborhoods away and literally walking the halls of the same college,” he answers with a chuckle.
We take our dinner to the small dining room table off the kitchen and open the bottle of wine as we sit down. The second Kendrick’s food hits my tongue, my eyes widen.
“What the hell?” I say, looking at him with wide eyes.
“What? Too spicy?” he asks.
“No, it’s absolutely perfect, Kendrick,” I tell him, to which he smiles. “This issogood. Who taught you how to make this?”
“I told you, my mom is no joke in the kitchen, so neither am I.”
“Well, I’m going to have to meet her and ask what other ridiculousness she taught you. My god.”
