Page 32 of The Love You Fight For
He rolls his eyes and moves to the refrigerator as he speaks.
“What did you eat?”
“Food,” I snap, and he chuckles.
I set my drink on the counter and watch as he pulls things out of the fridge. A hunk of something wrapped in aluminum foil. Shredded cheese. Jalapeño peppers. I get so distracted watching him that I don’t even realize I start talking.
“I had some crackers and brie.” Two limes. Sour cream. Some herbs. He shuts the fridge and opens a cabinet. “And I also had some blueberries and pepperoni.” Tortilla chips. Olive oil. He grabs an avocado out of a basket on the counter. A bowl from a cabinet above the stove and a cutting board and cast-iron skillet from thecabinets next to the stove. “Some baby carrots and some pistachios.”
He turns to face me with a grin.
“That’s not dinner. That’s a charcuterie board.”
I arch a brow. “I had it at dinnertime, so it’s dinner.”
He grins wider. “Fine. It’s dinner. Then how about you stay for a while longer, and I’ll make prime rib nachos as a late-night snack?”
My stomach growls again and he laughs. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He just grabs a chef’s knife and starts chopping the bunch of herbs, then tosses them into a metal bowl with some olive oil and garlic.
He chops the jalapeños next, leaving them in thin, perfect little rings. It’s actually fascinating how smoothly he moves. How swiftly and expertly he wields the chef’s knife. I find myself speechless, and every once in a while, he’ll glance up at me with that lopsided, boy-next-door grin. It’s all so overwhelmingly sexy that even the backward camo hat doesn’t deter from it.
When he’s finished with the jalapeños, he grabs the hunk of tinfoil and unwraps it. Even straight from the refrigerator, the divine scent of garlic and rosemary hits me, and it’s enough to make my mouth water.
“Now, this is leftovers.” He starts to slice the prime rib into strips, then cuts the strips into bite-sized pieces. It’s a beautiful reddish pink. “Itwasa perfect medium rare, but I’m going to do a quick reheat in the cast iron so it will be more medium. I did a rosemary, thyme, and garlic rub on it, and I’ll warm it up with a little more olive oil and herbs.”
He puts a big plate on the counter and dumps tortilla chips on it. He mixes sour cream, lime juice, and lime zest in a small bowl, and he cuts open the avocado, slicing it into strips. Then he turns to the cast-iron skillet on the stove.
“I’ve never heard of prime rib on nachos,” I say as I observe him work.
He laughs. “If we can drink fancy bourbon in a cocktail, we can have prime rib on nachos.”
I can’t help but smile at that.
When he drops the meat into the cast iron, it sizzles and the herbs waft toward me in the most delicious aroma. He only has it in the pan for a minute or two, just enough to warm it, and then he starts putting the reheated prime rib onto the tortilla chips, followed by the peppers and shredded cheese.
He opens a drawer in front of him and pulls out a kitchen torch, handing it to me silently. I take it slowly, and he tells me how to turn it on.
“Melt the cheese.” He gestures to the platter of nachos, so I do.
I turn on the torch like he told me, point the flame at the cheese, and melt it until it’s bubbly and gooey. I hand him back the torch, and he finishes off the nachos by decorating the top with slices of avocado and little dollops of the sour cream mixture.
It looks amazing.
Chris grabs a chip, making sure it has a little of everything on it, and then he holds it out to me.
“You first,” he says, eyes intent on my face.
“Me first what?”
“Try it.”
I hesitate, but then I figure fuck it. I’m actually really hungry, and these nachos smell and look phenomenal. When I reach for the chip, though, he pulls his hand back slightly. I flick my eyes to his and he arches a brow.
“Open.” His voice is a little rougher than before, and I obey immediately.
I don’t break eye contact until I close my lips around the chip, bite down, and the flavors hit my tongue.
“Oh my god,” I mumble, my eyes falling shut briefly. I make eye contact with him and use my hand to cover my mouth as I chew. “This is amazing. This is, like, restaurant-level good.”
