Page 24 of Ghostly
“Men. Always blame it on something else.”
“If it’s not the recipe, then what?”
“Fine.” Ida sat on the counter, the stove between her and Gabriel’s mess of a working station, and dangled her legs in the air. “Then we’ll try another recipe.” She closed her eyes, mentally sifting through the information absorbed from the website. “We have parmesan chicken, chicken meatballs,pozole…”
“Oh, no. I’m not makingpozole.” He poked at the charred chicken. “Myabuelitamade the bestpozole. She’d have my head from the great beyond if I attempted one and failed.” A half-dreamy smile spread across his face.
Ida let him enjoy the nostalgia for a moment, then went in for the kill. “So you do admit you suck at cooking.”
Gabriel frowned and sprayed her with bits of marinade, which went straight through and stained the counter.
Ida laughed. “Okay. Nopozole.”
“It would have to cook for hours, anyway. No, we’re gonna figure this one out.” Gabriel crouched to be at level with the stove, and stared the chicken down.
Persistent. That’s why she knew he was the right choice for the contract. Besides being the only choice.
“Wait!” She jumped off the counter. “The stove! The information about the heat is wrong. On page three of the comments, cookinggoddess34 says she has a gas stove—like us—and you roast it until the skin is crispy, then you put it in the oven. No more stove.”
“Cookinggoddess34?”
“She’s got a real beef with MissPeriwinkle.” Ida nodded wisely. “Apparently there are chicken—or general meat—wars out there.”
“Alright. We’ll try the oven.”
“Just be careful with charring.”
“I know.” Gabriel put new pieces of chicken into the pan, poked one piece, and frowned hard.
He looked rather handsome, even when he frowned like that. “Don’t squeeze them in. They need to have their space, or they’ll cook instead of roast.”
“This good?”
She glided closer. “I think so.”
“I’ll flip if the guests arrive and say all they expected was cheese,” Gabriel grumbled, although his tone didn’t reach full annoyance.
“Your cheese-only parties sound rather dull.”
“Not at all. You can establish valuable connections. Meet future clients. In fact, I met my…”
“Your who?” she prodded, when he didn’t continue.
“No one. Never mind.”
As curious as she was—his best client? Future boss? Or someone closer?—Ida knew she wouldn’t get anything out of him if he didn’t want it. So she returned to a more tasteful topic. “But clearly, you knew good food once. Thepozolein that picture looked delicious. I wish I could try it. Any of this, really.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, not the one you burned to a crisp.”
“It’s just chicken.”
“Yes, but it would be all new to me. Culinary arts have improved over the past century. Although I’m glad we’re not in the fifties anymore. Lots of boiled stuff. Wouldn’t want to try that.”
“Can you? Try it?”
She sat back on the counter. “I can haunt it, but it will spoil it for you. The taste won’t be right anymore.”
