after all. I could feel the
blush spreading over my face as I was caught staring at him.
“I’m a
little hungry, you?” I asked him as nonchalantly as possible. I needed to get
into the kitchen and cook something; sometimes it was the only thing that
soothed my mind.
“I could
eat. I haven’t really been that hungry since your accident. Do you want me to
call something in?”
“No, I feel like cooking.
I’ll go see what’s in the fridge.” I walked past him into the kitchen to peruse
the offerings in the refrigerator. Hmm, I had plenty of vegetables and cheeses,
but I was in the mood for Mexican food, maybe tomatilla enchiladas. It was one
of my favorites, and it took a while to make, thereby killing two birds with
one stone. I checked my supplies. The way my luck was running I wouldn’t even
have tortillas. Score! I still kept my pantry stocked with all the essentials.
I picked up everything I needed and set it all down on the counter, grabbing
the pans that I would use off of the pot rack over the island. For the first
time since yesterday I felt a sense of normalcy. My whole body started to relax
as I began chopping onions and garlic and heating up the cookware. I had been
at it for a while when I heard Carter come up behind me.
“Do you
want any help?” My body shivered as I recalled my thoughts of just a bit ago.
The
question made me pause. I enjoyed cooking by myself, but I didn’t want to be
rude to Carter. “You could grate the cheese,” I told him as I motioned to the
fridge. “I need the Monterey Jack, oh and get out the sour cream as well.” I
slipped into chef mode as I directed him to do my bidding. He opened the door
and I heard the drawers sliding open as he gathered the ingredients. He looked
over at me where I stood peeling the paper from the tomatillas.
“Mmm.
Green enchiladas?”
“Yep. I
felt like Mexican.” He set the items down and opened the cabinet in front of
him, pulling out the yellow bowl I always used for mixing up the creamy sauce I
poured on the enchiladas. “How did you know that I needed that bowl?” I asked
him curiously.
“You always use this
bowl. Actually, I always use this
bowl because it’s alway s my job to
mix up the sauce.”
I stared
at him for a moment. Just how many times have we stood here making this dish
together? Obviously he had done this enough times to recognize the dish by the
ingredients. No one ever helped me cook in my home kitchen. This is where I
come to relax. I didn’t mind Cheryl so much, she just sat on a stool at the
island and talked to me, but to have Carter be so familiar and me not actually
minding that much was peculiar.
“Uh, then
I guess you know what to do,” I said lamely. He reached over to grab wooden
spoon from the container in front of me and his proximity sent my senses on
alert. He smelled amazing. The combination of his cologne and his manliness,
mixed with the smells of the kitchen were like a trinity of awesomeness.
He took the grater out of
the drawer and started on the cheese, and I couldn’t help but notice the
muscles in his forearm. They were taut and well defined, but not bulging like
some weight lifter. Mmm. I pulled myself out of my momentary daze and got back
to work on my food.
Before I knew it, I was
popping the pan of enchiladas into the oven. Carter and I had worked mostly in
silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It would have been harder for me to try and
make conversation instead of giving myself a mental break and concentrating on
my dish.
While it
baked I started cleaning up the huge mess that always accompanied this recipe,
and that’s when it happened. I was standing at the sink and rinsing out a bowl
when I turned to pick up the dish cloth from the counter and found myself chest
to chest with Carter. I wasn’t wearing a bra so as soon as my nipples scraped
against him they stood to attention. I don’t know what made me do it, but I
pressed my face into his chest and sniffed his shirt. It
blush spreading over my face as I was caught staring at him.
“I’m a
little hungry, you?” I asked him as nonchalantly as possible. I needed to get
into the kitchen and cook something; sometimes it was the only thing that
soothed my mind.
“I could
eat. I haven’t really been that hungry since your accident. Do you want me to
call something in?”
“No, I feel like cooking.
I’ll go see what’s in the fridge.” I walked past him into the kitchen to peruse
the offerings in the refrigerator. Hmm, I had plenty of vegetables and cheeses,
but I was in the mood for Mexican food, maybe tomatilla enchiladas. It was one
of my favorites, and it took a while to make, thereby killing two birds with
one stone. I checked my supplies. The way my luck was running I wouldn’t even
have tortillas. Score! I still kept my pantry stocked with all the essentials.
I picked up everything I needed and set it all down on the counter, grabbing
the pans that I would use off of the pot rack over the island. For the first
time since yesterday I felt a sense of normalcy. My whole body started to relax
as I began chopping onions and garlic and heating up the cookware. I had been
at it for a while when I heard Carter come up behind me.
“Do you
want any help?” My body shivered as I recalled my thoughts of just a bit ago.
The
question made me pause. I enjoyed cooking by myself, but I didn’t want to be
rude to Carter. “You could grate the cheese,” I told him as I motioned to the
fridge. “I need the Monterey Jack, oh and get out the sour cream as well.” I
slipped into chef mode as I directed him to do my bidding. He opened the door
and I heard the drawers sliding open as he gathered the ingredients. He looked
over at me where I stood peeling the paper from the tomatillas.
“Mmm.
Green enchiladas?”
“Yep. I
felt like Mexican.” He set the items down and opened the cabinet in front of
him, pulling out the yellow bowl I always used for mixing up the creamy sauce I
poured on the enchiladas. “How did you know that I needed that bowl?” I asked
him curiously.
“You always use this
bowl. Actually, I always use this
bowl because it’s alway s my job to
mix up the sauce.”
I stared
at him for a moment. Just how many times have we stood here making this dish
together? Obviously he had done this enough times to recognize the dish by the
ingredients. No one ever helped me cook in my home kitchen. This is where I
come to relax. I didn’t mind Cheryl so much, she just sat on a stool at the
island and talked to me, but to have Carter be so familiar and me not actually
minding that much was peculiar.
“Uh, then
I guess you know what to do,” I said lamely. He reached over to grab wooden
spoon from the container in front of me and his proximity sent my senses on
alert. He smelled amazing. The combination of his cologne and his manliness,
mixed with the smells of the kitchen were like a trinity of awesomeness.
He took the grater out of
the drawer and started on the cheese, and I couldn’t help but notice the
muscles in his forearm. They were taut and well defined, but not bulging like
some weight lifter. Mmm. I pulled myself out of my momentary daze and got back
to work on my food.
Before I knew it, I was
popping the pan of enchiladas into the oven. Carter and I had worked mostly in
silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It would have been harder for me to try and
make conversation instead of giving myself a mental break and concentrating on
my dish.
While it
baked I started cleaning up the huge mess that always accompanied this recipe,
and that’s when it happened. I was standing at the sink and rinsing out a bowl
when I turned to pick up the dish cloth from the counter and found myself chest
to chest with Carter. I wasn’t wearing a bra so as soon as my nipples scraped
against him they stood to attention. I don’t know what made me do it, but I
pressed my face into his chest and sniffed his shirt. It
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