Dishing Up Love

“I’m going to chop up our parsley, the last ingredient left in our recipe, so we can garnish with it and more of the green onions we prepared in the beginning,” I say, mindlessly cutting up the herb while keeping one eye on Erin just to make sure she’s truly okay. The way she talked about not eating today was way too nonchalant, as if it’s a frequent occurrence. The thought sets my ass on fire, making my hackles rise. I don’t like the idea of her not taking the time to care for herself while focusing all her energy on other people. Yes, that just adds to my reasoning that she’s a good and selfless person, but it makes this feeling of protectiveness overwhelm my every emotion. I don’t understand it, but I go with it. My instincts have never steered me wrong before, and because everything inside me has been screaming this woman belongs with me since practically the moment I laid eyes on her, I’m pretty sure it’s just part of wanting to protect what is mine.

“Alrighty. It’s time to taste the fruits of our labor, sugar,” I tell her, trying to put on a more cheerful tone than I had minutes ago, knowing the camera is rolling and wanting them to have actual usable footage. I don’t want to have to reshoot anything. When we’re done with this, I want to kick everyone out, share our first meal, and then devour every last inch of this woman next to me. Whether it be physically or mentally. I want to learn everything about her, and I can’t do that unless I have the opportunity to get her truly alone, without the worry of my crew walking in at any minute, and chip away at her walls.

I dish out the red beans mixture on top of the rice in each bowl, sprinkle the parsley and green onion on top, and then angle the bowl toward Carlos so he can zoom in on the contents. When he gives me a thumbs-up, I grab the fork, stick it in the rice and beans, and hand it to Erin, giving her a pointed look that clearly says “Eat.”

As she stirs and blows on the food inside the bowl, I make my own plate then pull the other stool around the island to sit next to her there at the counter. Normally, I would’ve had the guest make place settings at their dining table for whoever they were cooking for. But like all things with Erin, this episode is different. We were cooking for just the two of us—for just her, really—so this laid back ending just… fits, even though it makes me a little sad to think about the gorgeous woman eating here alone every night.

But if I have my way, she’ll never have to worry about eating dinner alone ever again.

Chapter 7

Erin

“DEAR SWEET BABY Jesus in a handbasket, this is amazing,” I groan, closing my eyes and tilting my head back as I chew the next bite. “Sweet, sweet nectar of the gods.” I swallow.

I feel Curtis’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over as I shovel more red beans and rice into my mouth.

“So, you think all the Louisiana natives would forgive me for using an Instant Pot if they could taste this dish?” I hear the smile in his voice.

“Never. But if we took it to a potluck in a different serving dish, they’d never have to know,” I reply, making him chuckle.

“I’d call that a win in my book.” After a pause, he puts on his TV host voice, the same one I’ve listened to during countless episodes while waiting for Emmy’s show to come on. “Another successful meal after taking a Chef… to Go.”

After a beat, the room goes from perfectly quiet to bustling as Martin calls “That’s a wrap!” and everyone starts packing up their equipment. The lighting comes down first, the room instantly dimming to its normal soft light, and as I look around, wondering if I’m supposed to do anything, Curtis rests his hand on my thigh, shaking his head.

“Finish eating, sugar. They’ll take care of everything else,” he tells me, and I watch as I take another bite.

One of the crew members begins cleaning the kitchen, and I halfway feel bad about it. It’s feels weird having someone clean up after me when I’ve done it all alone for so long. When she gets to the Instant Pot on the island next to Curtis, he holds up his hand to stop her, swallowing his bite.

“Don’t worry about that, Rachel. I’ve still gotta teach her how to meal prep,” he says, and her eyes widen.

“Oh crap. Were we supposed to film that? Carlos already has his camera and stuff packed up. But I can run to remind them if you—”