Tangled(79)

“Mushrooms. Spongy little bastards don’t appreciate being sliced.”

She looks surprised. “You cooked?”

I was going to take Kate to a restaurant. The best in the city. But she’s about quality, remember? And I figure she’ll appreciate my effort a hell of a lot more than anything a gourmet chef could come up with.

I smile. “I have many talents. You’ve only seen a few.”

And this might remain true. I’ve never cooked before.

Which reminds me—Martha Stewart? She’s my new idol. Seriously. I used to think her whole deal was a joke. Who becomes a billionaire by showing people how to fold goddamn dinner napkins correctly? But that was before. Before I actually tried to use my oven or set a table.

Now Martha’s a fucking god. Like Buddha. And if her recipe helps me pull this off? I’ll worship at her pudgy sandaled feet every day for the rest of my life.

Kate and I sit on the couch.

“So…how are things at the office?” I ask.

She sips her wine and brushes nonexistent wrinkles off her dress. “Good. Things have been good. You know…quiet.”

“In other words, you’ve been bored out of your mind without me.”

“No. It’s been…productive. I’ve gotten a lot done.”

I smirk. “You’ve missed me.”

She snorts. “I didn’t say that.”

She didn’t have to.

“Come on, Kate, I’ve taken a vow of honesty here. It’s only fair that you do the same.” I lean forward. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t thought about me—at all—in the last few days.”

“I—”

Buzzzzz…buzzzzz…buzzzzz.

Dinner’s ready. Kate takes another drink from her glass.

“You should get that, Drew. Don’t want it to burn.”

And she’s saved by the buzzer.

For now.





The chicken Marsala I made looks…unique now that it’s actually out of the oven and on our plates.

Okay it’s fucking frightening. I admit it.

Kate’s brow is furrowed as she pushes at the brown lumps like she’s dissecting a frog in biology. “Did you mix the flour with water before you added it?”

Water? Martha didn’t say anything about water. That bitch.

“You know, Drew, some of the best culinary dishes in history looked disgusting. Presentation doesn’t count for much. It’s all about the taste.”

“Really?”

She picks up her fork and takes a deep breath. “No. I was just trying to make you feel better.”

I stare at my plate. “Thanks for trying.”

Before she takes a bite, I reach across the table and put my hand on hers. “Wait. I’ll go first.”

That way, if the food makes me keel over like bad blowfish, at least one of us will be conscious to call 9-1-1. Plus, if I’m hospitalized, I think there’s an excellent chance Kate would throw a pity fuck my way.

And don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t take it. In a freaking heartbeat.

I try not to breathe through my nose as I take a bite. Kate stares at me. I chew.

And then I smile slowly. “It’s not bad.”

She seems relieved. Maybe even a little proud. She slides her fork through her lips. Then she nods. “It’s really good. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah—I get that a lot.”

Through the entire meal, our conversation flows easily. Comfortably. I keep the topics safe. We talk about her new client, Matthew and Delores’s burgeoning relationship, and the never-ending political antics going on in DC.

For dessert, I serve strawberries and whipped cream. Strawberries are Kate’s favorite. I knew that from our Lost Weekend. Originally, I was going for strawberry shortcake. But you don’t want to know how the pudding turned out. I don’t think even Matthew would’ve eaten it. When Martha said stir constantly, she wasn’t screwing around.

While we enjoy our last course, I mention Mackenzie’s impending Christmas present.

Kate laughs. Unbelieving. “You’re not really going to buy her a pony, are you?”

“Of course I am. She’s a little girl. Every girl should have a pony.”

She sips her wine. We’re halfway through our second bottle.

“And I’m going to get one of those carts like the horses in Central Park. That way they can train it to take her to school.”

“This is New York City, Drew. Where are they going to keep it?”

“They have a five-bedroom condo. Two of the rooms are filled with Alexandra’s useless shit. I figure they can clean one out and make it the pony’s room.”

She looks at me straight-faced. “The pony’s room?”