“Now who’s being dramatic?”
“Seriously, Zo. You have to provide bank statements or canceled checks for all large purchases when you’re buying a house. It could delay the whole process another month otherwise.”
Zora sighed. “Thank you for the CliffsNotes on home-buying.”
“Well, if you’re not going to take advantage of Mike’s totally state-of-the-art, free, appliances, why don’t you cook here?” Oli asked. “This place is gorgeous and chic. I could totally see you Top Chef-ing up some masterpiece in this space.”
Those were Zora’s thoughts exactly—the one bright spot, other than her apron, in her suddenly cloudy life was the possibility of getting in at a commercial kitchen. She bit her lip and squinted at the whiteboard in the back of the room with bold writing on it. It looked like they were subletting the kitchen on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.
This place would be perfect, actually.
With all the space and upgraded commercial appliances, she could work on the final tweaks for her recipes for the cookbook here—after she got her living arrangements settled.
“I think I’ll stop by the front desk on the way out.” Zora was still nodding at herself when she looked over at Oli, who seemed to be fully entertained by the setup on the counter.
“His place is free,” Oli repeated, shaking her head. “Anyway, I thought you already picked all of your recipes for the book. I was just suggesting a place to cook for the blog.” She opened the jar of clam juice and sniffed. Her brows dipped in question.
“That’s for the roux,” Zora explained. “Now put it back, before you spill it. They’re going to start in a few minutes.”
Oli set the jar back down and picked up the mix of Cajun seasoning, wrinkling her nose. “Rue, as in a street in Paris? Or, as in deeply regretting the day you didn’t hook up with Mike? Either way, what has that got to do with this fish water?” She inhaled before sneezing loudly, barely missing the mix.
Zora gingerly removed the bowl from Oli’s hand and replaced it on the counter. “Bless you. Good Lord, stop touching stuff. You need all of this for the roux. That’s the gorgeous, thick, dark, flavorful stew used to smother rice and meat.”
When the jar and the bowls were neatly lined up the way they’d found them when they arrived, Zora explained. “Grandma Babs tried to teach me, but if I can master it in time, it’ll be just the personal touch I need for the book.”
There was movement out of the corner of Zora’s eye. The instructor had arrived and the other students hurried to their stations.
“I want you to grab your saucepans.” The instructor said, calling the class to order. She was a homely woman with shoulder-length red hair and smooth skin dappled with happy freckles. Loud clanks echoed and bounced off the glossy walls as all four rows of people struggled to lift the cast iron cookware.
“It’s heavy, isn’t it? The last thing you want is a lightweight pan. It’ll only burn your roux, and poof! You’re back at square one. This is where we start—the bare minimum. Bare.”
I sleep naked.
Ugh. There was no way it would work. She was not staying with Mike even if they were friends.
Anything for my friend.
Double ugh.
Following the instructions, Oli set the fire to medium-low heat. After adding the flour and vegetable oil into the pan, Zora slowly stirred.
A faint ping sounded from the phone in Zora’s back pocket and she fought the urge to pull it out. She wasn’t in the mood for truths and lies. He was so hot and cold. One minute he was sharing flirty lies, setting off fireflies in her stomach, and the next they were fizzling back into Platonicville.
She hated the way her hopes got up, but he was right.
They were never going to be anything more than friends. So, whatever her heart was feeling, she needed to just get him out of her head.
Oli flitted a glance her way then back to the heavy pan. She spoke under her breath. “Let me say this in a language you can understand, since you only speak cliché eighties movie lingo. This is basically the same as Some Kind of Wonderful, only you’re not Amanda Jones. You’re Keith Nelson, the idiot totally ignoring the good thing in front of you, which is Watts, who clearly wants to be more than friends but only realizes it when it’s too late.”
Zora screwed her face up. “Are you saying Mike is Watts in this lovely little scenario you’ve cooked up—and botched, by the way?”
“You get the gist.” Oli checked for the instructor before continuing. “Did you notice Kate wasn’t at game night? They broke up.”
Zora almost knocked over her saucepan. “What?” She tried to whisper, but it came out as a yell.
The instructor glared over at them.
“Shhh. Oh my gosh.”
Zora’s gaze locked on her roux as she stirred vigorously, putting as much elbow grease as she could into it the way Babs had shown her. Meanwhile, her heartbeat was a bass drum in her ears.
The air warmed with the robust scent of Creole country with hints of…burnt toast?
She flicked a glance over at Oli’s roux. “Pay attention. You’re burning it.” And not telling me anything.
Zora chewed on the fact Mike was now a single man. Of all the times in the world, Oli chose now to be tight-lipped. Zora stirred intently, making sure her mix didn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.
“So…Mike and Kate are over?” she asked.
“Yep. I heard Everett tell Sophia last night.” Oli waggled her brows.
Zora sighed and stared down at her roux. Her mind was spinning out of control. Mike was single…and quite possibly about to be her roommate if the last two apartments on her list were equally as shitty as the first two. She zoned in on all the implications of living with the only guy who could get under her skin—in every way.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she swallowed back a wave of panic. Her stomach was tied up in knots. It was one thing to be in the house with Mike and know that he was in a relationship with Kate and off limits, but knowing he was available gave her a strange sense of uncertainty.
“Earth to Zora.”
She blinked a few times, hoping that she didn’t look as flustered as she felt.
“What are you over there thinking about?”
“Ugh. Turn your heat down. It’s burning again. Stir all the way to the edges and don’t stay in one spot too long.” Zora dismissed the laughter pulling at the corner of Oli’s mouth.
She was seizing up. Frozen.
Cooking with Oli was not doing the trick of getting her mind off of the living situation chaos or Mike. If anything, all this talk about shacking up with her very single, friend who liked to sleep naked put him squarely in her thoughts. It was a disaster. She needed to find anywhere else to live.
Chapter Six
Mike
Ever since Everett and Sophia dropped the news about their trip last weekend, Mike found himself still hard up and knee-deep in the paperwork for the Chessington building purchase. Yes, they worked together, but Mike and Everett were more. They were friends—family—before anything else. Although he couldn’t see himself hacking away at happily ever after, Mike believed a man deserved to be there for his family in an emergency without worrying about all the walls at work crashing down. He needed Everett to know he could depend on him to share the burdens at work…and at home.