Megan's Blog: August 7th

Megan:  Romancing the Cook (Part 2)

I slide into the same booth I sat in yesterday. I can’t wait to see what my personal chef has dreamed up for today’s meal. My expression wilts with disappointment when my usual server appears at my booth.

“Do you want a menu?” Her raspy smoker’s voice scratches through the air.

I never got the cook’s name so I’m not sure how to ask for him. “The guy in the kitchen was going to make me something.” That sounded completely lame. Of course the guy in the kitchen was going to make me something, this is a restaurant. I pause. “Can I talk to him?”

She shakes her head, turning her face to the ceiling as if asking God for strength. “Romeo, there’s another victim out here for you,” she calls toward the kitchen.

He comes out of the back wiping his hands on his towel just like yesterday and raises his chin in acknowledgement with a smile. When he sits down, I raise my eyebrows and stay silent.

“I’ve got something special for us today. How do you feel about Thai food?”

“I like Thai food, Romeo.”

“That’s not my name.” His smirk tells me that he doesn’t mind the nickname. He reaches a hand out. “Hi, I’m Kellen.”

“Megan,” I say, meeting his hand. “So. You often suck unsuspecting women into your vortex with your culinary skills?”

He smiles. “That and other skills.”

I laugh. He’s a bit cocky, isn’t he? I may as well ask. School starts in a couple of weeks and I don’t have anything to lose by asking him out. “So what time do you get off of work?”

“I’ll just go let Andy know I’m leaving. He can handle the kitchen without me.”

That’s not what I meant. I smile at his presumption. “I meant, after work, we could get a drink or something.” I say, though I know he’s underage. “You promised me a meal and I have to go back to the clinic for a couple more hours of work.”

“I knew what you meant. You can’t fault a guy for trying, though, can you?” He nods toward the kitchen and adds, “Our food should be ready,” before heading behind the counter.

He comes back out a couple of minutes later with a large plate and two sets of flatware, positioning himself across from me again. The food is even better than yesterday’s. Taking my second bite, I say, “You should be on Top Chef.”

“That’s what I keep telling everyone, but nobody listens.” 

He rises again and I immediately take a large savoring bite. This could possibly be the best meal I have ever eaten. When he returns, he places two glasses of ice water on the table and leans in, holding up an extra napkin. He’s inches from my face when he wipes my cheek and says, “You had dragon sauce.” He looks into my eyes, way to close. I’m not going to kiss him, so my choices are to awkwardly take a bite of food or talk.

“I must be devouring it too fast,” I say. “This is really good.”

He backs away, sitting on the other side of the booth. “You like?” He unwraps his flatware and fills his fork.

I nod and just like that I’ve averted a possible game changer I’m not ready to address.

“I’m supposed to meet some friends tonight out in Grant Township. Do you want to come as my date?”

My lips twist as I consider his proposal. I know nothing about this guy other than what I learned yesterday during our lunch. I don’t really want to ride with a guy I barely know to meet up with his friends. On the other hand, what do I have to lose? He seems harmless, and I can defend myself if needed. “Okay, but I’m driving.”

“How am I supposed to get you drunk so I can take advantage of you, if you drive?”

“I don’t drink,” I lie. “Or at least I won’t be tonight whether you drive or not.” Was that too assertive? I don’t want him to go into this with a false impression of me. “You may as well take advantage of a sober ride.”

He agrees and we talk, finishing our meal. It turns out that we went to the same high school, but weren’t actually there at the same time because as a freshman he was still at the junior high when I was a senior. Eeww. I shiver at the thought. We’re both adults now though. I need to stop worrying about our age difference. He’s cute, intelligent, and an incredible cook. There’s no problem.

He gives me his number and address, and we make plans for me to pick him up at nine. I don’t really know what I am doing, but I may as well see if there is potential in this guy. His cooking skills alone could keep me entertained until I have to head back to class.

***

His address is across town from where I grew up. The houses in his neighborhood are close together with overgrown hedges and cars lining the street. He’s waiting for me on the front step as I pull up and is practically in the car before I put it in park.

He smells good, all traces of the restaurant washed away, his hair still damp. “So…you live with your parents?” I ask.

He nods hesitantly and adds, “I was supposed to get a place with a friend but he backed out. I don’t make much at the restaurant. What am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t sweat it. I live with mine too, during the summer.” I pull the car away from the curb after he’s buckled and start driving in the direction I know we will have to go, even though I don’t know our destination.

“Are you going to school?”

“Yep. I graduate in the spring from the U. Some friends and I rent a house off campus during the school year.

“Did you go to college because you wanted to or because it was expected of you?”

“Both, I guess. What else is there to do?” I don’t want to insult him but school is really the only way to get ahead and have a career verses a job.

“Everyone expected me to go too, but I just couldn’t do it. If I’m going to put out the kind of money it takes to get a four year degree then it’s going to be something I want. I’m doing what I want to do right now. Besides there’s no guarantees that I’d even get a job after paying all that money for school anyway.”

He’s right. But I try to push the worries about getting a job out of my head, at least for the night. “Well you’re really good at what you do. I was serious when I said you should be on Top Chef.”

“That’s my favorite show. That and Chopped. I’ve thought about going to culinary school. Maybe in another year I’ll have enough money saved and I can start classes.”

“Do you know where we’re going, because at the next stop sign we either have to go north or south and I have no clue which way?”

“Take a right at the next road,” he says. “What are you going to school for?”

“Education and Math.” I try to keep my answer short. I don’t want to talk about me. He doesn’t ask any more questions and we sit in silence for a couple of uncomfortable beats. “How long have you been cooking?”

“Since elementary school. My mom worked late every night and if I wanted anything decent to eat I had to learn to make it myself. As I got older it just became my role. I have two younger sisters that were too involved in sports and dance to take on cooking. My dad died when I was little.” He sits back and sucks his lip ring into his mouth as if he’s worried what I may think.

I’m really starting to like this guy. He’s mature for a teenager and the lip ring intrigues me. I turn back to the road and smile. “I think that’s great, and you enjoy making it.” I say the last part tentatively and I hope he takes it as a positive instead of negative.

“And you enjoy eating it.”

My jaw drops. “I don’t usually get complaints.” I wave my right hand down my side to emphasize my point.

“I’m not complaining. I like a girl who’s not afraid to eat. Most girls take one bite of my food and then push it around on the plate. I think it’s great that you’re a member of the clean plate society.”

I laugh. Did we really eat everything on the plate? I glance at him again to read his expression. “I do like to eat when the food is worth the calories. I can always work out.” I say it as a complement. He doesn’t need to know how much I hate working out, when he obviously lifts weights. “Besides, you ate half of it.”

“And it was damn good.” He points at the next street, and I turn.

About halfway down, our path narrows as cars fill the road’s edges. I find a spot to park and then I follow him across a lush green lawn to a brick path. As we round the corner of the house I see about twenty people seated around a large fire pit, just the reflection of the fire lighting their faces. I don’t spot anyone I know, and I resolve to just enjoy my date.

© Susan Schussler 2015