บท 48: Chapter 16 - 126 Bleecker Street (2)

A U T U M N

I sat lazily on the couch with a hot cup of tea in my hands, watching Phraser as he sat cross-legged on the ground. He didn't shout or yell as he played, unlike my brother who would make noises every now and then when something happened to his character. His face was so serious, almost as if he was really in an opt and not just playing a character who was in an opt. If my stomach wasn't moody, I would've laughed.

He seemed to notice me staring or he had an eye on the back of his head because the next thing I knew, he said, "I know you're dying to beat my ass so why don't you just come here and we sort it out."

"What?"

He looked over his shoulder and smirked. "Come on, I have one more controller on the drawer." As if to prove his point, he moved to the drawer below the flat screen and took out another controller. "Are you scared, Temptress?"

I wasn't someone who backed down when challenged so I put my mug on the table and walked towards him. I gave a challenging smile as I looked up at him and took the controller from his hand. "Game on." Just like all members of the Summers family, I hated losing so there was no way I was going to be easy on him.

* * *

"Shit!" I cursed under my breath. I leaned back against the leg of the couch and looked at the ceiling, refused to stare at the screen which confirmed his winning. I took a sharp breath and turned to him. "Rematch!"

"Again?" He chuckled. "You can only rematch for once or twice, luv, not five times." He put down his controller and walked towards the kitchen.

"Hey, where are you going? We're not over yet. I want a rematch." I put my controller on the floor and tried to catch up with him. I found him standing by the fridge, taking out of a pack of cherry tomatoes, minced beef, two onions, two carrots, three strips of rosemary, and eight strips of bacon. He closed the fridge door and moved to the kitchen cabinet. Again, he took out a bottle of Merlot, dried oregano, and fresh bay leaves. "What are you doing? I want a rematch."

With his back to me, he continued taking some stuff out of the cabinet as he answered, "if it's up to you, we'll be having a rematch until midnight." He turned and put two 400g tins of plum tomatoes on the counter. "I'm hungry. I want to eat."

I took a seat on the stool and folded my arms as I observed the stuff he laid on the counter. "What are you going to cook?"

He pulled out a saucepan and put it on top of the electric stoves. Even though my cooking skill was pretty much nonexistent, I knew all about cooking tools from Masterchef. "Just a simple spaghetti bolognese." He put one spoonful of olive oil in both pans and looked up. "You're not allergic to anything right?"

I shook my head. "No food allergies. But I'm allergic to assholes on a daily basis. Especially asshole who doesn't want to do a rematch."

Phraser let out a deep chuckle. "Aren't you feeling hungry? We only ate a sandwich so far." My traitorous stomach growled, showing that it agreed with him. Traitor. "See, even your body agrees with me."

He said that casually but somehow it sounded so wrong in my ears. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking too much. I shook my head lightly as if trying to shake the thought off my head. "Do you want me to help?"

Carefully he dropped the eight strips of bacon in the saucepan and stirred it using a wooden spatula. "Can you cook?"

No. "Sure." In the back of my mind, I remembered the last time I cooked for my family on Christmas Eve, that dinner from Hell. But it was two years ago, I was sure my cooking skill has gone better. Or worse.

"Okay, then come here and help me fry this bacon." He gave me a charming smile and added, "I'll teach you how to cook." It seemed that he knew I wasn't good at cooking after all.

I moved beside him and he handed me the spatula. I did the same motion as he did a few seconds ago. I can do this. I mean, how hard can it be?

He went to open the tins using a can opener and then cut the onion, carrot, celery, garlic, and rosemary. Listening to the sound of the knife hitting the chopping board while watching him skillfully cut those ingredients made me feel like I was on a cooking show instead of his kitchen.

He moved to my side and I was suddenly aware of how close our bodies were. "What are you doing?"

"We need to turn down the heat so the bacon won't get burnt." He turned the knob a bit to the left. "Now, we put all of these into the pan." He added the chopped onion, carrot, celery, garlic, and rosemary into the pan. "Stir the veg until it softens. I'm going to prep the next ingredients."

He unwrapped the minced meat and threw away the wrapping into the bin near the sink. He moved beside me again but this time I took a step to the left, giving some space between us. "Are you afraid of me or the pan?" He shook his head, making me feel childish for doing it.

"Next, we increase the heat to medium-high so the meat will be cook thoroughly." He added the minced meat inside the pan. "Make sure the meat is browned all over, okay?" I gave him a firm nod and continued stirring.

I watched the meat slowly turned brown and turned to Phraser who was busy putting water into a pan. He put it on the stove next to the saucepan and turned on the heat. "Is this brown enough?" I pointed at the meat.

"Yeah." He turned down the heat a little. "Do you mind a bit of chili?"

"Nope. As long as it's not too hot."

He nodded. "Don't worry it's just to add the flavor." He went to the fridge and picked up one chili and some basil leaves. He chopped the basils and the chili then dumped them into the pan. "What a bolognese without tomatoes?" He added the tinned plum tomatoes, oregano, bay leaves, a splash of wine, and cherry tomatoes.

I lost counts of what ingredients in the pan. There was no way I could remember them without writing them down. I recalled his words earlier and muttered under my breath, "how can all of these considered simple?"

Phraser looked up and gave me a pointed look. "I heard that."

Oops. I cleared my throat. "How long are we supposed to cook this?"

He tilted his head to the left and gave it a thought. "About an hour, maybe?"

I frowned. "Maybe?!"

He shrugged. "I don't usually time my cooking unless I make soufflé." He looked at the pan and put his hand on top of mine as he started to break up the plum tomatoes. "You should do this so they'll be cooked evenly." I held my breath and tried so hard not to move a muscle. He finally let go of my hand and I finally continued to breathe again.

He dumped the dried spaghetti into the boiling water and dropped a spoonful of olive oil. "What's the oil for?"

"So they won't stick together," answered him as he started to stir the spaghetti. He glanced at the saucepan and told me to stop stirring. He took a spoon and took a bit of the sauce. "I think it needs salt. What do you think?"

I took the spoon from his hand, dug in the saucepan, and had a taste. "Yeah. A little bit of salt."

Phraser took a pinch of salt and sprinkled it on top of the sauce. He wiped his hand on the white cloth. Once he made sure that the taste was good enough, he turned to me and asked, "Could you hand me the lid?"

I grabbed the lid from the counter in front of me and gave it to him. He put the lid on and turned the knob. "Set it to boil but not boiling hot, just slightly below the boiling point. What's the word for it?." He tapped his chin lightly. "Simmer! That's the word."

This time, regardless of how moody my stomach was, I couldn't help but giggle. He shot me a murdering glare which only made me laugh even louder. "You're such a nerd when it comes to cooking."

He squinted his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment." Just when he was about to turn his attention to the boiling spaghetti, his lips curled into a small smile. Watching his smile pinched one corner of my heart. I brushed it off like it was nothing even though deep in my heart, I knew there was definitely something.