“Fine,” she ground out. “You can help.”
Several hours later, Gray dropped into the booth across from them.
Kait looked up, surprised to see that it was dark outside. “What time is it?”
“Time to eat,” Gray said, stretching one arm across his chest and then the other. “And thanks to our crew, we can cook in the kitchen now.”
“No, we can’t,” Kaitlyn said automatically. “The gas hasn’t been turned on.”
“The gas company just left. Landon called them.”
“They came out on a Sunday?”
Landon glanced up briefly to say, “Of course they did.”
Kaitlyn and Grayson exchanged looks. Does he really think the gas company normally works on a weekend? Kait’s look asked.
Gray shrugged his shoulders as if to say: Who cares? Our ovens work.
“Our first meal,” Kaitlyn said aloud. “What should we make?”
Landon bent his head back over the recipe he was copying, unsurprised to hear the siblings say in unison, “Beef bourguignon.”
It was the recipe that had made the LeClarks name in the late 18th century, and the first meal they made when they immigrated to the United States. It had never been a particularly popular menu item, but never-the-less Alice and Arthur LeClark had made it for all special occasions. Landon himself had eaten it for three birthdays in a row.
“Do we have everything we need?” Kaitlyn asked enthusiastically.
“Everything but the mushrooms,” Gray said. “If you get the beef started, I’ll run out and get them.”
It wasn’t until Gray was gone that Kaitlyn realized that this arrangement meant she’d be alone with Landon. Sitting beside him all day had so inured her to his presence that she hadn’t even considered telling Gray that she would go to the store.
“If you want to keep working on the recipes,” she said casually, “I’ll start dinner.”
Landon closed his laptop and smiled unsettlingly. “I’ll help you.”
“It’s a one-person job.” Kaitlyn pushed at his shoulder. To her surprise, he stood up.
“Then I’ll watch,” he said, following her into the back. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a kitchen.”
Kaitlyn suspected he meant it literally. He probably had his meals delivered on silver trays. “That’s strange for someone who owns a restaurant,” she said, pleased to find that her voice was even. Maybe this wouldn’t be as awkward as she was imagining. Maybe they could actually talk. She opened the large commercial refrigerator and scanned it quickly.
“Why don’t you make gratin dauphinois,” she suggested, pulling out the ingredients. If Landon was determined to be in the kitchen with her, she had to give him something to do other than watch.
When he didn’t answer, she turned to see him lounging against the service counter, his eyes on her. Kaitlyn’s breath caught. Yes, she’d definitely have to keep him busy. It had only been a few months—Gray’s birthday in March—since she made the beef bourguignon, but if Landon kept watching her like that, she’d surely burn the meat or over salt the stock.
“Landon?” She prompted, pretending as though she hadn’t noticed the look in his eye. “Do you remember the recipe or—”
“I remember,” he said and smiled faintly, “making it for your eleventh birthday when I was fifteen.”
Kaitlyn did, too. He’d undercooked the gratin, but Kait didn’t mind. It had made her feel very mature, having this popular high school boy make her a birthday dish.
Landon had been mortified though. He was supposed to be perfect, was supposed to hide any parts of him that weren’t. Hadn’t his parents drilled it into him? Wasn’t it the first commandment?
“You were a funny kid,” Landon said, focusing on Kaitlyn again. “You ate so much of those lousy potatoes you could barely eat your cake.”
Kaitlyn shrugged. “It was the first thing you ever made by yourself. I didn’t want you to give up.”
Landon glanced at the potatoes on the counter. “I can’t remember the last time I peeled one of these.”
“It’s like riding a bike,” Kaitlyn said and fished a potato peeler out of the drawer. “Here, see for yourself.”
Landon did. Not because he had any particular interest in making the dish, but because he could tell she needed him busy. He chopped into the meat of the potato a few times as he got the hang of it again, but she was right. Peeling the rough, brown wrapping in wide ribbons was a skill his hands remembered. After two slow starts, he undressed the rest in record time.
“You were always good at that,” Kaitlyn said, watching him slice the naked potatoes into thin medallions. “My dad said that with a few more years, you’d be a better prep cook than Gray.”
“Your dad was generous.”
“He cared about you.”
“And look where it got him.” Landon combined the potatoes with milk and garlic in a large saucepan and turned to face her. “You know that’s why my dad hated him.”
“Your dad didn’t need a reason to hate people,” Kaitlyn countered. “All they had to do was breathe to get on his bad side.”
Landon shook his head. “You got him wrong. He didn’t need a reason not to give a shit about people, and most of the time, he didn’t. But he only expended energy on hating the poor suckers who got in his way.”
Kaitlyn flushed. “My dad wasn’t a poor sucker, and he never got in your dad’s way. The only time they interacted was when your parents came to our restaurant.”
“You said it yourself,” Landon stepped closer, not to intimidate her but because he wanted to look her in the eye, to make her understand. “Your dad cared about me. He let me hang around here with Gray. He taught me to cook.”
“What’s wrong with caring about you?” Kaitlyn challenged. “We all did. Back then,” she added hastily when his eyes flickered to her mouth.
Landon pulled
