Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
“Where did you learn to cook?” I ask as I continue to watch intently.
“I taught myself,” she answers plainly.
“Oh yeah? No family recipes or techniques?”
“Nah. My parents weren’t really around much,” Luce answers. There’s a weight to her voice that lets me know there is a story behind that statement. I want to know, but not out of mere curiosity, but simply wanting to understand her. Still, it doesn’t feel right to pry. “At least not long enough to cook something. In those days gourmet was jarred sauce and box pasta, rather than a can of Chef Boyardee.”
“So how did you learn then? Lots of Food Network?” I posit, my voice breezy and my chin resting in my hand.
She’s grinning, and her head moving up and down lightly. “Yeah. I watched it a lot growing up that by the time I could make food on my own, I had a pretty good concept of basic techniques. Though, there’s no greater teacher than trial and error, I suppose.” Her warm brown eyes are locked on me as she kneads her ball of pasta dough. “What about you? Do you know how to cook or is it all for show?”
“I cook,” I chuckle. “Maybe not as often as I should, but enough I suppose. And I would like to think I’m not too shabby at it.”
“I doubt there’s much you’re shabby at,” Luce replies. Her cheeks darken, letting me know that she hadn’t meant to say it. I like her little outbursts, it’s sincere and shows a tendency for honesty.
“Anything else you like to do other than care for horses and cook?” I ask. I’m deeply invested in finding out anything and everything about her. There’s something so inexplicably fascinating about her to me.
“Well, there’s never much time beyond that,” she sighs. “But I’ve been known to enjoy a crime documentary or a rare day off curled up on the couch with video games.”
“What kind of games?”
And on the small talk goes. I ask her any question that pops into my head as she cooks. There’s a steady flow of conversation that wafts around us just like the aromas of the pasta dish she is putting together. While I learn about her deep love of Nintendo gaming systems, her favorite comedy movies, and new fascination for history podcasts, I am enthralled by watching her move around. There’s a bounce in her step as she practically dances about the kitchen, working away on an elaborate dinner as though it is nothing at all. Luce is a one woman show.
Soon enough, she turns to me with arms lined with plates and a comment about waiting tables in high school. I grab us each a beer and I guide her to the dining table. There’s a heaping pile of pasta that’s perfectly twirled, a salad, and a small plate of garlic knots. I watched her make it all, but it’s still stunning to see it all put together like this.
We settle in and I get a bite of the pasta, ensuring that my fork has a bit of everything. I have to hold in a moan of satisfaction at the flavor. It’s decadent with how rich, savory, fresh, and perfectly salty it is. There’s an acidic note with a squeeze of lemon she put over the plate.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I tell her once I swallow the bite.
“I like to spoil myself and Sierra— my friend and business partner,” she replies with a smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
“You cook like this all the time?” I question, raising a brow. She only nods. “Damn. I’m jealous of your friend.”
Luce snorts and shakes her head as she twirls another bite around her fork. “You can’t possibly be jealous of us.”
“And why is that?”
She doesn’t bother to look up from her plate as she gestures around the room. “Exhibit A through Z.”
“Yeah well, just because I have a nice apartment in a nice part of town, doesn’t mean that I can’t be jealous.”
“You could hire someone to cook for you like this,” Luce counters.
I point at her with my fork. “Yeah, but I can’t pay to spend all that time with you that I’m sure Sierra gets. And I guarantee she doesn’t appreciate it as much as I would.”
It’s overly flirtatious and a bit corny, but I don’t really care. That’s the wonderful part of being around someone like Luce. She’s so honest and uniquely herself, that it gives you the sort of freedom to do the same. Around most people, you are presenting yourself in some sort of way. Professionally, cordial, masculine, whatever it may be. Being around Luce is like… like being able to shed the mask you never really feel like you can take off when around anyone else.
It’s that kind of comfortability that artists sing and write about.