Cooking with Gabriel - Commissioned short

A/N: Written for the Baron tiered person shorts

The bags were set on the counter, the earthy smell of basil and oregano filling the kitchen. I was shifting nervously near the stove, my hands reaching out as if I should turn it on. Pre-heating was a thing, right?

“We are going to start with something simple,” Gabriel said. He was dressed down today in a pair of black slacks and a soft blue sweater. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was out of the gel cast he usually wore it in. “I was thinking baked ziti.”

I looked at him, eyes wide and breaths coming fast. “Nope,” I squeaked. “Nope nope nope. Too much.” I tried to walk out of the kitchen, but Gabriel came up and placed his arms on my shoulders, turning me back around to face the stove.

“What did we say, Lyra,” he coaxed gently. “The stove is not an enemy. It is a tool to be used to nourish our bodies.”

“It’s a tool you use to nourish our bodies. I reap the benefits.”

Gabriel nodded encouragingly. We had of course talked about this. Countless times, in fact. I had come down to the market without a lick of domestic skill and now that I had chosen to be here, there were some things I was sorely lacking. Gabriel had come to pick me up one evening to find take out meals on my table and my house in a complete disarray. We didn’t end up going out that night. Instead, he cleaned my apartment and grilled me on if I knew how to properly clean a rug.

The answer was no.

So date nights had become domestic nights. Gabriel would find something I knew nothing about and set up a scenario to help me learn. He never mocked me. He never once got frustrated. I was finding that Gabriel was a kind and patient teacher. But so far, we had not mastered cooking. I tended to burn even tea.

“Baked ziti doesn’t sound easy,” I told him.

“It is. You simply assemble the ingredients, put it in a dish, and let it bake in the oven. There is rarely finesse to such a dish. Sauce, herbs, some browned Italian sausage, and pasta.”

Okay. That didn’t sound too bad. I could do that.

I nodded my head, trying to gain the courage for him if not for myself. “Okay. Sauce. I can open a jar.”

Behind me, Gabriel laughed. It was rich and throaty, and all at once I forgot that we were supposed to be cooking at the demon stove. “Oh, no. We do not open jars for sauce. We make it from scratch.”

“That is not easy, Gabriel!”

“It is simple.” He walked over, beginning to dig through the bags. “Let us start with chopping the tomatoes.” He pulled a knife out of the drawer and held it out to me. I simply stared. “Lyra, you will have to use a knife eventually.”

“I’m going to cut your countertops.”

“That is impossible.”

“Have you met me?”

It took him five more minutes to coax me over where he showed me the proper way to cut a tomato, peeling the skin from the pulp at the same time. The first tomato went fine. The second went a little worse. And low and behold, after the third, I nicked Gabriel’s granite counter tops. I swore that the counters folded around the knife on their own volition.

Gabriel just stared at me while I stared back guilty. “How about you get out the pan and start sautéing the onions. I have already chopped them for you.”

“Right. Sounds good. Perfect.” I thankfully put the knife down and went over to the stove. The pot in question was hanging from a hook above, and I took it down, turning the heat up to medium. I took the cup of onions that Gabriel had chopped and put it in the pot, grabbing a metal spoon and beginning to stir.

“Wooden spoon,” Gabriel said, taking the metal from mind hand. “Always wooden.”

“Wooden. Got it.” This, I could handle. Stirring was easy. Stirring was simple. Stirring was normally safe except for the fact that the onions were making my eyes sting, and suddenly I couldn’t see anything and everything hurt so bad that I thought I was going to cry. In an attempt to reach for a rag, I then knocked over the olive oil bottle which then fell onto the stove, starting a fire. I shrieked as the flames shot up, made worse by my panic. Gabriel had to bodily push me out of the way before smothering the flames and removing the pan.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned.

He stared at me. I didn’t think this is what he had in mind for a sexy date night.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Perhaps we are moving too fast. I’m sure there is something you can do, though. Um…” he looked around. “You could put the cheese on top. It is already grated.”

I put my head in my hands and groaned. “I’m a failure.”

“You are not a failure,” he said firmly. Walking up to me, he took me by the shoulders, half lifting me off the ground. “You are a wonderful, kind and intelligent being. You just are learning.”

“I’m going to destroy your kitchen,” I wailed.

It was then that a sense of determination came over Gabriel’s face. This was the Warden. Not my boyfriend. “You are going to fix this meal,” he stated. “You are going to do it to the best of your ability, and then we are going to eat it. It will be enjoyable.”

“Gabriel…”

“Enjoyable. Now come on. There are no quitters in my home.”

He then took me back to the stove, where he stood by my side. Again, he had me chop the tomatoes, ignoring the nicks that appeared on the counters. He wiped my eyes as I sautéd the onions that made me cry. He held my other hand as I stirred the sauce, making sure it wouldn’t burn. Then, the two of us assembled the casserole together, putting it in the oven.

It came out burned and with a tangy sort of smell, but Gabriel served up two dishes anyway. We sat at the dining room table by candlelight with napkins over our laps. Gabriel cut a big bite of it, stabbing it onto his fork before taking a bite. I could hear the crunch.

I looked at him with a grimace. “Don’t eat it.”

“It’s not bad,” he tried to reason.

“Gabriel….”

“In fact, I think this is the best meal you have ever made me.”

“I’ve never made you a meal.”

“So you have nowhere to go but up.” He squeezed my hand solemnly.

That night, I picked at the ziti I made while Gabriel ate the entire plate and went back for seconds. By the time he had three glasses of wine, I doubted he tasted it anymore but all I could do was look at him with a strange amount of affection. This man ate bad ziit for me. There was no telling what else he may do.