I got a bucket and mop from the pantry and then paused for a moment, leaning on the mop handle and surveying the mess. “What happened?”
With a remorseful expression, Sean gestured at the table. “Today’s our nine-month anniversary, so I thought I’d surprise you with a delicious meal. I even bought a new cookbook from the Constant Reader. It’s supposed to help beginner cooks make gourmet meals that come out looking and tasting like they were made by a professional chef.” He shot a rueful glance at the book propped open near the stove. Its pages were charred and unreadable.
I couldn’t help but smile. “What was on tonight’s menu?”
“Chicken flambé,” Sean said. “But I was behind schedule and so I didn’t bother to measure the cognac. As it turned out, pouring liquor directly into the pan was a serious mistake. Cognac dribbled everywhere.” He pointed at the offending bottle. “I had the gas flame set too high and once the alcohol hit…” he trailed off and gave me a sheepish shrug.
He looked so forlorn that I couldn’t possibly be angry. After all, the only real damage was to the dish towel, apron, and cookbook. The rest of the room could be returned to order in no time. Slipping on a pair of yellow latex cleaning gloves, I joined Sean by the sink.
“Why don’t you order us takeout from Wild Ginger? Maybe some sesame chicken or beef and broccoli?” I moved closer, doing my best to avoid the fire extinguisher foam still clinging to his pants, and kissed him on the cheek. “After all, we still have a lovely bottle of wine and I don’t want to waste the candlelight.”
Sean’s smile of relief was blinding. He cupped my chin in his damp hand and turned my face so that my lips would meet his. “I am a lucky, lucky man,” he murmured and kissed me tenderly.
A moment later, I wriggled out of his arms to fill the mop bucket with soapy water. “And take your pants off, Officer Griffiths,” I scolded lightly. “I don’t want fire extinguisher foam to get on the hall rug.”
“You want me to take off my clothes? Now that’s an order I could get used to.” He grinned and reached for the takeout menus I kept in the drawer below the phone.
By the time the Wild Ginger deliveryman rang the doorbell, the kitchen was clean, the windows were closed, and Sean was clad in the sweatpants and sneakers he kept in his gym bag. He insisted on plating the Chinese food at the counter while I enjoyed some wine. After placing our supper on the table, he dimmed the lights, and raised his glass in a toast.
“To not setting the house on fire when we celebrate our first year together!”
“Hear, hear!” I cried happily, clinking the rim of his glass with my own.
We dug into our meals, quite hungry by now. Both of us preferred to eat around six thirty and it was nearly eight o’clock by the time I speared my first piece of beef with the point of my wooden chopstick.
“Learning to cook is harder than I thought it would be,” Sean said after his initial hunger had been sated. “I’ve been getting by with frozen dinners and fast food. Maybe I should watch that TV show you love so much.”
“The one with Chef Klara?” I attempted to shovel rice into my mouth using the chopsticks, but I couldn’t grasp more than a grain at a time. Surrendering, I grabbed a fork from the cutlery drawer and polished off the rest of my meal. “Tales from the Table is the best cooking show on television. It’s not just about food, but about the memories certain foods invoke.”
Sean refilled my wineglass and pushed his empty plate away. “Well, I was smart enough to buy ice cream for our dessert, so if you’d like to curl up on the sofa and find an episode on the DVR, I’ll bring you a big bowl of chocolate mocha chip and we can watch Chef Klara together.”
“I am a lucky, lucky woman,” I said, echoing his earlier sentiment. I tried to carry my dishes to the sink, but he refused to let me do the washing up. Instead, he uncorked a bottle of sweet and airy dessert wine, poured me a generous glass, and shooed me into the living room. By the time he joined me, I was feeling more than a little light-headed.