Taste Test (16 page)

“Behind you,” I say, sliding past him.

“Hot pan,” he calls out, pulling his skillet off the stove.

It’s almost like a dance. Like it’s choreographed—a tango without touching.

“All right, sixty seconds!” Gigi calls out, tapping her watch. I flip my last three pancakes onto a plate, admiring the slightly crunchy caramelized surface. A few feet away, Christian is removing his with a spatula. I arrange a couple of banana slices along the edge of the plate and sprinkle the whole
thing with confectioner’s sugar. Christian douses his pancakes with a healthy dose of maple syrup and I chuckle under my breath.

“Something funny?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“You know what they say about syrup …”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That it’s a mask for what the pancakes really taste like.”

“Oh, Nora.” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “How awful that you were never taught about flavor enhancement. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that the only flavors you are used to are lard, lard, and more lard. Oh, and Crisco.”

“You know what, you are completely full of—”

“TIME!” Pierce calls out cheerfully. I glare at Christian as we pass our dishes over to our friends.

“Remember,” he says to Pierce, “if you can’t find Benny, and don’t try too hard to do that, look for a girl that’s not a contestant. Preferably a blond with huge—”

“I think he gets the idea,” Gigi cuts him off. She yanks Pierce toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “We’ll be back.”

As they head outside, it occurs to me that we never really considered what Christian and I would
do
while we waited for them to come back. I start by ignoring him, busying myself with cleaning my area and putting things away. Unfortunately, it only takes a few minutes before the stove is wiped down and the counters are spotless. I cross my arms and lean up against the fridge.

“We need to season the cast iron,” Christian points out. “And do the dishes.”

“Right. Okay.”

We’re standing side by side, rubbing melted shortening into the skillets when I realize he’s looking at me. I ignore it at first, but a minute later, he’s still staring and I’m starting to feel a little twitchy under his scrutiny.

“What?” I finally snap, still looking at my rag and pan. “Is there something you want to say or are you just trying to make me uncomfortable?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I feel my cheeks get hot. “No.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“Whatever. Forget it.”

We fall silent for another minute.

“So, where were you, anyway?” he asks. His hands, submerged in dishwater, look sort of green.

“Where was I when?”

“You know.” There’s an edge to his voice. “The night you didn’t show.”

“Oh.” Right.
That
night. “I was with Gigi.”

He sort of grunts.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“I … Gigi had this big fight with her mom. I didn’t—I couldn’t leave her.”

Christian shrugs. “I don’t particularly care one way or the other.”

I turn back to the dishes. “You wanted to know why. That’s why.”

“Well, thanks for that, then. Your life if just
so
fascinating to me, a play-by-play is truly appreciated.”

I throw down my rag and glare at him. “Why do you have to be such a jerk
all the time
?”

He starts laughing.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“You—trying to be all tough and serious. It’s sort of adorable.”

“Whatever. You’re a complete lunatic. I seriously think you might be bipolar.”

“Could be.” He shrugs. “Maybe I just get under your skin.”

“Is that your motive? Do you want to get under my skin?”

“If I
wanted
to get under your skin, I could do a lot more than stare at you.”

“Oh, really? I don’t think it gets much worse than that.”

I feel him move a little closer. He leans in and murmurs, “Maybe I want to get under
something
, but not necessarily your skin. Maybe just under these jeans.” He tugs hard at one of my belt loops and I feel my stomach turn over on itself.

“You’re disgusting,” I mutter, stepping away from him. A shiver sends the threat of goose bumps up and down my body. I try to remind myself that he’s obviously trying to make me squirm—that he’s not actually flirting with me, no matter how real it feels.

Christian smirks a little, his tongue tucked inside his left cheek like it’s holding in a secret. “You’re so easy to read, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” My brows knit together.
Slowly, he runs his palm along the inside of my forearm. Before I can take a breath, and despite my best efforts, the goose bumps manage to set up shop and build franchises.

“I’m talking about the way you fold into yourself when I’m getting to you,” Christian continues, squeezing my shoulder with one strong hand. “It’s like you’re trying to make yourself smaller or something. You get all hunched over, your eyebrows furrow—it’s like you’re the hunchback of North Carolina. Minus the hump.”

I know I should be pissed about being compared to Quasimodo. Instead, I’m embarrassed that I’m so transparent—and a little flattered that he’s paid enough attention to me to notice how my body reacts when he’s around.

“Besides,” his voice breaks through my thoughts, “you could be a little more grateful.”

And just like that, we’re back where we started—Christian and his Enormous Ego.

“
Excuse
me?”

“There are plenty of chicks here who are dying to have this much time alone with me.”

I roll my eyes. “You know what, Casanova? You can do these dishes all on your own. If I have to stand near you for one more
second
, I’m either going to throw up on you or throw something at your head.”

We’re facing each other, both of us glaring, as the door flies open. Gigi bursts in, panting, holding an empty plate; Pierce is just behind her. I’m disappointed when I see his plate’s empty, too.

“So?”

“So,” Gigi says breathlessly, “it was—it was—”

“It was what?” I ask impatiently.

“A tie,” Pierce supplies, his face still pink from the cold.

“What?” Christian and I say in unison. I glance at him and he’s almost as flushed as Pierce.

“What do you mean a tie?” I ask, staring at Gigi in dismay.

She just shrugs. “We tried, guys, we really did. Benny couldn’t choose. We found a production assistant—female,” she says pointedly at Christian, “and she couldn’t make a decision, either. Finally, we just put the plates out in the lounge and got everyone who walked by to try them.”

“And?” Christian asks.

“And the only consensus is that they were both really good.”

I groan, leaning back against the sink. How can this possibly be happening? A tie. That doesn’t solve a thing. Christian looks just as pissed as I feel.

“So now what?” I ask him. He eyes me, then shakes his head.

“I don’t know. You want to do this again?”

“Not particularly.”

“Should we try a custody agreement?”

“A what?”

“You know—you get odd days, I get even days. Something like that.”

I roll my eyes. “Forget it. Can’t we just—you know—share or something?”

Christian grimaces a little. “You mean, cook in here together? You can’t be serious.”

“I mean, we could just work around each other. I’ll tell you when I want to use it and you’ll do the same. We’ll make it as democratic as possible.”

“And you think that will work?”

“Doubtful,” Gigi mutters.

“Sure. Why not?” I say, shooting her a dirty look.

“All right then,” Christian says slowly.

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

Christian sets down his towel and wipes his hands on his apron before untying it. “Well, just as a heads-up, I’ll need the kitchen every day from six to nine—right after dinner, preferably.”

“What?” I sputter, blinking rapidly. “Christian, you can’t be serious.”

“Can’t I?”

“You’d be taking almost all our evening free time. You can’t just claim it.”

He shrugs then grins at Pierce. “Sure I can. And if you want to be in here, you’ll just need to work around me.”

Without another word, he walks out of the kitchen and into the cold night, Pierce on his heels. I look at Gigi and she shrugs. Then I notice the sink full of still-dirty dishes. I groan.

“Surprise, surprise. He’s left us with his mess to deal with. What a jerk.”

Gigi, her face half-amused, half-sympathetic, grabs a sponge.

“I guess you should have known better than to bargain with the enemy.”

“I guess so,” I reply. I stare down into the basin of the sink,
where the cloudy dishwater ripples along the edges of the plates and pans. “I have to figure out a way to beat this guy. I swear to you, if he wins this thing, I’ll never get over it. And he’ll never let me forget it.”

Gigi pats my arm and smiles.

“Just remember, Nora—he’s got to have a weakness. Everybody does.”

JUDGES’ NOTES:
KATHRYN SVINCEK

Episode Four:
LOSING MY RELIGION

Cooking for nuns from

Our Lady of Prayer Convent

Challenge Ingredient—Chicken

IN

BOTTOM FIVE

OUT

JUDGES’ NOTES:
KENNETH MASON

Episode Five:
TAKE MY BREATH AWAY

Cooking for officers of the 81st airborne division

Challenge Food—Airline Chicken

IN

BOTTOM FIVE

OUT

JUDGES’ NOTES:
GLORIA BOUCHON

Episode Six:
EVERYBODY WAS KUNG FU FIGHTING

Challenge Ingredient—Soy

IN