Slower than she had, Matthew cut through the onion. The knife fell hard under his hand and grated across the board. Jasmine clucked and fixed his posture. “No. Likethis.”
Her hand covered his and guided his movements, rocking with him. Then she stepped aside. On his own, he repeated the motion, slicing the other half of the onion into uneven strips.
“Better.” She gave an approving hum. “Keep going. I’ll get started on the chicken.”
She added salt and pepper to the chicken, then poured oil from a stoneware container into a preheated skillet on the range. While waiting for it to reach the proper temperature, she helped slice the rest of the peppers.
When she placed the chicken into the pan, the oil sizzled and popped. The enticing smell of roasting meat rose in the air as she seared all sides. Matthew watched silently over her shoulder. While she cooked, she explained why she was doing things in the order she was.
“You can’t cook the chicken and the vegetables together at first, even though they all simmer in the same pot.” She removed the chicken and placed it on a small plate before adding the vegetables to the pan. “It’s all about timing.”
He nodded to each new piece of information. “You know a lot about this. Who taught you how to cook?”
“Abuela. My grandmother is the best cook in the world. Basque women like strong flavors. She’s ruined me for English food.”
“Why this dish?”
“It’s my grandfather’s favorite.Abuelamakes it for him once a week. She says the key to a happy marriage is a well-fed husband.”She laughed. “If he’s busy chewing, he can’t complain.”
“Sounds about right. I know I’ll eat anything you cook for me with a smile on my face. Especially if it smells as delicious as this.” He leaned over her and inhaled deeply. “Tell me more about your grandparents. What are they like?”
“They’re sturdy people, and deeply in love. They met while working the vineyards in Zarautz. When they first married, they had nothing. You wouldn’t believe it now, but the house my mother grew up in didn’t have floors.” She looked down at her leather slippers on the stone ground. “ButAbueloworked hard, honed his skills, and he made a wine that earned the attention of a visiting marquess. Papa invested in him right away.”
“Is that how your parents met?”
She nodded. She stirred the vegetables in the pan, then added the chicken back in with the tomatoes and seasonings.
“Yes. The way Papa tells the story, by the time he leftAbuelo’s, it was already sunset. He took a walk on the beach and saw Mama barefoot in the water. He fell in love instantly and offered for her the next morning.” She stirred absently, watching the tomatoes dissolve. “Now my mother lives in a mansion, and my grandparents own the vineyards they used to labor in. Peculiar, isn’t it? How one chance meeting can change your life?”
“Your mother must have had some beautiful ankles,” he teased, bumping her shoulder with his.
The corner of her lip lifted. “Must’ve.”
“Both sound like good love stories.” He paused, and his expression gentled. “Is that what you were waiting for? Love at first sight?”
She furrowed her brows. “I’m not certain anymore.”
Growing up hearing those stories, she had hoped for a love she didn’t need to question. A moment where the stars would align, and she would see someone andknowthey were the one. She looked atMatthew and tried to think of her first memory of him.
But she couldn’t recall.
He was there long before memory. As if he had been stitched into the fabric of her life. A thread steadily pulling her to him—woven before she was born, through time, distance, and generations.
Peculiar, isn’t it?
Returning to her task, she inspected the dish. Satisfied that it was turning out the way it should, she placed the lid over the pot and faced Matthew.
“Now all that’s left is for it to simmer.”
“For how long?”
“At least an hour,” she said. “Do we have enough time?”
Matthew opened his watch. “Plenty. It’s ten o’clock now, and you’re not due home until noon.” He closed the watch with aclickand set it on the table. “And since we have an entire hour, I think it’s time you honor your promise to me.”
“Which one is that?”
“Give me lessons.” He gave her a debonair grin. “Teach me how to roll my r’s.”