Read Online Waiting for the Storm by Marie Landry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie Landry
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back, ’kay? I want to see how you make it.”
I chuckled. “Okay, Ezra. You can even help me if you want.”
His smile widened, and he gave me a quick wave before jogging toward his house.
The house was quiet when I entered, except for the faint sound of the upstairs shower running. Ella was likely getting ready for a night out.
I put the groceries away and laid out everything I would need for dinner. I was hot and sticky after my bike ride, and I contemplated changing my clothes, but didn’t want Ezra to think I had changed for or because of him. After the fifth time I had to pull my damp shirt away from my skin, I decided it didn’t matter what Ezra thought. Did boys even notice that sort of thing anyway?
I ran upstairs, stripping the moment my bedroom door was closed. I hopped in the shower and let the cool water rinse away the dust and dirt I’d kicked up on the gravel road. I wanted to linger, but knew I didn’t have time, so I got out as quickly as I’d gotten in, toweled off, and dressed in denim shorts and a purple tank top.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the sliding glass doors shutting, and Ezra appeared in the living room doorway a second later.
“I knocked but no one answered.”
I wasn’t used to leaving doors unlocked. It unsettled me slightly, but apparently most people on this side of the island left their doors unlocked the majority of the time. “I ran upstairs,” I told him. “I don’t know where my dad is.” I stepped off the bottom stair and stopped in front of him. “I’m glad you let yourself in and didn’t give up and go home.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. His hair was damp from a shower, and it was already beginning to curl around his forehead and ears. He’d changed into shorts that were similar to the ones he’d been wearing before, and paired them with a dark-green t-shirt and flip flops. He smelled amazing, like a fresh spring breeze underscored with something faintly citrusy.
I started in the direction of the kitchen and motioned for him to follow. “Do you cook?” I asked.
“Some. I’ve been on my own for awhile, so it was either learn or starve.”
I wanted so badly to ask where his parents were, but I didn’t want to be too forward. We had just met, after all. Earlier it sounded like the house had been his mom’s, so where was she now? And his dad? I waited a beat, hoping he’d volunteer more information, but he didn’t.
“Well, it’s a good skill to have,” I said. “My mom taught me when I was pretty young, and I took over all the cooking when she got sick.”
“What can I do?” he asked.
“How are you with a knife?” I pulled a long, sharp knife from the block on the counter.
“Depends what I’m doing with it.” He glanced at the array of ingredients on the counter.
“Knife fight,” I deadpanned. “You know, like a sword fight?”
“Well in that case, I’m better with dueling pistols than knives,” he replied without missing a beat.
“Damn, I left my dueling pistols back home,” I told him. “I guess for now you could start with this garlic.” I peeled a head and handed him three small cloves. “Can you handle that?”
“I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much,” he said. “I hope you know first aid.”
While Ezra started chopping garlic, I measured milk, cream cheese, and flour into the blender and mixed them together. We were working at the same counter, standing only a few feet apart, and I could smell him even over the rising scent of garlic. His nearness combined with that fresh, clean Ezra smell was distracting. I was glad I wasn’t the one with the knife.
“That’s perfect,” I said when he’d finished chopping. I told him to sauté it in a pan with butter, then I added it to the milk mixture and set it on the stove to thicken.
“That’s it?” he asked, leaning over the pot and inhaling.
“That’s it. I just have to stir it for two minutes, let it simmer for a bit, then
I chuckled. “Okay, Ezra. You can even help me if you want.”
His smile widened, and he gave me a quick wave before jogging toward his house.
The house was quiet when I entered, except for the faint sound of the upstairs shower running. Ella was likely getting ready for a night out.
I put the groceries away and laid out everything I would need for dinner. I was hot and sticky after my bike ride, and I contemplated changing my clothes, but didn’t want Ezra to think I had changed for or because of him. After the fifth time I had to pull my damp shirt away from my skin, I decided it didn’t matter what Ezra thought. Did boys even notice that sort of thing anyway?
I ran upstairs, stripping the moment my bedroom door was closed. I hopped in the shower and let the cool water rinse away the dust and dirt I’d kicked up on the gravel road. I wanted to linger, but knew I didn’t have time, so I got out as quickly as I’d gotten in, toweled off, and dressed in denim shorts and a purple tank top.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the sliding glass doors shutting, and Ezra appeared in the living room doorway a second later.
“I knocked but no one answered.”
I wasn’t used to leaving doors unlocked. It unsettled me slightly, but apparently most people on this side of the island left their doors unlocked the majority of the time. “I ran upstairs,” I told him. “I don’t know where my dad is.” I stepped off the bottom stair and stopped in front of him. “I’m glad you let yourself in and didn’t give up and go home.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. His hair was damp from a shower, and it was already beginning to curl around his forehead and ears. He’d changed into shorts that were similar to the ones he’d been wearing before, and paired them with a dark-green t-shirt and flip flops. He smelled amazing, like a fresh spring breeze underscored with something faintly citrusy.
I started in the direction of the kitchen and motioned for him to follow. “Do you cook?” I asked.
“Some. I’ve been on my own for awhile, so it was either learn or starve.”
I wanted so badly to ask where his parents were, but I didn’t want to be too forward. We had just met, after all. Earlier it sounded like the house had been his mom’s, so where was she now? And his dad? I waited a beat, hoping he’d volunteer more information, but he didn’t.
“Well, it’s a good skill to have,” I said. “My mom taught me when I was pretty young, and I took over all the cooking when she got sick.”
“What can I do?” he asked.
“How are you with a knife?” I pulled a long, sharp knife from the block on the counter.
“Depends what I’m doing with it.” He glanced at the array of ingredients on the counter.
“Knife fight,” I deadpanned. “You know, like a sword fight?”
“Well in that case, I’m better with dueling pistols than knives,” he replied without missing a beat.
“Damn, I left my dueling pistols back home,” I told him. “I guess for now you could start with this garlic.” I peeled a head and handed him three small cloves. “Can you handle that?”
“I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much,” he said. “I hope you know first aid.”
While Ezra started chopping garlic, I measured milk, cream cheese, and flour into the blender and mixed them together. We were working at the same counter, standing only a few feet apart, and I could smell him even over the rising scent of garlic. His nearness combined with that fresh, clean Ezra smell was distracting. I was glad I wasn’t the one with the knife.
“That’s perfect,” I said when he’d finished chopping. I told him to sauté it in a pan with butter, then I added it to the milk mixture and set it on the stove to thicken.
“That’s it?” he asked, leaning over the pot and inhaling.
“That’s it. I just have to stir it for two minutes, let it simmer for a bit, then
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