“Ohmygod,” I cry, dropping all the shit in my hands.
The moment I take a step forward, the smoke alarm starts going off, beeping in time with the music. Over the din, I hear Ryan shouting and cursing. Pots rattle and smash.
I dart around the corner to see smoke billowing out of the oven as Ryan uses mitts to drag something out. He’s coughing as he snatches for it, slamming it down on the stove top. Whatever was in that baking dish is burned all to hell, which accounts for the horrible smell.
It looks like a bomb went off. There’s cutting boards and cheese graters and mixing bowls, spilled flour dusting the counter, measuring cups in every size. The milk is out…and a Costco-sized supply of panko breadcrumbs…and a plastic tub of prepared lobster meat.
“Oh my god,” I say again, coughing into my hand, eyes burning.
Ryan slams the oven closed and snatches for a baking tray, waving it in the air to try and clear the smoke. He turns as he swipes and jumps a foot off the ground when he sees me standing there. “Fuck—Tess—Don’t just stand there, help me,” he bellows, panicked eyes wide.
I launch into motion, ducking under his pan, flailing arms to reach the stove. I turn off the broiler, no doubt the culprit in this fiasco, and glance down into the baking dish to see the remnants of what I can only assume was supposed to be homemade lobster mac and cheese.
Tears sting my eyes for a whole new reason as I slip behind him and hurry over to the sliding glass door. Flipping the latch, I drag the door all the way open, letting a burst of January air in to clear the smoke. I spin around, leaning against the glass as I watch him flail for another thirty seconds.
The smoke alarm finally shuts off, leaving us standing on opposite sides of the living room, chests heaving, eyes wide, as rock music pulses all around. Ryan blinks twice, then he drops the baking tray down with a clatter and snatches up his phone. In seconds, the music cuts, leaving a ringing silence in my ears.
“How long were you standing there?” he asks.
“About two seconds. I just got in when the alarm went off. What were you making?”
“I—nothing,” he says, a blush blooming in his cheeks. “Well, nothing now since I fucking ruined it.” He turns away, snatching up things off the counter and dropping them unceremoniously into the sink.
I inch closer. “Ryan, were you trying to make lobster mac and cheese?”
He goes still, not looking at me, his hands on the glass mixing bowl. Slowly he looks up. “Yeah, well, it was supposed to be a surprise…and it was supposed to be actually fucking edible.” He turns away, rattling the mixing bowl down into the sink.
I step up to the kitchen island and survey the mess. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He glances over at the burned mess on the stove. “My mom gave me the recipe, and I swear I tried to follow the instructions, but I may have missed a step or…I don’t—I’m not good at cooking, okay? I can’t always follow the steps or, like, sometimes I skip them…”
“You turned the oven on broil instead of bake,” I say gently.
He spins around. “What?”
I point to the stove. “You had it on broil instead of bake.”
“What’s the difference?”
I hold back my smile. “Only about two hundred degrees. And all the heat comes from the top-down when you broil. That’s why it burned.”
“Fuck.” He peers down at the stove, looking at the dials. “Where does it say that?”
I inch around the island, coming to stand beside him. “See this one here?” I point at the oven dial. “You just turned it to broil instead of bake.”
He narrows his eyes. “So, one click to the left is broil and one to the right is bake?”
“Yep.” I brush my hand over his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s a mistake anyone could have made.”
“Yeah…anyone,” he says, wholly dejected by his failure.
I lean my hip against the counter, crossing my arms as I glance over at him. “Why were you trying a recipe as adventurous as lobster mac?”
He looks like such a sad puppy that I’m actually struggling to restrain myself from petting his hair. “For you,” he admits softly. “It was supposed to be my ‘I’m sorry’ peace offering.”
“Peace offering?”
“Yeah—Tess, listen.” He turns to face me, his hands bracing my shoulders. “I’m sorry, okay? I was totally out of line the other day.”