The Secret Recipe for Moving On Karen Bischer (read my book .txt) 📖

By myself. While wearing a black velvet cocktail dress and heels.

I yank my shoes off, since they’re only going to slow me down. I then tie on an apron, knowing that my mom will be less than pleased if her dress gets stained with potatoes and cream of mushroom soup.

Then I set to work—I’m a whirlwind of filling pots with water, then placing them on the stove and starting the oven. I raid the pantry and the refrigerator for our ingredients. I’m moving around so much, I feel my hair starting to pop out of the French twist I’d tried to do by myself.

I attempt to tuck in the offending loose tendrils when all the water on the stove starts to boil at once, sending water sloshing over the sides of the pots.

“Eeeep!” I squeal, reaching for the burners and lowering them, praying the water doesn’t jump out onto me.

“Jeez, Agresti, you trying to out-do Martha Stewart or something?”

After I jump about ten feet, I blow a stray lock of my hair out of my face and see Luke in the doorway. He’s out of breath, as if he’s been running, but he’s grinning.

Utter relief and a fluttery feeling fill my stomach at the sight of him in a navy-blue suit, white shirt and red tie. He’s here, and he doesn’t seem like he hates me. And he looks totally hot.

Then a wave of disappointment hits me. “This was supposed to be a surprise,” I groan.

Luke makes his way into the room, peeling off his suit jacket as he gets to our kitchen. As he tosses the jacket over the corner of a nearby chair, I notice his tie is printed with little reindeer.

“Well, I am surprised. Because I have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I wanted to make all of our side dishes tonight. Like, I wanted to make it up to you guys.”

“Make up what?” Luke says, wrinkling his nose.

“The fact that I was such an überbitch and we’re here tonight as a result of that,” I sigh.

Luke shakes his head and laughs. “The points thing sucks but we definitely didn’t hold this against you at all. We heard what Jared said.”

I gaze at the array of pots and pans and food spread on our counter and start to laugh. “I knew I should’ve just sent a group text apologizing.”

“I would’ve preferred a GIF with a kitten or bear cub saying ‘I’m sorry,’ instead of, you know, a home-cooked meal,” Luke sniffs, but he can’t keep a straight face.

“Well, I can at least use this to make up for the fact that we have to be here tonight,” I say, feeling almost dizzy with relief that he’s being himself.

“Fair enough,” Luke replies, and starts rolling up his sleeves. “Where do we start?”

“Oh no,” I say, wagging a wooden spoon at him. “You shouldn’t have to help. This is all me.”

Luke bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “And you were doing so well before I walked in here?”

“All right. You can do one thing. But just one thing.”

“Then I better make it an important thing!” Luke smiles again, and tosses his tie over his shoulder. Then he starts digging around our apron drawer and pulls out the green flowered one, which he ties around his waist. He notices me staring at him, and I realize I’m smiling when he’s like, “What?”

“Oh,” I say, trying not to giggle. “I just enjoy it when you wear the girly apron.”

“I knew it! You always get this little smile on your face when I put it on.”

“So you wear it for my pleasure, then?” I say, clearing my throat and hoping I sound jokey and not all cocky and “I know you want me.”

“I aim to please,” he responds, which doesn’t tell me much, but I’ll take it.

“How did you know I was in here?” I ask, as I hand him some potatoes to peel.

“Mrs. Sanchez said you were up to something and I put two and two together and sprinted on down here. I, uh, read your email. And I heard you may or may not have given me a shout-out while doing the weather this morning?”

I finally look at him directly. “You heard? Were you not here?”

“I had a dentist appointment, so I never came in today. But let’s just say everyone who has my phone number let me know.”

I slump against the sink. “I do my version of a grand gesture, and the grand gesture receiver wasn’t even here. I knew I should’ve just called you to apologize.”

Luke turns toward me fully. “I definitely appreciate it.”

“Seriously. I was horrible to you. For no reason. I’m so sorry I let Jared and my own stupid imagination make me doubt you. Like, I don’t even know what I can do to make up for that. And you were right about me taking the competition too far—it was for all the wrong reasons. I really don’t give a crap about what Hunter or Brynn think anymore.”

“I probably could’ve explained things better to you,” he says, and I feel sort of melty inside that he’s trying to make me feel less bad when really, yeah, this was all on me.

“Anyway, I’m glad we’re okay now because I’ve been holding onto this for a while,” he says, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He then opens our utensil drawer, reaching pretty far into it, then pulls something out with a triumphant smile on his face.

“For you, my lady,” he says with a bow. In his extended hand is a spatula—with rhinestones and red and green gemstones glued onto the handle.

“Oh my god, a real-deal bejeweled spatula!” I say, delight coursing through my whole body.

“Courtesy of my mom’s hot glue gun,” Luke says. “I wasn’t sure how to make a gold-plated pancake turner, unfortunately.”

“My birthday is in February,” I say. “I’d love—”

There’s a hissing sound as one of the pots starts to boil over and Luke reaches for the knob to turn down