Chapter 55: He can actually cook

Chapter 55: Chapter 55: He can actually cook

The evening had settled into something unremarkable by the time Garrett found himself on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through nothing in particular.

The flat sat ready behind him, kitchen prepped, ingredients waiting where he’d left them earlier. He wasn’t thinking about any of it particularly. It was just there, the way things were when you’d already done what needed doing and had nothing left to do but wait.

He checked the time once, mostly out of habit, then went back to whatever he’d been reading before he’d bothered looking. He didn’t check again. Not counting down. Just aware.

Knock! Knock!

Two solid raps against the door.

Garrett glanced at the time, confirming what he already suspected, and got up without any particular urgency.

He opened the door to find Freya standing there, hair slightly windblown from outside, a small bag slung over one shoulder.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He stepped back, letting her in. "Made it."

"Obviously." She stepped past him, already glancing around as she did, and it only took her a few seconds to notice.

"Okay, wait." She turned back toward him, one eyebrow raised. "Did you clean?"

"I live here."

"That’s not an answer." She gestured vaguely at the room, the counter cleared of the usual clutter, the jacket that normally lived draped over a chair now nowhere in sight. "This is suspiciously tidy for someone who claims he wasn’t planning anything special."

"I wasn’t."

"Uh huh." She clearly didn’t buy it, though she let the point drop, a small, satisfied smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth as she moved further into the apartment.

Her attention drifted toward the kitchen next, and this time she actually stopped walking.

The counter had the ingredients laid out, chicken, potatoes, the vegetables he’d picked through earlier, everything organized rather than shoved haphazardly into the fridge and forgotten about until the last minute.

Freya looked at it for a moment, then back at him, something in her expression shifting from teasing to genuinely pleased. "You actually planned this out."

"Said I would."

"I mean, sure, but I had expected you to throw something together at the last second and hope for the best."

"Would’ve been a waste of a good bet if I lost on principle alone."

That got a laugh out of her, easy and unguarded. "Fair enough."

Garrett nodded toward the kitchen. "We can get started whenever you’re ready."

"Oh, I’m ready." Freya set her bag down on the sofa, rolling her sleeves up slightly as she followed him in, clearly settling into the role of judge for the evening. "Let’s see if you can actually back this up."

Garrett rolled his sleeves up and got to work, starting with the potatoes, cutting them into even wedges before tossing them with oil, salt, and a scattering of herbs.

Freya hopped up onto the counter nearby, watching with the particular attentiveness of someone waiting for a mistake to happen. "So this is where you either prove yourself or embarrass yourself."

"Hehe...Encouraging."

"I’m just setting expectations."

He slid the tray into the oven, setting the timer without needing to check anything twice, and moved on to the chicken while the potatoes started their first stretch of roasting.

"How long have you actually been cooking?" Freya asked, tilting her head slightly as she watched him season the chicken, working the mixture in with his hands rather than measuring anything out precisely.

"A while. Had to learn eventually."

"That’s vague."

"It’s accurate."

She huffed out a small laugh, swinging her legs slightly where she sat. "You’re deflecting."

"I’m cooking." He glanced at her, something dry in it. "Multitasking is hard."

Freya rolled her eyes, though the amusement stayed clear on her face. She kept watching as he moved through it, heating the pan, adding butter, letting it melt before laying the chicken in with a satisfying sear that filled the kitchen with sound and, a moment later, with smell.

"Okay, that actually smells really good," she admitted, leaning slightly to get a better look. "I was fully prepared to be unimpressed."

"Low bar. Appreciate the confidence."

"Hey, you set the bar yourself. Blame past you."

He worked through the chicken methodically, flipping it at the right moment, not the moment Freya guessed out loud when she leaned forward and said "now, do it now" like she was coaching him through it. He waited another few seconds, then flipped it, the other side already golden from the sear.

"See, that’s exactly what I would’ve done," she said.

"You said now three seconds too early."

"Details."

Garlic went in next, minced fine, added to the butter already pooling in the pan, and the smell shifted immediately, sharper, richer, filling the kitchen in a way that made Freya visibly sit up a little straighter on the counter.

"Okay, that smell alone might be enough to win the bet," she said. "I’m just saying."

"Taste still counts."

"I know, I know. I’m managing my expectations properly this time."

He added the cream next, letting it come together slowly with the garlic and butter, stirring with the kind of unhurried attention that came from actually knowing what he was doing rather than following a recipe step by nervous step. Freya watched closely, her earlier skepticism clearly fading the longer she sat there.

"You’re not even looking at a recipe," she said eventually, like the realization had just properly landed.

"Don’t need one for this."

"That’s..." She paused, seeming to genuinely reconsider something. "Okay, I’ll admit it. I expected you to be lying about the whole cooking thing. Like, confidently lying."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I’m serious. I thought this was going to be a disaster I’d get to make fun of you for."

"Sounds like a you problem."

She threw a balled-up napkin at him from the counter, which he caught without looking, setting it aside without breaking stride on the sauce.

The oven timer went off for the potatoes, and Garrett checked them, satisfied with the color, sliding them back in for a few more minutes while he moved on to the vegetables. He kept the green beans for last, quick in the pan with a little butter and garlic, timed so they’d finish bright and crisp rather than sitting around going soft and forgotten.

Freya hopped down from the counter at some point, drifting closer to actually watch the last stretch of it, the potatoes coming out golden, the chicken finished and resting, the sauce reduced down to something thick and glossy.

"Okay," she said, quieter now, something genuinely impressed in her tone. "You actually know what you’re doing."

"Told you."

"You told me you could make an omelet. This is a lot more than an omelet."

"Wanted to leave room to impress you."

Freya glanced at him, catching the dry humor in it, shaking her head slightly with a small smile she didn’t bother hiding this time.

Garrett plated everything methodically, chicken first, potatoes arranged beside it, the green beans finishing it off, sauce spooned generously over the top.

He set the plate down in front of her.

"There," he said. "Be the judge."