Idiots to Lovers (bxb)

42 | This is why you should never preheat the oven

"I know." I grinned. "I think it's the first time I've actually heard you say it in the past four months we've been dating."

He spluttered, "I'm sure I have before."

"Uhuh." I leaned back on my elbows, tapping on his phone to light up the screen. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yeah I had breakfast."

"It's past lunchtime." I lifted the phone, showing the time displayed. "I'll make something. What do you want?"

"Umm...cornflakes?"

"For lunch? Why?"

"Because I don't want my house to burn down."

"I think I can manage cooking a meal!" I huffed, getting to my feet. "I'll make you something nice." I prodded him back as he tried to scramble up. "Stay here."

Shutting the door behind me, I made my way to the kitchen. The fridge was packed with vegetables, which I admittedly didn't know how to cook, and a quick look through the cupboards revealed various spices which I also didn't know how to use. When I promised to cook I was sort of under the impression that there would be a box of preprepared mac n' cheese that I could throw in a pot.

I opened the big freezer; there were three drawers. The first one held a single tub of cookie dough ice cream. The next was packed with meat, but I had never tried cooking that before. I feared Clementine wouldn't forgive me so easily if I ended up giving him salmonella. I opened the third drawer.

"Bingo!" I pulled out a box of frozen pizza, apparently the only food in this house which I didn't have to make from scratch.

I tore open the box, not bothering to peel off the small tape. I usually wouldn't have preheated the oven but Clementine always insists it makes food taste better, and I wanted to make him a nice pizza—especially after what he had insinuated about my cooking skills. So I turned it on.

That was my first mistake.

I tore through the rest of the packaging while waiting for it to preheat, but belatedly realized that I had torn through the bit where it showed the cook time and the oven settings. I tried to piece it together but the paper was too damp with condensation. I reasoned that, perhaps, a pizza is not too different to a cupcake. Heat is just heat anyway. In my opinion, oven manufacturers only add different settings so that all the buttons make it look fancy.

I opened the oven and a gust of hot air blew out at me. I winced, remembering I can't just throw in the pizza barehanded like how I usually do. That was close.

I couldn't find an oven mitt anywhere so I wrapped a few paper towels around my hand. Just in case my knuckles touch the side of the oven or something—safety first and all that. I picked up the pizza and went to place it on the oven tray, but the instant my hands entered, the paper towels caught on fire.

"HOLY FU—"

I dropped the blazing tissue on the pizza and slammed shut the oven door. My hands rushed to turn off all the knobs. Panicked, I yanked out the plug. Slowly, the fire in the oven started dissipating, and then it fizzled out.

I clutched onto the counter, heart hammering in my throat. The kitchen is fine, the kitchen is fine, I chanted to myself, there was a fire but it was very, VERY small. And contained.

When I had calmed down enough, I peeked into the oven. Slowly, I opened it, pulling out the now cooled down tray. The pizza was burnt on one side and frozen on the other. The burnt side had that charred tissue stuck on it, completely blackened along with the crust. The frozen side was...perhaps still salvageable. But there was no way in hell I was going to fall again to the mercy of that oven.

I swallowed my pride and poured out a bowl of cornflakes.