Served with a Side of Trouble

Served with a Side of Trouble- Part Five

Luca looked up again, his expression still frustratingly professional though Julian caught a slight tightening of his jaw—a strong jaw, Julian noticed with annoying clarity, that complemented the clean lines of his face. "May I ask why?"

"Because they're in my way," Julian replied, the childishness of his response apparent even to himself. He flushed slightly but pressed on. "And I dislike clutter."

For a moment, Luca simply studied him, something assessing in his gaze that made Julian feel uncomfortably transparent. A loose strand of dark hair fell across his forehead as he tilted his head slightly, the gesture conveying consideration rather than submission. Then, with deliberate care, Luca began consolidating his preparations onto a rolling cart.

"Of course," he said, his tone still even despite the unreasonableness of Julian's demand. "I'll relocate to the prep area."

Julian watched, unsatisfied by this reasonable accommodation. He had hoped for resistance, for anger, for some emotional breach that would justify his own inexplicable irritation. Instead, Luca simply adapted, professional and composed in the face of deliberate provocation. Julian found himself tracking the controlled strength in Luca's movements, the graceful efficiency with which he reorganized his workspace.

"What exactly are you planning to prepare?" Luca asked, genuine curiosity apparently overriding his otherwise perfect professional distance. When he glanced up, Julian noticed flecks of amber in his dark eyes, visible only in the kitchen's direct lighting.

Julian hadn't actually planned this far ahead. He had no intention of cooking anything; the "personal project" was merely a pretext for disruption. Now, caught in his own fabrication, he glanced desperately around the kitchen for inspiration.

"Macarons," he said finally, spotting a container of almond flour on a high shelf. "French macarons."

Luca's eyebrows rose slightly, drawing Julian's attention to the way the expression changed his entire face, making him appear younger and less guarded. "Ambitious. They're technically challenging."

"For amateur bakers, perhaps," Julian replied with false confidence. He'd never made macarons in his life, but acknowledging that now was unthinkable. "I find them quite straightforward."

"Of course," Luca agreed, though something in his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, bringing that distinctive eyetooth briefly into view. "You'll need a kitchen scale for precise measurements. The ratios are critical."

Julian hadn't considered this practical obstacle. He had no idea how to make macarons, much less the specific equipment required. But admitting defeat now would be mortifying.

"I know that," he snapped, moving to the equipment cabinet with false confidence. He stared at the organized shelves, having no idea which item was a kitchen scale.

"Third shelf, left side," Luca said without looking up from where he was arranging his relocated mise en place. His profile was sharp in concentration, a bead of perspiration tracing the line of his temple in the warm kitchen air. "The small stainless steel one with the digital display."

Julian retrieved the scale, irritated both at needing help and at how Luca had offered it without judgment or mockery. "I was getting to that," he muttered.

"Of course," Luca agreed neutrally. "The almond flour should be sifted twice for best results. Sieve is in the drawer below the spice rack."

"I don't recall asking for a tutorial," Julian said stiffly, though he immediately moved to the indicated drawer.

Over the next twenty minutes, Julian found himself engaged in increasingly desperate improvisation. He had committed to making macarons, a notoriously difficult pastry, with no recipe and no experience. Pride prevented him from admitting the truth, while practical reality made failure inevitable.