Staring at the saucepan, I wasn’t sure how I should exactly hold it.
Right now Blake was making me cook breakfast for him, or more specifically an omelette. I had two eggs in front of me, a spatula, a cook book and some spices. Reading the recipe for the 5th time, I was still really confused. Was it adding butter to the pan, or to the eggs? All it said was to add butter.
“Need some help there?” Blake asked with a hint of amusement laced through his voice. Shaking my head, my pride wouldn’t let me have Blake help me, after all, how hard was cooking an egg? Following the instructions, I tuned the heat onto 200 degrees, and waited for it to heat up. Hearing the pan start to sizzle, I frowned at how hot the heat the pan was radiating. Was it supposed to be that hot?
Blake didn’t seem to be affected, as he was reading the news on his tablet. When I woke up this morning, my bed seemed warm on the opposite side of where I was sleeping, and I could smell Blake’s scent. I didn’t bring it up when he entered my room to get me out of bed. I let him sleep in ‘our’ room, while I slept in a guest room a couple doors down, much to Blake’s displeasure.
The next instructions were to crack an egg, and pour it into the pan. So I did what it said; only when I was cracking it over the pan, I cracked the shell into millions of pieces by accident and it all fell onto the middle of the pan in a gloopy mess. I’m sure Blake wouldn’t mind a little bit of shell, right? Taking a deep breath, I stirred the egg and shell with the spatula, but for some reason it started to stick to the pan and half of it was turning black. So I put the other egg in it.
I managed to salvage half of the eggs shell this time, and again I stirred the egg, trying to make it into a pancake shape thingy. Looking over to my right, I saw the spices siting there, since the omelette was turning black I thought I should add something to make it taste better. Grabbing the pepper I quickly sprinkled a tablespoon full of the brown-black stuff into the egg, and started to stir again.
Okay, this was really confusing, looking back and forth between the picture on the recipe and my omelette, they looked nothing alike. I had put the ‘omelette’ onto a plate for Blake, and I was comparing it with the picture. The picture one looked perfect and a golden yellow with a lovely circle shape, whereas mine looked black and a pale yellow with huge brown chunks here and there, there was even a couple raw orange bits, and of course bits of the shell I accidentally dropped in. Not to mention it looked more like an ancient pyramid than a flat circle.
Taking a deep breath, I brought the plate to Blake, and placed it in front of him. When he didn’t look up from his tablet, I let out an annoyed cough, and watched as a grin formed across his mouth.
Until he saw my omelette.
He stared at it blankly for a few seconds, before his eyes met mine with a caution and horror.
“Uhh… Is that… Is that your omelette?” he chocked, a frightened expression taking over his face.
“Yes… what else would it be?” I asked slowly, what was he implying?
“Well, no problem, it’s just… it looks like shit- and the stoves on fire” he hastily uttered at the end when he saw my narrowed gaze. Then I smelt it; smoke. Spinning around I quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher from the cabinet Blake showed me, and I sprayed it on the burning pan. I guess I forgot to switch it off…
“You forgot to turn the stove off” he blatantly told me. No shit Sherlock, pans don’t catch fire from nothing.
“Did you figure that one out yourself bud?” rolling his eyes at me he ignored that comment. Seeming relatively calm for almost witnessing his kitchen burn up in flames, he stood up and walked towards the stove cautiously.
YOU ARE READING
Leera wasn't one to be messed with. She's feisty, sarcastic, holds a short temper and has a 'take no prisoners' attitude. Not only that but she has suffered an awful past with things she'd rather forget than relive. When her birthday comes and she's forced to have her blood take...