I walk up the the counter and instruct him to get the pasta as I fill the bowl with hot water. I set it on the stove and turn it on, waiting for it to heat up.
"Here you are." He hands me a package of spaghetti.
"It's Chef to you," I narrow my eyes at him jokingly.
He stands straighter. "Sí, Chef." He says seriously.
"Whatever the fuck that means, anywho.." I raise my eyebrows and look back at the water which is starting to bubble already.
"It's from an Italian cooking show, you know, Masterchef?" He says.
"Oh, yeah, I've heard of that." I nod, remembering I once attempted one of the dishes and almost waxed my eyebrow off with hot honey. Don't ask how, I have no idea.
"I've almost killed myself so many times in the kitchen..." I mutter. "I cut my finger once and had to get stitches, it was awful. I passed out because from all of the blood." I say, as we wait for the water to boil.
"You must have a passion for killing people." He mumbles, leaning his back against the counter and facing me as I stared at me water in hopes for it to boil a bit faster.
"You're the Italian one," I roll my eyes.
"You know, not all Italians are a part of the mafia." He says, in the corner of my eyes I can tell he's staring at me, but not in a mean way.
"I know, I was joking." I smile, turning towards him and instantly feeling paralyzed under his gaze.
"Do Italians learn about the mafia in school?" I ask, i've never really asked myself these questions but since I have someone who can answer me why not shoot all the questions I can think of.
"Yes. I learned about it in eighth grade, I think." He responds. I nod.
"Do you have a bluetooth speaker?" I ask, looking around me. What kind of cooking show is it without music?
"A bluetooth speaker? No, I do not." He presses his lips together.
"I'll have to get you one. They're life changing." I say.
The edge of his lip pulled up, but I looked back at the water once I heard it boiling.
"Ooh, it's ready!" I say. He undoes the spaghetti package and hands me the pasta. I hold it on each end and go to snap it in half when he makes a sort of sound I don't even have a name for.
"Ma che fai!? No, you can't break the pasta. That's practically illegal," He takes the pasta from my hands gently and puts one side in the bowl, making sure to not have it splash.
A few seconds later, the pasta in the water had lost its stiffness to he was able to fit the rest of it on there.
"Magic." I say.
"Indeed."
"What's your favorite italian curse word?" I ask.
"Hm...probably cazzo. It means fuck and dick at the same time. A two in one package." I throw my head back laughing at his statement.
"Mine is fuck." I chuckle.
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As we wait for the pasta to cook, we settled on a conversation about random shit, until the timer goes off and we both rush over to the pasta and check if it's ready.
We both take a spaghetti. He eats it without a problem, while I have to eat it as if I were breathing fire, which it felt like I was.
"Al dente." He comments. I'll pretend like I know what that means.
"Gordon Ramsay would call you a raw chicken nugget, right now." I murmur, nudging him with my shoulder.
"You're the chef, he would be calling you the raw chicken nugget." He nudges me back. I chuckle.
"A bit more." Considering its like eating a twig.
"Yep."
"Speaking of chicken nuggets, dino chicken nuggets are superior to regular ones." I say, jumping up on the counter.
"I agree." He presses his lips together and nods. I let out a small laugh.
"Did you go to college?" He asks. I shake my head.
"Couldn't afford it." I say.
"I understand." He nods.
"Did you?"
He shakes his head. "My father didn't let me."
"I understand," I use his same response.
"If I had the chance, I would've gotten into engineering." I say, thinking back to my past goals.
"Wow, what kind?"
"Electrical, probably. I used to mess with wires and stuff when I was younger and I've always preferred math and science to the other boloney, so yeah. I electrocuted myself a bunch of times."
"I could see you as an electrical engineer. I don't know what I would be, I haven't given it much thought." He says.
"You could be a lawyer, maybe. Or a mechanic. Are you good with cars and stuff?" I ask. He shrugs. "Can you change a tire?"
"Yeah," He responds.
"Then there you have it, a mechanic. Or maybe a business man. Something to do with finance. The pasta is probably over cooked..." I jump down from the counter and check the pasta again. This time it tastes right.
"Good?" He asks.
"Good." I respond.
I search his pantry as he drains the pasta.
"The red sauce is on the top left." He says, knowing already what I was looking for, the water rushing down the drain. I spot the red sauce but it's practically at double my height.
"Who puts red sauce on the highest shelf..." I grumble, putting my hands on my hips.
He walks over with a small smirk. He reaches up with ease and hands it to me.
"Me." He says.
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In the end, we manage to make a decent looking plate of pasta with red sauce, sugo as his weird ass called it.
"Teamwork!" I put my hand up and he gives me a high five.
"I have parmigiano, too." He turns around and opens a small cabinet, getting out a container or parmesan.
"Yes, yes, put the whole thing." I love parmesan cheese on pasta.
He puts some parmesan on the pasta, insisting that it is in fact enough, but when he turns around to grab two bowls, I sneak some more into it.
He makes 2 plates of pasta and hands me one, before pulling out two hidden stools from under the counter and sitting down.
"We both had our asses on this a second ago," I say, taking a bite of the pasta. I instantly crave more of it. It's easily the best pasta i've ever eaten.
"Well, I am practically Gordon Ramsay myself, yes." I brag, even though I did nothing but help cook the pasta.
"I'm going to have to come over and cook for you again, cause you never could've pulled this off on your own." I joke. He hums.
"You're absolutely right. I'm going to need your phone number for that to happen though, right?"
"Smooth, sir, smooth indeed."
We exchange phones and add each other's numbers. I save myself as Gordon Ramsay Jr💃💃 and see that he saved himself as 'Ezra' so I sneakily change it to Mr. Spaghetti🍝.
"Much better."
word count: 1225
★★★★★★★★★★
hola :) hope u enjoyed reading this chapter because if u didn't imma cry );
Anywho.
Have a great day/night/evening/morning!!
Stay safe <3
-S