Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [51]
“It was,” Adam agreed. Something in his voice made Miranda leave off checking out the cabinetry and take a closer look at him.
He saw her looking and quirked a half-smile. Shrugging his shoulders as if to rid himself of an unwanted burden, he said, “I grew up here. This is my parents’ house. Or it was, before they moved down to Florida.”
Miranda wasn’t sure how to respond. He obviously wasn’t thrilled about the situation, but he must’ve had his reasons for renting out the top floor.
“It’s fine,” he said. “And anyway, it’s not a permanent situation. Once the restaurant gets going, I’ll get my house back. And until then, I’m not here all that much anyway. In fact, I think this may be the longest I’ve spent here awake in the past five days.”
Miranda bit her lip. He was renting out his home to help finance the restaurant. She thought of all the terrible things Robin Meeks had told her the night before, and started to feel a niggle of sympathy for Adam. Starting a new business was extremely expensive. Maybe he’d hired those cooks because he couldn’t pay well-trained employees with no arrest records. Maybe ex-cons and thrill junkies were all he could afford.
Which works out great for me, she reminded herself. Without those colorful characters, my kitchen exposé would be pretty tame.
Adam crouched and started searching through the lower cabinets, rattling pots and pans loudly enough to jar Miranda from her thoughts.
With a triumphant exclamation, he wrestled out a large stockpot and carried it to the sink. He flicked on the water and let it fill the pot about halfway, then heaved the pot over to the stovetop.
“Hard-boiled eggs?” Miranda guessed. “I hate to tell you this, but I was in charge of the Easter egg hunt at my church, growing up. I know how to boil an egg.”
“Sure, but can you poach one?” Adam asked. “One of the simplest preparations known to man, but there’s a whole boatload of shit that can go wrong with it.”
“Okay, you’ve got me. I’ve never poached an egg.”
“You will today,” Adam stated, cranking the heat up all the way on the burner under the pot.
“Should I put the eggs in the refrigerator?” Miranda asked.
“Nah, leave them. They’re perfect for cooking at room temp. If they’re chilled, it takes them longer to catch up to the rest of the ingredients. And for boiling or poaching or anything involving water? Forget about it.”
“Then I guess I’ve already learned something.”
“Let’s see how far we still have to go. How would you get a poached egg?”
She frowned over at him to see if he was kidding. “The truth? I’d order it at a restaurant, usually as part of eggs Benedict.”
He laughed. “That’s what I thought. But you can have poached eggs right in the comfort of your own home, as long as you have heat, water, and a pan.”
“And eggs,” she couldn’t resist saying.
Adam inclined his head gravely. “Correct. Gee, you’re a fast learner. Okay, are you watching the water?”
“I thought a watched pot never boiled.”
“All right, that’s about enough out of you.” Adam brandished a wooden spoon he’d retrieved from a drawer, and Miranda found herself actually giggling.
She struggled to pull a straight face, and Adam cocked his head, watching. “You always do that,” he said. “Stop yourself from having fun, like it’s not allowed or something.”
A chill skated over her skin. “I’m allowed,” she said, trying not to sound as defensive as she felt. “But I’m on the clock, here. Sort of. I’m only here because of the book, and I have to keep it in mind at all times.”
Adam’s dark brown eyes watched her, the set of his mouth thoughtful. “Why is this book so important to you?”
An image of Jess, happy and successful at NYU on the money from this book sale, popped into her head, but Miranda only said, “It’s my career, Adam. Isn’t yours just as important to you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s cooking. That’s food. What’s a book? Entertainment? Food can be that, too, but food is also life. It’s who we are. People say ‘You are what you eat’ all the time, but that’s not really how the saying goes. It’s not