Julie’s auburn hair hung over the flannel shirt she wore as she chopped the veg. As the cutting board filled up, she dumped the contents into a mixing bowl.
Pete bit his lip and reminded himself she had her own way of doing things. It would be fine. He decided to assume it would be delicious – all while cringing at the fact she was doing everything so wrong.
One wall of the kitchen was covered in pictures and posters – all of them photos of famous women. Roberta Bondar. Grace Jones. Melissa Etheridge. Michelle Yeoh. A few more Pete didn’t recognise or couldn’t name.
‘Ow!’ Julie’s cry was followed swiftly by a sharp thud. Pete spun round and found her sucking her left index finger and bouncing on the balls of her feet. A trail of blood ran down the front of her jeans and onto the linoleum. Max, her elderly German shepherd, had left his basket and was sniffing his mistress.
Bending down, Pete picked up the knife she’d dropped. The carrots should be grated, he thought – then cursed himself for not focusing on her pain. Once he’d set the knife in the sink, he held his hand out to her. ‘Let me see.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said. But her face told a different story. The knife wasn’t very sharp; the cut probably stung like a… like a … sting-y thing.
Pete raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that your official diagnosis, doctor?’
Julie smiled at him. Her new title was probably still a novelty. And it was certainly a novelty for Pete to be dating a doctor. At least, he thought this was a date. They had so much chemistry – everyone said so.
Her smile could light up a whole room. ‘Doctor Julie Martin says the patient has a partial thickness laceration of less than 5 cm. No stitches needed.’ She unravelled some paper towels and pressed a wad to her hand. ‘You all right to carry on with things while I clean myself up and put a bandage on this?’
He flinched. ‘Me?’
‘No, I was talking to Max.’ Julie stuck her tongue out. ‘Of course you, silly.’
‘But I’m a man!’ As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew. A little voice in his head told him not to be so stupid.
Julie’s eyes narrowed as she held the makeshift bandage to her finger. ‘So?’
‘I can’t cook.’ Nervous laughter was threatening to bubble up from inside him.
‘What?’ She fixed him with a stare that pierced deeper than any blade. ‘You think I can’t tell you’re sitting there, judging me? Your thoughts keep screaming at me because I don’t do things the same way you would—’
‘Baba,’ Pete said before he could stop himself. His mind flashed back to the day his father had caught her teaching a young Pete to cook.
‘What?’ When she raised her hand above her head, her flannel shirt fell open, revealing a k.d. lang T-shirt.
‘Babusya.’ Pete squeezed his temples between thumb and forefinger. ‘My grandmother. She…’ He swallowed. ‘She taught me to cook. When I was little, I mean. I haven’t done it in years. My dad, um…’
Something softened in Julie’s features. She could probably see how close he was to tears. Not that he’d have admitted it.
‘Oh, Pete. What are we going to do with you?’ She motioned at the chopping board. ‘Why don’t you get started with whatever you were going to do with the veggies while I take care of my wound? Then maybe you can show me how your grandmother would do things, eh?’
He nodded.
‘And make sure you give Max some carrots – they’re his favourite.’ Still holding her hand above her head, she kissed his cheek.
‘Kay.’ He picked up the grater and got to work. Max tried to catch the carrot stumps Pete tossed him, but the dog’s eyes weren’t very good. After a few failed attempts, he switched to handing them straight to Max.
While Pete was grating the veg, the sound of a key in the lock made him look up. Max ran from the room, wagging his tail. Well, as fast as his ancient bones would let him. He returned a few moments later with a woman in tow.
She was tall and had short wavy hair. With a nod, she said, ‘Hey. I’m Dani. You must be Julie’s friend. She mentioned you were coming over.’
‘I’m Pete.’ Unsure what else to do, he reached out to shake her hand. She had a firm grip.
Then she reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Clearly Canadian. She made a sort of cheers motion at him. ‘Sorry to be antisocial. I have to be at work at midnight, so I’m going to try and get some sleep.’
It occurred to Pete that he’d only seen a single bedroom door when he’d arrived.
