Whiskey and Scotch

Chapter 7

It was mid-afternoon by the time I had a chance to speak to Gary alone. He was in the kitchen, fixing himself a sandwich – or trying to, anyway.

"How does Bobby do this?" he mumbled to himself, staring at the mess in front of him.

"Need help?" I asked, putting my hand on the back of his arm as I surveyed the contents of the kitchen counter.

"How does Bobby make this look so easy? It's the same butter! He did it in, like, one swish."

"Swish?" I raised an eyebrow.

"You know," he waved his hand in front of him. "Swish! I've messed up half this loaf of bread, but I just want a sandwich!"

I laughed, moving to sit on one of the barstools. "Does it really matter what it looks like? It's all going to end up in the same place. I mean if it's really not working for you, you could just cut up everything into pieces and dump it all in a bowl. Make a sandwich salad."

He stared at me. "A what, now?"

I grinned. "Have you ever had a taco salad? All the taco ingredients, but in a salad. What's stopping you from doing the same thing with a sandwich? Half the ingredients are the same anyway, so it could work."

"Sandwich... salad." He looked thoughtful. "You know, Josie, that's a really weird idea and I feel like I should be absolutely disgusted, but now you've got me all intrigued."

To my amusement, he started chopping up the bread he had already mangled, then turned to grab a bowl from the cupboard.

"My nan usually makes my food for me," he said, dumping the bread into the bowl and picking up the knife again to chop the lettuce. "So I'm not very good in the kitchen."

"That's sweet of her."

"Yeah," he smiled. "That's her all over. Temper of thunder, heart of pure gold. Loves to make sure her family is looked after. I appreciate what she does for me, but maybe it's time for me to learn how to do some of this stuff for myself."

He finished chopping the sandwich toppings and put them in the bowl, then found a bottle of sub sauce in the fridge and squeezed some into the bowl. Grabbing a fork from the drawer, he mixed the contents together, then offered it to me to take a bite.

I declined the offer, and he put the first bite into his mouth.

"How is it?" I asked, watching as he chewed.

He swallowed. "Kinda tastes like a sandwich. But different."

"Success, then?"

"With my limited cooking skills, it'll have to do. So, recoupling," he changed the subject. "What are you thinking?"

"I was hoping you'd choose me."

The fork stopped midway to his mouth and he looked at me. "Seriously?"

"If you want to, that is."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Of course I want to. I hope I get the chance before someone else scoops you up."

"At least this time nobody can steal me after you've already picked me," I smirked.

He laughed. "Yeah, no need to worry about that this time."

"I don't think you'll have any problems tonight. I already know Noah won't pick me, and I'm going to tell Bobby I want a chance with you. I haven't been grafting on the other guys, so you should be fine."

"Good. I'm really looking forward to it, then. Oh, hey Bobby."

"Hey, guys!" Bobby walked into the kitchen holding a few empty water bottles. "My turn to get refills."