Taste of Iron

Twenty Five: Yummy

Twenty Five: Yummy

"I like it."

"Um."

"I like it too."

"Uh..."

"I think it suits you," Emil nodded, as all four of them surrounded Taylor. The man was looking at himself in the full sized mirror, running his hands through his strands with his lips pressed in a thin line as if he was debating how he felt about his freshly dyed hair.

"It looks like cotton candy," Taylor muttered.

"Se ve sabroso," Esteban whispered.

Once again, Ava, Atlas, and Emil stared blankly at the man, whereas Taylor simply looked confused, but didn't bother asking anybody for a translation. He was too distracted by the pink.

"So, do you like it?" Atlas questioned. Taylor stayed silent for a few seconds, before slowly nodding and then breaking into a huge smile.

"Yes," Taylor stated. "Thank you, Atlas. I owe you one."

"There's no need for tha—"

"No," Taylor cut him off, keeping a hand on the chef's shoulder as he looked at him straight in his eyes and spoke in a very intense tone. "If you ever need something, you let me know, okay?"

"O...Kay," Atlas blinked. Taylor seemed like he would assassinate someone if Atlas asked, and the man really didn't want to test out that theory.

The three of them didn't stay long after that. Atlas could swear that he saw Emil exhale in relief once they were gone, and the smile he gave the executive chef after closing the door was almost blindingly bright.

"Now that we're finally alone..." Emil paused, walking towards the blue-haired man slowly. Atlas gulped, but did not move from his spot until the gangster was just a few inches away. Emil smirked, tapping Atlas's nose. "Let's get this show on the road, yeah? I'm going to make you the best dinner of your life. You're going to make me the face of your future cookbook."

"Right," Atlas narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded nonetheless as Emil motioned to follow him.

Atlas felt his heart skip a beat the moment he stepped into Emil's kitchen. It was spotless, with top of the line equipment, some stuff even better than the machinery they had back at the restaurant, which was saying something. In fact, the place was so goddamn clean and organized that Atlas wondered if Emil had ever cooked in there before.

Atlas watched as Emil got the vegetables out of the refrigerator and began sorting the ingredients. He kept looking at a sheet of paper on the counter, which was no doubt a recipe that he was trying to follow. Emil began chopping, and the other man couldn't help but sigh at the speed.

"Do you want me to—"

"Nope."

"But I can—"

"I said no, Atlas," Emil stated. "You're not touching a single thing, okay? Let me do all the work tonight. You just sit back and relax. Want some wine? I've got red, white, rosé...whatever you want."

"Fine. White please," Atlas grumbled, not very happy with it. The chef inside him that loved to feed people was itching to come out, shove Emil aside, and take over. But he kept that side at bay as he watched the crime boss cook and drank the grown up juice that Emil poured him.

At first, Atlas's focus was on the ingredients and what Emil was doing with them, but soon, his gaze shifted to the man himself.

Atlas's throat felt dry, and he had to gulp down the entire glass as he was unable to take his eyes off of the gangster. This was his first time seeing Emil in a casual t-shirt and jeans, that combined with an apron and the ultra focused expression on his face as he cooked... it was hot.