Woso imagines

Alexia < cooking

The kitchen was warm, filled with the soft clinking of dishes and the mouthwatering aroma of Alexia's cooking. She stood at the stove, stirring a rich tomato sauce that bubbled away in the pot. You were right behind her, chin hooked over her shoulder, watching her with quiet admiration. Cooking together was a bit of a misnomer—if anything, you were here as the enthusiastic assistant while she worked her magic. Alexia liked it this way; it meant you stayed close, but she could keep an eye on the meal.

You'd never been much of a cook—somehow, boiling water alone felt like a test of patience. But Alexia loved to cook, and whenever she was at the stove, she was totally in her element, her focus locked on her movements, adding pinches of spices and stirring sauces with care. You adored watching her like this. There was something incredibly charming about seeing the same hands that led her team with strength now crafting a delicious meal with such patience and precision.

"Tomate," she said, holding up the fresh tomatoes she was dicing for the salad, looking over her shoulder at you with a proud little smile.

You grinned back at her. "Tomato," you said, your voice soft with encouragement as you leaned closer. "In English, we call it tomato."

"Tomato," she repeated, her Spanish accent thick as the vowels stretched. She looked at you, and a faint blush dusted her cheeks. "Tom-ah-to?"

You laughed gently, nodding. "Perfect! Just like that."

She smiled, her eyes gleaming with pride as she added the diced tomatoes to the bowl. "You help me learn," she said, her English choppy but sweet, and her brow furrowed as she searched for the right words. "I like... when you teach me."

Your heart warmed as you watched her focus, her hands pausing over the vegetables as she tried to piece together the next phrase. Alexia's English was limited, and while she could understand more than she could speak, she had this adorable tendency to get frustrated with herself whenever she stumbled. But you couldn't help but find it endearing, especially since she was so determined to get better at it—both for you and for herself.

"Tell me more," you prompted, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "What's next in Spanish?"

She glanced down at the counter, eyeing the onions next. "Cebolla," she said slowly, holding it up with a bit of a grin as if waiting for your English answer.

"Onion," you said, your breath tickling her ear as you stayed close.

"On-yawn?" she attempted, her brow wrinkling in concentration as she tested out the English word, syllable by syllable.

"Almost," you said, unable to keep the smile out of your voice. "On-yun. But close enough."

She rolled her eyes playfully, nudging you with her elbow. "Close... close enough," she repeated, a small laugh slipping from her lips as she chopped the onion with ease. Her laughter was contagious, and soon you found yourself chuckling alongside her.

"Can I help with anything?" you asked, although both of you knew that you weren't exactly equipped to handle anything involving knives or heat.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking over you with a teasing glint. "Mmm," she said, tapping a finger against her chin as if deep in thought. "You... help me stir?"

"Stirring?" you asked with mock indignation. "I can handle stirring."

She handed you a wooden spoon, guiding your hand as she showed you how to stir the sauce, her voice soft and warm as she murmured instructions in Spanish. You tried your best to mimic her movements, but you were far more focused on the feel of her close, her hands wrapped over yours, her voice gently correcting you whenever you stirred a bit too vigorously.