Sophia

Chapter 5: Dinner

"Do we add this before or after it's been cooked?" Gabe scratched the back of his head as he studied the ingredients that Luke had set out for him. Apparently it was Gabe's turn to fix dinner, and Luke didn't want him to ruin it.

Peering over his shoulder from where I sat at the bar, I studied the recipe. "I don't think it would be much of a soup if you didn't add the broth first..." I trailed off, looking over each of the ingredients with him.

"This is fucking shit, that's what this is." His voice was soft, like he was muttering to himself, before he turned to look at me. "Do you know how to cook?" I blinked, staring into his crystal blue eyes.

"Me?" My voice came out a squeak and I looked around the room. Maybe he'd been speaking to someone else that had come in while I hadn't been paying attention.

"Yes, you," he grumbled, going back to looking at the ingredients.

"Um," I paused, twirling a strand of hair around my finger as I thought about how to answer that. "Not so much."

"Shit. I'm fucked." Gabe pushed his fingers through his hair, making the blond strands mix with the russet.

"Do you have to make this? I mean, it's your turn to cook. Shouldn't they accept anything you make?" It didn't make sense that they would be this specific about the menu.

Gabe's cheeks turned a bit pink as he muttered, "Last time I made dinner, it turned out so horribly that I ended up getting Chinese."

"That still doesn't explain why you need to fix this exact meal..." I trailed off, looking at everything laid out on the counter. We still had a couple of hours left until dinner time, but maybe that's how long it took to make chicken noodle soup. At least the French bread was store bought, so there'd be no baking it from scratch.

A note on the counter listed the other items we needed, so I moved over to the fridge to start searching as he replied, "North likes to make sure that meals are planned out, because he's afraid that Tr- er, Sang won't have a well-balanced meal without his input. It's easier to just give in than to make something else and listen to him bitch about it for the rest of the week."

I giggled, searching one of the drawer compartments. "There's leftover chicken in here, along with onions, carrots, celery..." He named off a couple more items that were listed on the paper next to the ingredients and I found those as well.

"I still have no idea what the fuck to do with all this shit, though." He turned all the items so that their labels were facing him and they all stood in a straight line.

"Can you look online for a recipe? Maybe that would help?" I suggested.

"Fuck, that's a good idea." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped something into the screen.

I felt bad for Gabe, seeing as how he wasn't that great at cooking and he'd been left in charge of dinner, so I stayed to help him.

"Is this boiling? Fuck, this is boiling, right?" Gabe's panicked voice spoke up after a long period of silence.

A glance over my shoulder told me that the pot of broth was bubbling over the edge of the pot. "Uh... yes? I think that classifies as boiling. Maybe I should get someone who actually knows what they're doing."

"No. We fucking got this shit-" he muttered to himself for a moment before adding, "Besides, I don't want to hear the guys saying they told me so. It happens nearly every time I have kitchen duty." He stirred the broth, dumping ingredients into the pot while I chopped the onions up. I had no idea if I was doing it right, but it looked good to me. I tossed the onions into the pot as he sprinkled added some seasoning.