insane // chris schistad

fourteen

[clumsy cooking and a challenge]

chapter thirteen continued...

Tuesday 5:14 pm

Chris pulled out two expensive looking wine glass and grabbed a bottle of red wine. He began pouring the deep red liquid into my cup, letting it fill when I only wanted a little. I signaled at him to stop pouring, and he pulled the bottle away to his glass.

I picked up my glass that contained more wine than I wanted and took a sip. Chris had filled his up almost all the way. I shook my head at him, and he grinned back at me. He held his glass towards me and I clinked my glass with his.

"What do you wanna do for dinner?" He asked me, sprawling out on the couch with Milo in his lap.

"I'm not staying for dinner." I frowned at him, taking another sip of my wine.

"Don't act like you don't want to have dinner with me you liar." Chris stared at me, with a funny look on his face that I was turning him down once again.

"Who actually wants to have dinner with you?" I teased him, when I sure as hell was ready to sit here and have dinner.

I wasn't heartless enough to turn down food.

"Just one meal. I won't pull anything on you. I mean I can't guarantee that after 3 glasses of wine, but still just stay." He was almost pleading to me with his soft brown eyes.

"Dinner better not disappoint me Schistad." I raised an eyebrow at him, following him as he got up from the couch.

"My cooking is just as good as my kisses." He made the cheesiest comment to me, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Wow way to make your cooking skill sound so unappetizing." I made an over exaggerated face of disgust and set down my glass on the kitchen table.

His kitchen was absolutely massive. The counters had extravagant slabs of marble on top of them. The dark grey wood floors complimented the black cabinets. His place was breath taking and I was scared that my clumsy self was going to break something.

I sat on the barstool on the other side of island in the middle of the kitchen, and he was on the opposite side looking through a fancy cook book. Inside were some complicated French dishes, that I wasn't sure we were capable of making.

"Why don't we just do some chicken in tomato sauce?" I suggested, and he nodded with a silly smile on his face.

Chris went to the pantry, pulling out a tomato basil pasta sauce, some uncooked bowtie pasta, and then some raw chicken from the fridge. He set it all down on the big island, and I began rummaging through the pantry for some basic spices to use as seasoning for the chicken before it wad grilled. He had placed the pasta in a pot full of water to cook, and then set a skillet on the stove for the chicken.

"You've cooked before, right?" Chris asked me, inspecting my choice of seasonings for the chicken and I found that slightly insulting that he was questioning me.

"I'm the best cook out there." I spoke highly of myself, thinking I was a fairly decent cook.

"Mhm sure." He shot down my claim, purposely acting as if he was better than I was.

"This is gonna be the best thing you have tasted in your life Christoffer Schistad." I challenged him.

"That's funny. I didn't realize we were going that far tonight." He gave me a small wink, and my jaw dropped.