Sip of Assistance

Chapter 25

Chapter 25
 

“Ugh, this one’s terrible,” I groaned, tossing the script I’d been perusing into the box legibly labeled ‘F**k no!’

James glanced over at my annoyed face and laughed. He set the script he’d been reading in his lap. “We’ve been going at this for days, and since you look like you’re gonna slit your wrists, let’s take a break, shall we?”

I nodded vigorously, “Yes, please!”

“You hungry? Cause I’m starving,” he threw his head back, rubbing his stomach. The look on his face made me smile.

“I could eat.”

He hopped up and I followed him to the kitchen, watching him survey the contents of the fridge. As he bent over to pull something out I caught myself checking out his ass in his stylishly faded jeans. He stood up arms full and I looked away not wanting him to notice my ogling.

He set everything on the counter and began grabbing other items out of the cupboards. I took in his white long sleeved button-up, cringing at the image flashing in my head of what it would look like after he was done making dinner; it would inevitably be covered in whatever sauce or seasonings he worked with. Generally a cleanly person, in the kitchen James worked sloppily without measurements or restraint. I couldn’t complain though, because his concoctions always came out tasting delicious.

He took off his watch setting it in the window above the sink, and began rolling up his sleeves, stopping just below the elbow. I watched his forearms flex slightly as he moved, my body growing warm before I caught and scolded myself at the sheer ridiculousness of getting hot and bothered by someone’s forearms, especially his.

I needed to stay busy. “Can I help?” I asked, sure he would say no but hoping anyway. He turned around to face me, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. An amused smirk and annoyingly glittery eyes were mocking me. He stifled a laugh and cleared his throat.

“You mean with cooking? Actual edible food? Or did you want to eat cucumber and lemon again?” He was struggling to keep a straight face.

Ever since Halloween we’d been spending a lot of non-working time together. Things had been slow as we awaited the holidays and the filming if his show’s next season.

Despite all my worry about how he would react, he had surprised me by being understanding and not at all judgmental. Ever since the morning we’d talked we’d grown closer; he started going out of his way to do nice things for me and I started feeling like a useless charity case. That hadn’t been his intention –at least I didn’t think so- but it still felt like he had been doing too much for me so I decided to make him dinner as a thank you for everything and to cosmically balance out our working relationship… At least, that was the plan.

Somehow I’d mixed up the oven temperature and severely overcooked the chicken. When I tried to put some salt on the veggies, the top came off and they were ruined. It was a disaster and the kitchen smelled a little smoky for a couple days. Ever since then he wouldn’t let me cook a thing.

“One time and I’m labeled for life! That is so not fair!” I complained.

His face got serious, “Look Holls, at some point we all have to admit our shortcomings. You don’t know how to work a stove or a salt shaker and I am apparently terrible at drinking games.” He smiled at me, waiting for my rebuttal.

I spoke without thinking, “I’ll have you know I cooked seventy-five percent of Jon’s meals the entire time I worked for him…” I quieted realizing my slip. We hadn’t talked about Jon since that night, not because it wasn’t on my mind, but because for some reason the subject felt taboo.