“You never learned to cook?”
Miguel's judgy tone speaks from behind you as he reaches for his mug.
His condescending tone makes you bristle, your body instinctively moving slightly to the side to not bump into him as you huff quietly.
You keep your grip on the pan's handle as you attempt to flip over the set of empanadas you had made for yourself. It was supposed to be something easy, especially with the long tongs you bought. But as you try to flip them without burning yourself, tiny bits of oil start to splash, causing you to swiftly lower the flame and step back from the stove.
You narrow your eyes at the pan, crossing your arms with tongs still in hand.
Alright, so cooking wasn’t your strong suit, especially when it came to frying. You got stuck on the fear of potentially getting burned, rather than simply focusing on making the damn food.
It was all too frustrating.
Miguel’s comment certainly didn’t help, and his standing by the table counter only a few feet away, casually sipping his coffee with a smug smirk, only irritated you more.
You knew staying with him was a bad idea. But when word got out that you were initially planning to stay over at a 'friend' as your apartment got fixed, he had personally extended an invitation to his living arrangements.
And now, a month and a half has passed, and your apartment is still far from ready. What started as a simple plumbing issue soon turned into an expired gas meter, faulty wiring, and eventually an upright renovation process.
You found the new arising problems for your apartment strange, but you brushed them off. After all, it was Nueva York, and a standard living space was bound to have its fair share of issues.
Swallowing your pride, you glance at Miguel, meeting his amused gaze.
“If you’re not going to help, I don’t want to hear it,” you roll your eyes, frowning as you stare at the empanadas simmering in oil.
You take a deep breath as you approach the stove again, adjusting the flame and carefully sliding the tongs beneath a crispy empanada, successfully flipping it over without oil splattering this time.
You smile proudly, turning up the stove again before yelping once the oil splatters again.
At this, Miguel erupts in laughter, his hand clutching his stomach as he tries to avoid your prominent glare.
You grit your teeth, throwing your hands up in annoyance before sliding the tongs over to him. "I give up, you do it," you grumble, beginning to head out of the kitchen only to be pulled back abruptly.
"Hey-!"
Miguel raises an eyebrow, wearing that same infuriating smirk once more. "Cooking's all about practice," he quips, dragging you back to the stove. "You just need a few pointers."
"What I need is to avoid it all together."
He rolls his eyes, grabbing the tongs from the counter and handing them to you. He then leans against the counter, arms folding across his chest. "First things first, control the heat," he advises, pointing at the stove. "Medium-low is usually a safe bet for frying. And don't overcrowd the pan; you want each empanada to have space."
You huff quietly, shooting him a side look. Miguel only gives you a deadpan stare, directing his gaze to the pan.
"Fine," you concede, rolling your eyes.
Begrudgingly, you follow his advice, adjusting the heat as he suggested and carefully spacing the empanadas in the pan. They start sizzling gently without any oil splatters.
Miguel nods approvingly. "See? Now keep an eye on them, flip them when they're ready, and you'll be fine." He hums, turning to leave.
You glance at him, surprised by how quickly you stop him. "Wait!"
He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden change of tone. "Yes?"
You hesitate for a moment. "Would you... care to join me for breakfast?" You gesture to the pan.
Miguel chuckles softly, shoulders shrugging. "Why not," He pulls out another cup and two plates, placing them on the counter for the two of you.
You find yourself smiling, turning the remaining food over before, finally, turning off the stove. Bringing the pan over, you carefully slide three empanadas onto each plate.
You take a seat, taking a sip from your mug and sighing content when you realize it was hot chocolate and not coffee he had served you.
Setting your cup down, you look at him expectantly. "Well?" You nod your head to the empanadas.
He rolls his eyes, picking up one of the empanadas and taking a careful bite. His expression changes from one of amusement to genuine surprise as he chews.
"You didn't manage to burn them or drown them in oil after all," he chuckles as you also try one.
You grin happily once you see he's telling the truth; They do taste good.
"Just so you know, I'm not doing this again," you shake your head as you chew hungrily. "Not unless there's a kitchen appliance."
"I think you'll change your mind once you get the hang of it," Miguel teases, taking another bite. "Cooking can be quite satisfying, you know."
You roll your eyes playfully. "We'll see about that."
You then look at the clock, gasping and rushing to your room. "I'm running late! I'll see you at the lab!"
With you out of sight, Miguel smiles, a warmth in his eyes that he didn't allow you to see.
The next morning, when you wake up to prepare yourself something, you see a light blue appliance on the counter with a note on it.
Here's an air fryer. Can't screw this up.
-- Miguel.
You can't help the laugh you let out as you read Miguel's note. You can't help but feel that staying at Miguel's place might not have been such a bad idea after all.