Anne's POV
He took the faucet from me and eased it back into place, then stepped back, assessing the damage, or so I thought, until I realized he was looking at me instead.
"Are you okay, Anne?"
I nodded vigorously. “I’m so sorry.”
This was the part where the ground was supposed to open and swallow me whole. What the heck did I just do? On my very first visit.
"It's fine, Anne.” He reached toward my hair, then stopped himself. "You're soaked. I'll go get you a towel."
I nodded again, imagining how I would feel if he actually touched my hair.
"What happened here?" Andrew stood in the doorway, brows furrowed, his gaze moving from the wet counter to me and then to Vincent. “Are you okay, Anny?”
I nodded.
"Get her a tee shirt, Drew." Vincent said and left.
"Sure." Andrew followed.
I stood there, alone, drenched, staring at the mess I'd made.
Pam would've sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. Jane would have yelled at me. Yet here I was, with two guys who were completely unfazed by my clumsiness.
"I should've just asked," I muttered, smacking my forehead and immediately grimacing when it hurt. I spotted a towel hanging from a cabinet handle and grabbed it, quickly wiping the counter down.
Just as I finished, Vincent walked in, holding a huge, fluffy white towel.
"Don't worry about that, Anne. You should dry up first."
"Already done." I smiled sheepishly.
He smiled back, then tossed the towel over my head, covering my face completely. I giggled like a little girl.
“Really, I feel bad.”
“Andrew has done worse. I may have done way worse, you can't imagine,” he said, grinning.
Vincent and I hadn't spoken properly since that night we cleared the air, yet here we were, acting like we'd been talking all along.
"Anny dear, it's as if I had you in mind when I bought this." Andrew walked in, holding up an oversized shirt with an anime character across the front.
I slit my eyes at him, making him laugh. I knew he was messing with me.
He reached behind his back and produced a smaller, plain white tee, then led me to the guest toilet. I changed quickly, came out, and went back to the kitchen to find Vincent already mopping the floor.
"Let me help. It was my fault."
"Nah, don't want you exerting energy you'd use for cooking."
Oh yeah! The food.
I went straight to the sink and paused in front of it.
"Can you…"
He was beside me before I could finish.
"You switch this one for cold, this one for hot," he said, demonstrating with both levers.
I nodded, trying to focus on what his hands were doing, rather than on the fact that every time he glanced up to check if I was following, I forgot how to breathe normally.
"Where's Andrew?" I asked, partly to distract myself from myself, and partly because I hadn't seen him since I came out of the restroom.
"On a phone call somewhere in the house." He rested his elbows on the counter. "What should I be doing?"
"Uh… you can start by bringing out the frying pan and spatula while I put the pasta on the stove."
"Yes, ma'am." He pushed off the counter.
I looked away quickly, fighting the ridiculous urge to smile at that.
He reached up, unhooked the frying pan from where it hung on the wall, then slowly turned to face me with a look of genuine perplexity on his face.
"What's wrong?" I asked, mirroring his confusion.
"The thing is… I know a spatula is used for frying and things like that, but I have no idea what one looks like. There are so many cooking spoons," he said, scratching the back of his head.
Honestly, I didn't know how to respond. I couldn't tell if he was saying it to save me the embarrassment of the water incident, or if he genuinely had never identified a spatula in his life. Either way, I was grateful.
There was something quietly funny about the sight of this composed, unreadable man, standing there, holding a frying pan, with the expression of someone who had just been asked a trick question.
"Is it this?" He pointed at the whisk.
I shook my head, laughing.
"Well, is it this?" He picked out a random piece of cookware from the drawer.
"Vincent, really?"
"I honestly don't know." He shrugged. "How about this one?"
I couldn't stop laughing.
"Hey, what's so funny, Anny?" Andrew asked, walking in.
"She finds my lack of knowledge of kitchen utensils hilarious."
"You don't even know kitchen utensils? How have you been cooking all this time?" Andrew gasped. "Those times you told me you cooked, was it all a lie?!"
"Not entirely. I helped Rita prepare them. Sometimes she let me stir while she handled the other things."
"That doesn't mean you cooked it. Rita did!"
"It might not have come out the way it did if I hadn't been there."
"It might have been better, you imposter!"
Vincent recoiled, leaning off the kitchen island, his eyes narrowing into thin slits of mock outrage.
I held onto my stomach, reeling.
I didn't even notice when they stopped. When I finally regained my composure, I looked up to find both of them staring at me as though I'd grown a horn.
"Great, so I'm a clown," Vincent said, breaking the brief awkwardness. "Laugh all you want, Anne. I'll get the hang of it eventually." He dropped the pan and moved to get the eggs from the refrigerator.
"Now I want to help," Andrew whined, coming to look over my shoulder. "How may I help?" he whispered, his breath skittering across the sensitive skin of my neck, making my shoulders bunch.
"You can chop the onions and carrots while Vincent beats the eggs. I'll make the sauce," I said, pressing my shoulder to my ear to stop the tingling.
We worked together, talking, bantering, and laughing at jokes Andrew made. It was a miracle we didn't burn the food.
Andrew kept whining that the onions were making him cry, then protested that Vincent was beating the eggs wrongly.
Vincent, on his side, dropped an egg and immediately blamed Andrew for distracting him, then turned around to complain that Andrew was making a mash of the onions and carrots instead of slicing them.
I was itching to chase them both out of the kitchen before they caused a real catastrophe, but honestly, they were the best part of it.
Thirty minutes later, we were done cooking the food that would have been finished in fifteen minutes if they had done their part well.
I dished the food onto separate plates. Andrew and I carried ours to the living room while Vincent took his to the study.
I was a bit sad about that. I’d wanted the three of us to keep the noise going, the arguing, all of it. But I assumed he had work waiting, or he simply needed his peace.
At about eight o'clock, after two movies, I stretched and stood up, ready to go.
Andrew pulled me back on the couch, holding my hand hostage.
"Anny, stay with me longer! Pretty please," he pouted, rubbing his eyes.
He had slept through half of the second movie.
"I gotta go, Drew. I have to wake up early," I said, tugging my hand free.
"Okay, but I'm coming to pick you up tomorrow?" he pleaded, pressing his palms together, eyes wide.
"Uh…"
"No arguments. I don't want you stuck alone in that hostel. Besides, your food was amazing and I want it again," he said, finishing with a grin that was so charming that I had to smile.
"And you call me a whiny baby." I rolled my eyes.
"You taught me well.” He laughed, earning himself a smack from me.
"Vincent! Anny's leaving!" Andrew screamed at the top of his lungs.
I flinched, covering my ears. "My ears are bleeding!"
"Sorry.”
Vincent came down the stairs in seconds and stood in front of me, looking straight at me without a word.
'Hello! Speak already. I need to breathe.’
"Who taught you how to cook so well?"
His stare made me forget how blinking worked.
"Uh… my mum?" I said, feeling the rush of heat to my cheeks.
"Aww, now you're making her blush," Andrew cooed from behind me, then bolted before I could smack him.
"It was delicious, Anne." He pinched my cheek gently.
"Thank you both. I had a great time," I said, trying to ignore what that single pinch did to me.
"We should be thanking you. We had a splendid time," Vincent said.
"Okay, okay, let's go," Andrew said, dragging me toward the door.
As we were about to leave, Vincent called out.
"And Anne!"
I turned.
"No drinking, okay? We don't want you seeing celebrities now, would we?" he asked with a knowing smirk.
I froze.