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“Lasagna.”

I grinned. “Italian again.”

“You seemed to like it last time.” She looked a little embarrassed as she spoke, like she didn’t want me to think she’d chosen Italian food simply because she thought I liked it. It seemed like she had though, and I couldn’t stop the stupid flutter of excitement I felt at the idea.

“Ilovedit last time,” I corrected her. “Okay, so how do we do this?”

“We start by talking safety in the kitchen…”

My shoulders sank as Clary launched into a long list of the dos and don’ts of working in the kitchen. She was talking at me like I was five, but I really couldn’t blame her. Even a five-year-old probably could have cooked a frozen pizza without destroying the kitchen in the process.

By the time we started the actual cooking, I was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. It wasn’t at all like the cute cooking moments in all the rom-coms I’d been forced to watch with girls. We weren’t throwing flour at each other, and we weren’t lightly touching hands as we stirred the pot together.

It felt more like I was in the army being ordered around by my commander. Clary took everything she did in the kitchen very seriously and was likely terrified I’d burn the place down. But, if I was honest, the more she ordered me about, the more I enjoyed it. I liked seeing her take charge.

“Okay, now layer some of the sauce across the bottom of the dish…” She frowned as she glanced at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I’d suddenly realized I’d been staring at her rather than concentrating on the next task. “Well, you’re kind of cute when you get all demanding. It’s hard not to watch.”

She blushed, but the annoyed look in her eyes didn’t disappear. “Aiden…”

“Yes?”

“Stop staring at me, and focus on the food.”

“Okay.” I laughed. I was enjoying this far too much.

By the time we’d finished the dish and put it in the oven, I was surprised by how much I’d enjoyed cooking. And it wasn’t just the part where I got to spend time with Clary either. Hell, I think I’d actually learned something.

“Thanks for teaching me to cook, Chef.” I grinned at Clary as she closed the oven door.

She gave me a smile of her own as she turned to me. “I’m shocked to say you weren’t totally terrible.”

“Well, the lasagna’s not out of the oven yet…”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to get burned. I put a timer on, so, unlike your pizza, I think it’s going to make it.”

“I still wouldn’t be surprised if I managed to mess it up somehow.”

She shook her head, still smiling at me. “You’ve got to have more faith.”

“Something smells good,” Mom said, entering the room. I’d hoped to see her looking more rested after a day off, but her skin was still pale and tired circles ringed her eyes. I tried to push down the worry I felt for her and pasted on a smile.

“I made lasagna,” I announced with pride. “Clary taught me.”

“She did, did she?”

“Yep,” Clary replied. “And he’s a quick study.”

“Really?” Mom sounded so surprised I was almost offended.

“Thanks, Mom,” I muttered.

“Yeah, he did really well,” Clary added.

My mother’s eyes betrayed her suspicion. I’d never once showed an iota of interest in cooking before. From the way she was looking between the two of us, it was clear she suspected I had ulterior motives for wanting to learn now. She wouldn’t be wrong.

“Well, that’s great. How long until dinner?” Mom asked.