Page 89 of Grim

“What? Why? This one is preheated.”

“Yes, I can see that. And you will burn the flavor right out of the yolks. Now, are you going to listen and do as you’re told? Or am I wasting my time?”

The command in my tone makes her pupils dilate, matching the black in her oversize T-shirt.

“I’m listening,” she concedes. Then she proceeds to turn off the burner, removes the first pan, and grabs another from a drawer.

“Good. Now, set the burner on the lowest heat possible. Grab some butter and place it in the center of the pan.”

She does so, and I relish watching her flit about the kitchen, enjoying the obedient little sprite side of Rue. Once she’s done that, she looks to me for further instruction, though she can’t hide the glint in her eyes.

“Now what, Chef?” she asks with deviant emphasis on the final word.

“While we wait for the pan to gently warm, we will properly whisk those eggs. Timing is critical now. Take the bowl and the fork. Press the tines to the bottom of the bowl and circle your wrist in a tight clockwise motion.”

She begins as the butter begins to soften in the pan next to her. I move behind her as she works.

“Faster, Rue. The second that butter coats the entirety of that pan, you need to pour those freshly beaten eggs into the low heat.”

Her pace picks up as the eggs begin to turn a uniform yellow color.

“Good,” I praise as she continues working, the bowl hovering over the pan while I hover over Rue.

“Like this?”

“Exactly.” The second the final solid bit of butter glistens against the pan, I command, “Keep whisking while you pour them into the pan. Now.”

The eggs make a soft sizzling sound as they come in contact with the warm metal and begin to mix with the butter and spread across the surface.

“Take that spatula and stir.”

“Stir?”

“Yes, Rue. Stir the liquid in the pan and do not stop until I say so.”

“Didn’t realize making eggs would be such a physical activity,” Rue mumbles under her breath.

“Doing things right often takes more energy than most are willing to give. Now keep stirring.” I soften my voice on my last direction, seeing some frustration begin to surface.

Rue’s shoulders relax, and she finds her rhythm with the spatula.

“That’s it. You don’t need to work hard, just don’t stop. Slow and steady.”

She continues for a minute and then admits, “This is nice actually. Kind of calming.”

“Good. Just don’t lose your focus because the timing is key now.”

“It’s all still liquid, Kane,” Rue points out.

“Good things come to those who wait,ma chère.”

Rue purrs at the pet name and shifts her focus from me back to the pan.

“Seek,” I call out to the room, “we need a plate here, friend.”

Out of the wall immediately appears our little friend, who heads straight to the cabinet. “Here you go,” he says with a noticeable hint of pride in his young voice.

“A fork too, please.”