Page 58 of Kick the Candle (Knight Games 2)
"Where are you?" I changed the subject, desperate to avoid the inevitable conversation, even though I was dying to invite him over to help cook dinner.
"Volunteering at the mission. My dad's coming into town later for a low key dinner though."
The mission! As if Logan could possibly be any more attractive, now he was backlit by a halo. But oddly, when I thought about seeing Logan on Saturday, I didn't tingle with excitement. I dreaded it. Every day he'd been out of my attic, my thoughts of him had gravitated more toward planet friendship than over the moon. And it wasn't because of Rick or my commitment to him. Something had shifted between us. Maybe it was the loss of the connection we'd shared when I was sorting his soul. I wasn't sure. My feelings for him were garbled and confused. Random memories of our time under the same roof mixed with feelings at odds with each other.
"Thanks again and happy Thanksgiving," I said in a voice more cheerful than my disposition.
"Grateful, one last thing."
"Yeah?"
"You could always bamboozle it."
"Bamboozle?"
"You know, bippidy boppity blip, perfect Thanksgiving dinner."
I huffed in offense. "Logan Valentine, I'll have you know, I am woman enough to make a Thanksgiving dinner without the use of magic."
"That's my girl!" He wished me luck and said his goodbyes.
I found an apron in Dad's drawer that said Realtors Do It in Every Room of The House. Eww. A quick dig through the lower cabinets and I located the heavy duty roasting pan we'd used when I was a kid. I tossed the frozen turkey inside. The icy flesh clanked against the metal. You could ice skate on this sucker. I hoped when Logan said I could cook the turkey frozen he meant Antarctic tundra style because no part of this bird was even partially thawed out. To combat the risk of rubberized meat, I microwaved a stick of butter and poured it over the top. Everything was better with butter, right? Into the oven it went.
I took a sip of wine to celebrate my accomplishment.
Then I got my Martha Stewart on, yanking veggies and potatoes from the fridge and selecting a blade from Dad's drawer. I had nothing if not knife skills. Like a culinary pro, I cubed potatoes, and chopped broccoli with mechanical precision. The taters went into a pot of water and the broccoli into the steamer. I pulled Dad's crystal salad bowl from its place under the counter, rinsed out a year's worth of dust, and positioned it on the butcher's block island.
I drummed my fingers on the counter. Four hours to go. Seraphina and Dad had said they wanted to help with the salad. No putting this off, I needed to go socialize. Pushing the door open, I moseyed into the living room. Yes, moseyed, a slow drift rather than a beeline.
As I turned the corner, a tangle of arms and legs slapped my visual cortex. Gah! They were making out on the couch. Hastily, I receded back into the kitchen. What the hell? How long had that been going on? Apparently, Dad and Seraphina were in the hot and heavy stage of their relationship. Could this possibly get any more awkward?
Resolved that help was not coming, I chopped the lettuce and some carrots, tomatoes, and peppers for the salad. When there was nothing left to do, I checked the turkey, hoping a time warp in the oven had magically cooked it for five hours instead of one and a half. No such luck. In fact, it was ice cold, as was the oven...which I'd forgot to turn on.
My head hit the counter with a thud. I could not hide in this kitchen for another five hours. I snatched my phone from my pocket and searched my new Book of Light app for help. There wasn't a spell for instant Thanksgiving, but I could control the elements. Water- ice-was an element. Air was my element of choice, mine to control. I had an idea that maybe I could bamboozle Thanksgiving after all.
To start, I lit the burner under the potatoes, but I didn't wait for them to boil. I raised my flattened palm to my lips and blew gently across the top of the water. Instantly, the liquid came to a rolling boil. I pumped my fist. Being a witch had some definite perks.
The turkey was next. I preheated the oven while I set the roasting pan on the island. Again, I blew across my palm, using my power to ask the air to coax the water molecules inside the bird to heat up. The breeze hit the turkey. Steam billowed. The skin where my breath hit began to brown. Hot damn! I circled the island as I blew out breath after breath. When the turkey's skin had taken on an even, golden glow, and I was feeling a bit light headed, I stopped.
"Starting to smell good, Grateful!" I heard my Dad call from the family room.
At least I knew he was up for air. I dug out a meat thermometer from the drawer next to the stove and slid it into the breast. One hundred eighty degrees! I slid the bird back into the now warm oven, and grabbed the salad out of the fridge. "Should be ready in a few minutes," I yelled.
I stomped through the door, loudly placing the bowl at the center of the dining table. When I dared to glance in their direction, they were on opposite sides of the couch, straightening their clothes.
"Already?" Dad said. "I meant to come in and help you, but I guess I lost track of time. Seraphina here does that to me."
She giggled.
"I see that." I supposed I should make conversation. "So, ah, Seraphina is a beautiful name. Is it a family name?" I plopped down in one of my father's leather chairs across from the sofa and crossed my legs, pumping my foot in the air nervously.
"Yes it is. It means 'burning one.' In my family, most names have to do with the elements. My uncle's name is Kai. It means ocean. My mother's was Gaea."
"Earth. How interesting." Hippies. "And you're a chef?"
"No." She laughed. "I'm an art and antiques dealer."
"I thought you said you went to culinary school?"
