Cooking Novels & Stories

The vibrant beats and infectious rhythm had always been a reliable source of energy for her, capable of momentarily transporting her to a different state of mind. Seeking solace in the simple act of cooking, Athena decided to prepare a comforting pasta dish for her evening meal. She opened her refrigerator and retrieved the necessary ingredients, carefully selecting the fresh vegetables that would add color and flavor to her creation. As she skillfully diced and chopped the vegetables, her focus shifted from the weight of her responsibilities to the therapeutic nature of the culinary process.

Hearing Lexie's voice behind him, Wren turned his head over his shoulder and shook his head slowly. "It just needs to be warmed up. This time I can do it myself. But honestly I can't cook. Well... I can fry eggs. That's if frying eggs can be categorized as cooking. The essence of frying eggs is to crack the eggs on a frying pan and flip them over until they are cooked." Lexie burst out laughing at Wren's overly convoluted answer. "The point is you can't cook." “Ouch, that hurts me. You're really mean, Lexie." Wren held his left chest dramatically like he was a soldier who had just been shot by the enemy.

“We’ve got some pasta, grilled vegetables, and for the main course, steak—just the way you like it.” The food is delicious, and as we eat, our conversation deepens. We share stories about our pasts, our fears, and our dreams. With every word, I feel like I’m getting to know Niklaus on a new level, seeing sides of him he doesn’t show to the world. “So, what made you decide to learn to cook?” I ask, taking a bite of the perfectly cooked steak. He chuckles, pouring us more wine. “Believe it or not, it’s a way to decompress. There’s something about the process—the chopping, the stirring—it’s meditative.”

She asks, coyly. Ashton’s smile is just as coy, “let’s celebrate having the house to ourselves.” --- --- --- “Now remember, in order to cook everything evenly, the oil must be prepared at 350 degrees.” The sound of chopping echoed throughout the small nook in the kitchen. And as the young woman with long dark hair paced the room, her hair tied back in a loose braid, Damon’s small hands danced across the cutting board. Cut, slice, slide, dip, repeat.