Chapter Thirty-Seven – Dinner

Judy didn't know what to do with her hands. Now that she had finished preparing the meal, washing dishes, wrapping up leftovers, and wiping down counters – all while avoiding brushing up against the fox who lingered at every turn in the industrial-sized kitchen – they trembled with nerves.

Nick had been right at home behind the silver, swinging door dividing customer from staff at the Carrot Café. He had followed each of her directions carefully, dicing vegetables with precision and practice, sautéing with a years-of-practice flair, and pinching just the right amount of pepper when instructed. Judy had hoped she could have been the expert tonight, when he was so knowledgeable about cars, but he had proven himself more than capable in the role of sous-chef. He had taken one look at her counter of ingredients, rolled up the sleeves of his pressed dress-shirt, and asked what she wanted him to start on first.

Bogo had given her permission to use the kitchen after hours, with only a minimal amount of pleading eyes, knowing the sad, little hotplate in her apartment was ill-suited for entertaining company.

Judy tossed the rag she'd used to wipe down the stove into a bin under the sink and turned around, tucking her now-empty hands behind her back. "Thanks for all your help," she offered up a smile to the slightly-sweaty mammal who was patting his stomach and surveying the array of gleaming instruments and pots with satisfaction.

"Me? I didn't do anything. Thanks go to you," he grinned. "That was delicious."

"We did well," she agreed, fidgeting with her fingers behind her back, knotting and unknotting them together at a rapid pace. "But you stole my thunder."

Nick's grin fell instantly. "What? I-I didn't mean to—."

"No," she smiled in reassurance. "It was great," pushing off the clean countertop, she reached out and brushed a bit of flour from his shirt. "I just thought I'd be the 'miracle mechanic' for a night," her fingers settled down, palming his chest. "It was nice having a partner though," violet eyes swam with gratitude and pleasure. "Really nice."

Nick returned her smile, still unsure if he'd erred. "My mom taught me to cook," he mumbled. "And I usually just heat up microwave dinners without someone else to…," he ducked his head. "Share stuff with."

Judy's smile grew. "Me too," she offered. "I used to help make dinner for my whole family," she nodded back to the kitchen. "275 is pretty different than only two, but both are easier motivation than just one."

Nick surprised her, closing his hand over the fingers at his chest. "Agreed," he looked to the shiny, chrome door. "Now that we've cleaned this place enough to make Bogo's jaw drop, want to drink coffee at the counter and tell anyone who tries the entrance that the café's closed?"

Judy laughed, pretending that his acceptance of her contact was no big deal. "Only if we get to shake our heads super apologetically and then swivel our stools around so our backs are to them."

Nick squeezed her fingers, a hint of pride edging his gaze. "Sounds perfect."