You come home from class one night to find Helena standing at the sink in the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in hand as she waits for something in the microwave to finish cooking. The look on your face must be one of abject horror, because she slowly sets down the bowl of cereal and looks at you sheepishly.
"It's all I could come up with for dinner," she shrugs.
You open the door of the microwave to find an offending frozen dinner and sigh. What good is being a chef if you can't even make sure your roommate is eating properly…your pregnant roommate. "I'll cook for you," you say resolutely.
"Oh no, Myka, that's not necessary," Helena tries to protest. "I'm perfectly fine with cereal and frozen dinners."
You turn to look at her, cocking your head to the side to study her better.
"Okay, maybe not perfectly fine with it," she amends under your stare, "but I can manage."
"Helena," you sigh, "cereal isn't enough for dinner. You need to eat well, especially being pregnant. I'm not even sure this is food," you mutter taking out the frozen dinner and disposing of it.
Looking in the fridge, you're ashamed to realize there isn't much to actually create a meal with, something you plan to rectify immediately. However, you are able to conjure up the basics, eggs, some cheese, a tomato, even a green pepper from a recipe you tried last week; enough ingredients for a decent omelet.
Gathering all the items in your arms you quickly set about fixing dinner for the two of you.
"Myka, really," Helena tries to protest again, though the smile that crosses her face at the sight of the ingredients in your arms doesn't match her protest. "You don't have to do this."
"It's important to eat well…for me too," you add in afterthought. "I usually just eat at the school during the classes. Just little bites here and there," you shrug. "I want to cook for you now…for us," you say, the intensity of her stare causing you to blush.
Quickly setting the items on the counter you pull out a skillet from the cupboard. The back of your neck burns with heat, knowing Helena is still staring at you, transfixed.
"What kind of cooking course are you taking?" Helena asks.
"Oh, I'm not taking the course, I'm giving it," you explain.
Helena quickly offers an apology. "I'm so sorry, I heard you say culinary program, and I guess I just assumed you were taking classes rather than giving them."
"That's understandable," you readily agree. "I've worked at a few restaurants since I obtained my degree, but nothing really fit. My best friend Pete thinks we should open a restaurant together."
"Oh? Is he a chef as well?"
You laugh. "Hardly. He almost burned the apartment we shared trying to microwave a bag of popcorn. No, he just loves food so he thinks he's automatically qualified to manage a restaurant based on that fact alone. "
Helena chuckles beside you. "Would you like to have your own restaurant someday?" she asks.
"The thought has crossed my mind, but I don't know," you answer honestly. "The hours are really long working at a restaurant, an average day can easily be twelve, fourteen hour days. If I were to own my own restaurant…there would be little time for reading," you smile at her.
"A travesty, to be sure," Helena agrees seriously. "What made you choose this profession?" she asks curious as you start grating the cheese for the omelet.
"I've always kind of had a knack for it, I guess. When I was a kid, it was just baking cookies and brownies, simple things. Eventually I moved on to try pastas and so on. I realized cooking is a good way to take care of people you care about."
"Just as you're doing for me now?" Helena asks softly.
The question sets your heart racing and your hand to still, as you glance up to meet her eyes. "Yeah, I guess so," you agree.
"It's my good fortune then you've come to London when you have…just when I can use another friend," she says as she absently cradles her stomach.
"I feel pretty lucky myself," you hear yourself say and Helena looks at you intently. "I mean…I've always wanted to see London…and there was a job opening in my field…and…here I am," you stumble over your words.
"Yes, here you are," Helena affirms softly and you feel the heat of a blush spread across your cheeks, something that is becoming a regular occurrence in her presence. You quickly turn back to the counter, setting the pepper on the cutting board and begin slicing it, hoping Helena hasn't noticed your blush.
"And what about teaching, do you enjoy it?" she asks. "I'd imagine it would be quite rewarding to inspire knowledge in others."
You think about the student who that very morning burned his soufflé, the smoke billowing from his oven, setting off the fire alarm and sprinkler system. The entire building had to be evacuated and you'd spent the rest of the day mopping the floor of the classroom.
"It has its moments," you reply as you continue slicing the pepper for the omelet. You sense Helena step closer to you before you see her.
"Perhaps you can teach me how to cook, Myka?" she asks hopefully and you stare at her surprised. She shrugs. "If I'm to be a mother, I should think knowing how to cook will be an appreciated skill to have."
You grin at her, pleased with the idea. "All right, you can start your lesson now," you smile as you hand her a tomato.
Helena's fingers graze over yours as she takes the fruit and she smiles, eyes shining. The sight of her smile is enough to set off that familiar flutter in your stomach again as you set about cooking, together.