"That would be great," I said. He held out his hand and I placed my bag of groceries in his hand and continued to dig for my key. I found it and unlocked the door.
"Thank you," I said as I took the bag from him and shoved my door open.
"Would you like for me too look at your cuts now?" he asked.
"Oh sure, please come in," I said and held the door open for him. He walked in and placed his briefcase on the floor by the door. I walked in and put my box with my pie in it and my groceries on the counter.
"I can wait for you to put those away," he said indicating my groceries.
"Oh, no it's okay, it's just ingredients for my dinner. Actually, if you want, you can stay for dinner, assuming you haven't eaten yet," I asked casually.
"I haven't. And I would gladly stay for dinner," he said and then walked over to me, "now this might hurt." He pulled the bandage off the side of my face and I winced at the sting. He rolled the sleeve of my jacket up and removed the bandage around my arm as well.
"So how is it doc? Will I live?" I asked. He was very serious about his work, I noticed. He always had on an expressionless face.
"Your cuts are healing quite nicely," he said, "I'm just going to put a little more antibiotic on it and new bandages. I'll be right back."
"Okay," I said with a shrug and he left my apartment and entered his. I pulled the ingredients out of my bag and put them on the counter. Then I pulled out a pan and started heating it while mixing a batter together. I heard a knock and set my bowl down and opened the door.
"You get to work fast," he said noticing my bowl of batter. I noticed he had gotten rid of the jacket but was still wearing his sweater vest.
"Don't want to eat dinner too late," I said letting him in. He took a seat at my kitchen table and placed the bandages and antibiotic on the table.
"How are your hands?" he asked. I sat in the chair next to him and held them out to him palms up. He grabbed them and looked them over.
"Were you handling hot things without protection?" he asked. I nodded my head.
"I don't feel it," I said. Which is true. I don't feel pain that much, mainly it's things that are hot, I'm so use to the heat.
"Don't do that now, wait until your hands are healed," he said and opened up the tube of antibiotic. He put it on my face and arm and then bandaged them.
"How long till I don't have to wear bandages?" I asked.
"A few more days," he said and put the bandages and antibiotic in his bag and put that by the door. I got up and started working on dinner.
"So what are you making?" he asked watching me work.
"Crepes filled with yams and a light salad," I said as I ladled a spoonful of batter into the heated pan and swirled it so it covered the bottom of the pan.
"Never had anything like that before," he said as he looked around my apartment, "the only interesting thing of your apartment is your kitchen."
"Well what do you expect from a chef?" I asked looking up at him with raised eyebrows, "Do you want anything to drink?"
"Water." He took a seat at the table where he could watch me. I grabbed two glasses and filled them with water. I handed one to him and took a sip out of mine. I then flipped the crepe then put it on a plate.
"Phobophobia," I said as I swirled out another spoonful of crepe batter into my pan.
"Pardon me?" he asked, his full attention on me.
"I have a hobby of guessing people's fears. For you it's phobophobia," I said as I cleaned the yams.
"Fear of having a fear," he said.
"You aren't paranoid so it can't be having a fear but not knowing what it is, you just don't want to have one," I said as I started peeling the yams.
"I guess if I had to say I feared something, then that would probably be it," he said.
"Sorry, it's just a stupid thing I do. My friends encourage it, says it helped me get to know people, but I think it might be a little creepy, people probably think I'm a stalker."
"I think it is a unique talent," he said, genuinely interested.
"I think it's unique as well, but not something I should be sharing to people I just met. But I figured since you re a psychiatrist, you wouldn't mind so much. It should be more fascinating then the criminally insane."
"It is. Would you like any help?" he asked as he continued to watch me as I cut up the yams.
"Um, sure, could you pull a baking sheet out of that cupboard and put it on the counter next to me and turn the oven on for 350 degrees." He got up and did as I said then watched as I cut the rest of the yams.
"Your crepe is done," he said. I looked and saw he was right.
"Good, could you remove it and put it on the plate, then put the next crepe on," I said. This was also my little test. First I would guess their fear and see how they react, then I would see how well they can make a crepe, assuming it was their first time. I like to have a bit of fun, and this was it. I watched as he tried to carefully ladle out the batter then swirl it. There was a huge hole on the side of it, this is usually the outcome.
"Maybe you should to this," he said turning to look at me. I smiled and pat him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, it is just a test. First I see how you react when I guess what you fear, then I see how well you can make a crepe," I said.
"Did I pass?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"How so?"
"Well I guessed correctly, and you couldn't make a crepe. It's predictable but I did have the occasional friend who could make a crepe."
"But you always guessed what they were afraid of?"
"Haven't gotten one wrong yet. Well I might have. During lunch I people watch and guess."
"Where do you eat lunch?"
"Small caf a few blocks down from my bakery. The crepe's done." He put it on the plate and looked at me.
"Can we switch?"
"Nope. Don't worry I'll help you, it's all in the technique." I said standing next to him. He picked the ladle up and quickly poured the batter in. "Grasp the handle of the pan firmly and swirl quickly in a circle." He did as I said and it turned out perfect. "And you have a crepe. Keep at it." I left him with it and went back to cutting the yams. I put them on the sheet pan with some olive oil and out them in the oven. I then pulled out my salad spinner and cut the lettuce up and rinsed it.
"Did you always want to be a chef?" he asked all of sudden.
"It was the first profession I decided I wanted to do. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer, since I m good at arguing and they also suggest psychology, since I'm good at getting into people's minds, but I was always a creative child. So I decided to combine my science and art skills and that led me to cooking. It's funny thinking about it now I'm friends with a lawyer and live next door to a psychiatrist." I cut up some tomatoes and put them in the salad bowl.
"You don't seem the friend type to me," he said putting his crepe on the plate and pouring another ladleful.
"I'm not really. Very anti-social, but these friends I've know for a long time."
"Then why are you so friendly to me?" he asked turning to face me. I paused from cutting carrots and looked at him.
"I guess since you re a doctor, and you've been my neighbour for ages and never once bothered me," I replied and went back to cutting the carrots. We worked in silence after that. I finished the salad and put it on the table. I set two plates and silverware and pulled my yams out of the oven. Once finishing off the batter, Jonathan took a seat at the table and waited patiently, occasionally sipping his water.
I pureed the yams with a bit of cream and then placed them in a line in the middle of the crepes. Then I rolled them up and cut them in half in a diagonal cut. I sprinkled them with freshly ground nutmeg and cinnamon and brought them to the table. Jonathan just stared at his dish for a while. I had already taken a bite before looking up at him.
"What?" I asked.
"You really are an artist," he said before taking a bite as well.
"And the verdict is?" I asked.
"It is very delicious," he said before taking another bite.
"Good, four years of culinary school did me good after all," I said and went back to eating. We finished with the salad and I collected the plates and put them in the sink.
"Do you want me to help you with dishes?" he asked.
"Oh, no it's okay. But I would like you help me with something," I said.
"What?" he asked, face still expressionless.
"Well it is a new season and usually for the bakery I make new items. I always ask different people to be guinea pigs on my new creations. And this year I choose you," I said.
"I guess I could," he said.
"Good, now give your honest opinion on it, because I need to know if it is good enough to sell," I said and pulled the mini apple pie out of it's box and onto a plate and gave it to him along with a fork.
"It's apple pie," he said, "surely a pie made by a professional pastry chef would be of selling quality."
"But it isn't your typical apple pie. Just try it," I said sitting down and watching him. He took a bite and put on a confused face.
"It is not what I expected. But very good," he said trying to figure out the flavours.
"That's my goal," I said.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"Smoked the cinnamon into the apples. It gives it the cinnamon flavour and a smokey flavour at the same time," I said.
"Interesting, well, I suggest you sell this," he said.
"Good enough for me, thanks," I said.
"I should be going, it's quite late," he said.
"Agreed. Will you need to see my cuts again tomorrow?"
"No, I'll stop by in a few days.'
"Okay, thank you for all your help. See you again sometime," I said.
"Good night," he said and left the apartment into his own. I washed the dishes and took a quick shower. That's when I remembered my new lock. I quickly replaced the old one and saw that I had two new keys. I put them on the counter and checked my e-mail. I saw an e-mail reminding me of a cake competition I was going to be in on Saturday.
I entered it a month ago and I was suppose to come up with a classic horror story to design a cake after. I never did. I was staring at the wall separating my apartment from my neighbours when it hit me: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It's perfect. And that's when I got a crazy idea and went with it. I printed the ticket out and wrote a quick letter explaining everything. I put the ticket, spare key, and letter into and envelope and wrote 'Jonathan Crane' on the front. I taped it to his door and went back to my apartment.
This way if something happens then I won't have to wait around forever in his apartment I could just use the key I gave him. And he looks like he appreciates cooking to some extent so he could enjoy the show, and he was my inspiration for my cake. Plus he isn't hard on the eyes, what can I say, I am a girl.