I don’t say a word as he takes me three rows down to the utensils aisle. I just follow along and wonder what we’re getting as I try my best to ignore the intense feelings radiating from our connection. A steady zing, zing, zing matches the rapid beat of my heart, filling me up until I’m ready to burst with energy.
“Here.” He stops, and I’m barely able to halt before I run into him again. I look to where he’s pointing, and an overwhelming sense of loss takes over when he lets go of my hand to reach for the item on the bottom shelf. When he stands, holding it out for the cameraman to see, I tilt my head in confusion.
“An Instant Pot? Aren’t those for like… making big family meals really fast?” I question.
“Or one meal really fast, if you don’t put in as much.” He winks. “But I think I’m going to teach you the art of meal prepping. That way you can make your individual meals that are ready to eat ahead of time, which will taste much better than something that’s been flash-frozen and boxed in cardboard for months.”
I pooch my lips out, not really sure how I feel about the idea. “You do know that anyone with an ounce of Cajun blood in them would rather die before considering using an Instant Pot to cook an authentic Cajun meal, right?”
“Do you have Cajun blood?” he asks, tilting his head to the side with curiosity.
“Not technically,” I admit.
“Then that means you’ll survive.” He grins.
I lift a brow, giving him just a little more shit, because I love this banter. “Isn’t meal prepping for body builders or people on a diet? I’m not about that life.” I may go to the gym a few times a week just to keep my muscles a little toned, but most of my exercise comes from walking around my beautiful city. I rarely have to use my car.
“That’s what comes to mind for most people when they hear the words meal prep, but in all actuality, it’s just a fancier version of reheating leftovers and packing your lunch for the next day,” he tells me with a smile, and dear God I have never seen such a beautiful smile on a man. I need to ask him his teeth-whitening regimen, because his perfectly straight grill is blinding.
When I snap out of the spell he put me under with his grin, I finally reply, “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds pretty nifty. Let’s do it.”
At the sexy quirk of his eyebrow, the one only I can see since he’s turned profile toward the camera, I bite my lip and hold in the giggle that wants to escape. He obviously wants to jump on my “let’s do it,” but is forced to stay professional while the cameras are rolling.
Oh, this could be fun.
He must see the mischief playing in my eyes, because he gives me the slightest shake of his head, to which I give him a second’s flash of a smirk.
Challenge: Accepted.
“So, we should probably get a buggy, huh?” The words are barely out of my mouth before one of the crewmembers returns with one and lets go as she pushes it toward us. Curtis catches it with his one empty hand before swooping it around to take hold of the handle, placing the Instant Pot into the empty shopping cart.
“Your ‘buggy’ awaits, cher. God, southern girls are adorable,” he says, using his fingers to make quotation marks around the word buggy, and also impressing me with a decent attempt at the term of endearment. Most people want to say it like the singer’s name or “share,” but a true Cajun pronounces it “sha,” meaning dear or sweet.
I know Curtis is from California from conversations he’s had with other participants on the show, so I tell him, “Nice accent,” as I take the handle of the cart.
“I had a Cajun sous-chef once. I used to love hearing him talk and would spend our time cooking together trying to mimic his accent,” he explains. “I’m surprised you don’t have much of an accent, since you said you were born and raised here. You sound more… southern.”
“My parents were from Virginia. But the Cajun accent you’re thinking of is more southwest of here, a place officially known as Acadiana, where a bunch of Canadians settled back in the day,” I explain elementarily.
He claps his hands and gives a little jump of excitement, making me smile. “Oh! A history lesson. If you’re a fan of the show, you probably know I love hearing all about the history of the place I’m in each episode. So please, tell me all about it while I grab our ingredients.”
I give a small nod and start to follow him up and down the aisles as he picks out each item we need. “Well, Acadians are the descendants of the French colonists who settled in Canada back in the 17th and 18th centuries. The area is now like… Nova Scotia and that creepy Prince Edward Island place.”