Secrets I've Held in My Heart

Chapter 14 : Ava

As I stood in our sprawling, well-appointed kitchen, beads of sweat glistening on my forehead, I couldn't help but wonder how I had gotten myself into this mess. Cooking had never been my forte. Sure, I'd tried my hand at baking once and managed to create a good and edible cake, but god knows, what if that was just a beginner's luck?

With a deep breath, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. The kitchen was a chef's dream, filled with gleaming stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and enough gadgets to make even a professional chef jealous. But despite the luxury surrounding me, I had never really used this kitchen for anything more than baking a cake, that one time.

But I am Ava Rinehart. I handled scary and wild animals in a zoo, so how hard could cooking be?

I decided to take a page out of Abraham Lincoln's book, quite literally. He once said, “Give me six hours to chop down a tree, and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.” So, before diving into the culinary adventure, I spent many hours sharpening my culinary knowledge by watching cooking shows, reading recipes, and studying techniques.

I was determined to do something authentic. I didn't want Martha to taunt me, saying there's a difference between boiling pasta and actually cooking it. So, I opted to make pasta from scratch.

It was 7 PM, and we were supposed to have dinner at 9 PM. I had learned from all those cooking shows that making pasta from scratch was a labor of love. It wasn't the quickest or easiest way to satisfy a craving, but I was determined to go the extra mile.

Just as I was elbow-deep in flour and eggs, Christian entered the kitchen. He had a warm smile on his face as he watched me struggle with the dough.

In silence, he approached, his tender gesture brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, skillfully tucking it behind my ear. 'Need a hand, moonlight?' he inquired, the question sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. But instead of a chill, his touch cocooned me in reassuring warmth. It felt as though his fingertips possessed a mystical power, whisking me away to another realm. I was so immersed in the sensation that, when I finally managed to regain my composure, I realized he had already washed his hands, and a fine layer of flour was adorning his fingertips as he reached for the dough.

"Oh, no, Christian," I softly pushed his hand away from the dough and continued. "You don't have to do this. You just arrived from your office."

"If I've arrived from the office, then you also spent your whole day learning about pastas. So, it's only fair if we make it together. After all, we both had an exhausting day today. Helping each other in need will always be the best idea."

A warm smile spread across my face as I couldn't help but appreciate Christian's willingness to support. But deep down, I knew I had to follow Martha's advice. Before I had even entered the kitchen, she had made it abundantly clear that this ritual was something I had to do on my own without anyone's help.

"Come on, Christian bear," I teased with a playful smile, gently swiping the bowl of dough from his grasp. "Don't be melodramatic. Hand it over."

He chuckled and reluctantly surrendered, raising his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, alright," he conceded, but then he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face and whispered, "Best of luck, moonlight. I know you'll make the tastiest pasta in the world. I trust you."

His words filled me with warmth and determination. With a gaze full of trust and a soft, reassuring nod, he retreated from the kitchen, giving me the space I needed to uphold this cherished tradition. I watched him go, grateful for his support and love, which was as constant as the sunrise.

As I continued with the meal preparations, I found myself lost in deep contemplation of the significance of this cherished ritual. It went beyond the mere act of cooking; it symbolized the depth of my commitment and love for my new family, a pledge to honor traditions that had been passed down through generations.

Time, in its peculiar way, seemed to both speed ahead and linger, as if savoring the moment. Each turn of the pasta machine's handle was a labor of devotion, and with every delicate strand of pasta, I could almost taste the delicious meal that awaited us. In the quiet solitude of the kitchen, I could hear, in my mind's ear, the applause and heartfelt appreciation that would fill the room.

As the clock's hands pointed to 9 PM, the culmination of my efforts was before me. The pasta was impeccably cooked, and the homemade sauce, crafted with love, complemented it perfectly.

In the face of my persistent protests, Christian remained undeterred, his determination to assist in preparing the dining table unwavering. I found myself powerless to resist his heartfelt offer, and before I knew it, he had joined me in the enchanting task of decorating the dining table.

Together, we embarked on the delicate task of arranging our most treasured dishes, each piece carrying memories of countless family gatherings. The soft, flickering candlelight cast an enchanting glow upon the room, creating an ambiance that seemed to transcend time itself.

In that precious moment, a profound sense of connection enveloped me. I felt an unbreakable bond to the traditions that had shaped our family, and a love so deep it seemed as if it would endure for eternity. It was a chapter in our family's story that I would forever hold dear in the novel of my life.

As the final details of our beautifully set dining table fell into place, Christian and I exchanged a contented glance. The soft, flickering candlelight created a warm and inviting atmosphere, casting a gentle glow over the room. Our hands had worked in harmony, and it was a testament to our partnership, not just as husband and wife but as lifelong companions.

With everything in its rightful place, Christian extended his hand, and we stepped back to admire our joint creation. The sense of unity that filled the room was palpable, a reminder that traditions held a special place in our hearts, and love was the glue that bound us together.

To be continued...