Fists and Knives (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 4

“Impress me” were two words that I heard too often.  “I’m impressed” were another two words I didn’t hear enough.  It seemed like any time I went to an interview where I was supposed to cook for a chef or the restaurant owner, I would ask what they wanted me to make and no one could ever tell me.  It was always just, “Impress me.” 

Impress you? With what? My knife skills?  I could impress someone by juggling bell peppers.  I could impress someone by bending my tongue to look like a clover.  I could impress someone by reciting the alphabet in French.  Couldn’t people learn to be a little more specific?

Now normally, my “Impress me” dish was the steak I made for Robert Fley with the potatoes and mushroom sauce.  Who doesn’t like steak and potatoes?  Plus, it was almost dinner time.  Garfield’s words echoed in my head: “Biscuits and honey are his favorite.”  While I would love to knock this guy off his feet with something a little more skillful, I reluctantly decided to take a chance and went to the pantry for some flour.

Louis stood at the edge of the kitchen the whole time I was baking, staring at his phone and occasionally chuckling at something I couldn’t see on the screen.  He asked me a lot of basic questions (I’m sure he was getting texts from him the whole time about what to ask), things like where I went to school and whether or not I had a boyfriend.

“His name is Clark, we’ve been dating two years.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Two years is a hell of a long time.  Are you going to get married?”

I swallowed hard, my hesitation not going unnoticed. Louis smirked. “You’re unhappy.”

I shrugged.  “Isn’t everyone who’s in a relationship?  We can’t all be perfect.  The guy has his flaws but I love him anyways.”

Louis didn’t push the issue, but instead returned to his phone.  I leaned against the counter as I waited the last few minutes for the biscuits to finish.  “So this guy,” I began, pointing upward at the balcony.  “Someone told me he had anger problems?” I asked.  I wanted to know as much about this guy as I could before I actually met him – if I ever did. 

Louis cocked an eyebrow at me and shifted on his feet.  “Have you ever met a boxer?”  He asked, sticking his phone in his pocket and folding his hands as he leaned down onto the counter toward me.  I shook my head.  One of the guys in my foster home punched a kid at school once, but I guess that’s not the same.  Louis pursed his lips. “I’ve met a few boxers and I’ve never met one without anger issues.  This guy-“ He pointed his thumb up toward the balcony. “-is a great guy though, once you get to know him.  He can be a little intimidating at first.” He sniffed the air and licked his lips hungrily. “That smells good.  Bread?”

I was beginning to notice a pattern… any time we started to talk about the guy I was cooking for, people were quick to change the subject.

I walked to the oven and pulled out the pan of golden-brown mounds. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it bread.”

I grabbed a plate from one of the cupboards and placed three of the hot biscuits on it.  On the side of the plate, I placed three small cups, one filled with honey, one with blueberry jam, and the other with soft butter.  Louis’ eyebrows remained knitted together as he watched me place the plate in the window.  I almost closed the window and pushed the button, but stopped and thought to myself.  I hurried to grab a mug from the cupboard and poured some hot water in the cup along with a tea bag before placing the mug in the window beside a small cup of sugar.  Finally satisfied (as satisfied as I could be) with my simple snack, I closed the window, held my breath, and pushed the button.