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CHAPTER 14 -- What’s Cooking

“I don’t know about this, Spike. Isn’t . . .” Buffy studied the recipe in front of her, “asparagus-prosciutto rolls and individual strawberry mousses a little too ambitious of us?”

Spike tisked, “Maybe for you. I happen to be quite skilled in the kitchen.” He turned the oven burner on to medium heat, tossing chopped strawberries, sugar, and water into a pan and began to stir.

Buffy pouted, playing with an asparagus stalk on the counter in front of her, “The last time I used the toaster I caught the cabinets on fire.” She turned back to her duty of slicing the prosciutto.

Spike nudged at her chin with his thumb, “Cheer up, Summers. We’ll have you Martha Stewart-ing it in no time.” This earned him a grin. “Knew I could get a smile. Now go find me some measuring cups, yeah?”

Buffy nodded, “Measuring cups I can do.” Buffy ransacked her mother’s kitchen drawers, searching for the requested items. Dawn was at school and her mom was working extra at the gallery. Spike had agreed to help cook for Thursday night’s dinner, much to Joyce’s glee. She just didn’t have the time to get everything ready for the next day and was a nervous wreck at the idea of leaving her eldest alone in the kitchen, but felt perfectly comfortable with Spike there to supervise.

“Quit eating the chocolate!” Spike scolded, slapping her hand away from the bowl of semisweet morsels. He grabbed the measuring cups out of her hand, “Come over here and stir this,” he thrust the spoon at her in yet another attempt to keep her nebbish hands busy from picking at the sugar, chocolate, and strawberries.

Buffy peered clueless into the sauce pan in front of her as she stirred, “How do you know when it’s done?”

Spike placed the bowl of chocolate into the microwave, “When all the sugar dissolves,” he answered.

“Is this good?” Buffy asked, looking for Spike’s approval on her stirring job.

He glanced over her shoulder, “Perfect,” he replied. Buffy turned off the burner, her confidence level flaring at his praise.

“This isn’t so hard,” she commented as she sat down at the counter.

Spike placed the bowl of melted chocolate on the counter and turned around to search for the right cup.

“Summers!”

Buffy froze, index finger in her mouth, “What?” she mumbled around her chocolate covered digit.


No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep a straight face. He let a smile overtake him and shook his head, “Come over here and be helpful.”

He easily spread each slice of prosciutto with goat cheese and rolled around the asparagus. He held up the perfect job for her inspection. She nodded that she followed his lead, picked up an asparagus and completed an exact replica of his. She beamed at her job well done. He then picked up a bowl filled with the cream and sugar that was to be part of their desert. He beat the ingredients in the bowl until soft peaks began to form.

Buffy watched him for a moment before grabbing a bowl and attempting it herself. While Spike began to fold in the strawberry mixture, Buffy fought with her bowl -- her concoction looking more like thick goop than whipped cream.

She sat back in a huff, “I suck,” her face fell.

He looked over at her bowl, “Yes you do,” he agreed, taking a swipe of cream on his finger, unceremoniously dragging it down her cheek.

She blinked confusedly out of her self-pitying stupor, wiping her hand at her marked face, “Hey!” Buffy dipped her fingers into the bowl of flour, flicking them at Spike, the white landed contrastingly against his ever-present black t-shirt.

He studied his marred clothing, “Well, a food fight was inevitable wasn’t it?” He shrugged, took a hand full of flour, and blew it into her face.

Buffy screamed, running around the island, trying to duck away from Spike’s throws. Rounding the counter, she armed herself with leftover sugar.


She hid below the countertop and waited. She sat for a minute in buzzing anticipation, not hearing a peep from Spike. Figuring he also must be hiding, she cautiously peeked over the counter. Her exposed face was immediately sprayed with melted chocolate. She jumped up from her position on the floor and went to run out of the kitchen.

Spike grabbed her around her stomach with one arm, captured her ankles with the other, and effortlessly lifted her off the ground. He attacked her side and Buffy shrieked in laughter, squirming in his arms.

“You give up?” he yelled over her.

She was laughing to hard to speak. She fought to get the words out, “I give! I give! Ahhhhhh. Stop! I give!”

“Okay,” he set her back down on her feet. He swatted at her playfully, “Now help me decorate these things.”

They brought over the dozen white cups filled with strawberry mousse over to the table, each baring a pastry bag filled with melted chocolate. Spike divided them into six each and the couple went to work decorating the deserts with hearts, stars, and zigzags.

Spike sat back in his chair, looking at the girl across form him, “You used to cheerlead didn’t you?”

She looked at him, perplexed, “Yeah, why?” she asked, craning her neck across the table to see what he was doing.

“Hey!” he hastily covered his work with his arm, “No peeking.”

Buffy went back to her own decorating, occasionally glancing at Spike. He looked like a little boy, hunched over in his seat in concentration, his tongue stuck out from the side of his mouth. Buffy smiled and finished her drawing.

“I made one for you,” he pulled back his hand and turned the mousse around to face her. It was a rough chocolate drawing of a girl in a pleaded skirt, UC Sunnydale symbol on her sweater. She was holding pompoms.

Buffy smiled, “Is that me?”

“Uh-huh,” Spike nodded.

She smiled brightly at the drawing, considering him for a moment. She turned around the cup of mousse she was drawing on, showing Spike her design. It was a stick man playing guitar, music notes surrounded him.

“I remembered you played guitar. You used to play at The Bronze all the time.”

Spike was happy that she remembered. “Try,” Spike dipped a spoon into the mousse in front of him and held it out to Buffy.

She leaned forward and took the creamy confection into her mouth. Spike slid the spoon from her mouth. Buffy closed her eyes, “Mmmmmmm. Oh my god, that’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

Spike took the spoon and took a bite himself. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He held out a asparagus roll, “Try one of these.”

Buffy shook her head, “I don’t like asparagus.”

Spike looked doubtful, “Have you ever had it?”

“Well . . . No.”

“Try it,” he insisted, pushing one at her, “You’ll like it.”

She took a bite, looking pensively at the ceiling while she chewed. After some thought, she gave him a wide smile, “I like it.”

“Told you.”

Spike glanced over at the clock. “I gotta go, I’m already late meeting Xander. He’ll be right pissed if they’re a player short.” He jogged over to the foyer, picking up his soccer ball he was to bring to the field. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,”

“Five o’clock sharp,” Buffy instructed, following him to the door.

“Okay,” he went down the sidewalk, “Finish those dishes for your mum!” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, her plans to place them all in the sink to sit under some water ruined. She shut the door and sighed. Tomorrow the aunts were coming. She was pretty sure how the night would go: they would grill her on her love life, treat Dawn like she was five years old, and Buffy was suspecting that in their trip down memory lane they’d forget they were no longer in their twenties and hit on Spike.

Sounds like fun.

TBC





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