Heat in the Kitchen

Heat in the Kitchen


Nick hung back in the doorway.

“And you can try one,” she said firmly, not looking round from the open oven.  “It’s seasonal, it’s what everyone else is doing, and … I baked them myself.  Which,” she straightened, putting the baking sheet on top of the stove and nudging the door up with her knee, “I’ve never actually done before.”

“Which is a warning, I assume.”  Nick twinkled as he said it, but could see that the quip was not going to be well received.  (Never tease a woman about her cooking, he thought.)  “You made so many,” was his next comment.

“Only a dozen.”  She shucked the oven mitts onto the counter.  A basket awaited, napkin inside.

“I’m sure they’re delicious,” Nick added prudently, and then suggested, “Surely Grace—and the others at the morgue—will want to help you to eat them up.”

Natalie gave him an exasperated look.  “You’re missing the point, aren’t you?  Deliberately, if you ask me.”

“Which one?” asked Nick.  He glanced at the baking sheet, and surreptitiously shuffled half a step backwards.

“Either the one about acting human or the one about solid food,” she declared.  “I don’t care which:  they both apply.”  Gingerly, she pried a bun loose.  It was much too hot.  She half-flung it at the basket, then licked her fingers and shook them.

“This the latest modern hygiene?”

He got a dirty look.  “You won’t catch any germs.”

“Well, that’s true,” he said (and shuffled back another half step).

“I followed the recipe exactly,” Natalie declared.  “It said traditional.”

“Oh, they look it,” said Nick quickly.  “I’ve never seen more traditional.  You didn’t miss a thing.”

Mollified, Natalie gingerly pried loose another couple of buns for the basket.  Then she picked it up, whisked past him, and went through to the living room.  On the coffee table she had already placed mugs, butter dish, cream and sugar, and a teapot keeping hot under Nana Tash’s patchwork cosy.

“Come and get it,” she called, not looking back.  “And I’ll pour—since they definitely didn’t have tea back when you were mortal.”

Nick hesitated in the lobby, taking in the domestic scene.  It was, in its own way, quite charming … if you weren’t a vampire victim of culinary coaxing.

Natalie put down the basket, turned, and saw him lingering.  “Oh, come and sit down!” she said, annoyed.  “I’ve been slaving over a hot stove, so to speak.  The least you can do is try my baking.”

He tried a sheepish grin, but won no reprieve.  Reluctantly facing the inevitable, therefore, he sidled past the coffee table to sit on the far end of the couch from the basket.

Natalie sat down, set aside the cosy, and poured.  Nick refused both cream and sugar; then, with her eyes firmly on him, took a small, prudent sip.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Manfully, he swallowed.

“Now,” Natalie said firmly.  His heart sank as she plopped a plump bun on a plate.

He took refuge in another sip of tea.

“Mmmm, good,” he lied.  “You know, if I try this long enough, I might get to like it.”  (It’s the season for miracles, he thought.)  He hid his face in the mug.

“Here, take a bite,” he heard, and suddenly found the plate thrust under his nose.

He recoiled.

“Oh, for Chrissake!” Natalie exclaimed.  (Being irreligious in import, this caused him no turmoil).

“No, please.  I’d rather not,” he said feebly.  “I’m … really not hungry right now.”

“You’re ‘really not hungry’ ever when I cook for you,” she pointed out.  “But you’ve got to get used to eating real food.  It’s—”

“—the blood that keeps me from coming across,” finished Nick.  “Yes, I know.  You say it; and you’re the doctor.  But I’d … I’d just rather stick to the tea today, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” said Natalie indignantly.  “You might at least try it.”

“I’d rather not,” said Nick—as firmly and politely as he could, he felt.  In the circumstances.  “I really don’t feel up to it.”

Natalie looked at the plate.

Not the bun,” added Nick.  “All things considered … taking into account what it is, after all.”

“Flour and yeast, with dried fruit?” she asked.  “That’s ‘what it is’,” she added, puzzled.  “Won’t hurt you.”  She rolled her eyes.  “I mean, after all … what’s a bun?!”

He reached out a cautious finger, and recoiled with a shock.

“Hot and cross,” he said ruefully.

a hot cross bun

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Forever Knight fan fiction
FK4 Virtual Season

This story was posted to FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU on Good Friday, 25th March 2016.

Forever Knight and all characters and images from the original series are the property of Sony/Tristar.  No copyright infringement is intended.

The picture of the hot cross bun has been cropped from a photograph on Wikimedia Commons.  This was taken by a U.S. Air Force Airman or employee, taken or made as part of that person’s official duties.  As a work of the U.S. federal government, the image or file is in the public domain in the United States.

The kitchen tile background comes from the KnightWatchman Episode Archives and appears courtesy of Nancy A. Taylor.  It was originally a tile from the set for Natalie’s office.  The colour was altered at GRSites.com.

The wood graphic comes from GRSites.com.
The white background and the divider bar also come from GRSites.com, and had their colour altered with Microsoft Picture Manager.
The glossy background graphics came from 321Clipart.com, and had its colour altered at GRSites.com.

All original material on this webpage copyright © Greer Watson 2016.