Rose turned to the cupboards, scanning the shelves like a detective on a mission. "Let's see what we've got," she murmured, opening one cabinet after another. Cans, jars, boxes—some organized, some haphazard.
"What do you want to cook?" asked Rose.
"Let's keep looking. Maybe some kind of soup," Austin replied.
"There are some canned beans, if that's what you're thinking," Rose suggested. "What else can you cook?"
"I dabble in a few cuisines," Austin said, then asked, "Do we have spaghetti?"
Rose stretched, trying to reach the top cupboard.
"Here, Rose, use the stool I'm standing on," Austin offered.
"Thanks." Rose stepped onto the stool and reached the top shelf. There, tucked in the back, was a single box of pasta.
"Well, there's no spaghetti, but we do have pasta," she said, lowering it onto the counter.
"Close enough, I guess," Austin muttered, frowning slightly.
Seeing the frown, Rose couldn't resist teasing him. "So, what type of pasta are we making, chef?"
"Tomato pasta," Austin replied confidently.
"But there are no fresh tomatoes," Rose said, raising an eyebrow.
"Then we'll just use the leftover soup," Austin said with a grin.
"Good thinking," Rose said, clearly impressed. "Your mom must be proud. Did she teach you how to cook?"
Austin shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Not really… I mostly watch cooking shows on tv, and then I try things myself. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't."
When it came to the chilies, Austin requested, "Cut them long and vertical, not short and cylindrical." Rose complied, smiling at his particular way of doing things.
"So, Austin, where's your mom?" she asked as she moved toward the stove.
"She's on a trip," Austin replied. "My brother and Uncle Charlie are out, shopping for groceries."
Carefully, she added the hard, uncooked pasta along with salt to the pot of boiling water.
"Rose, can you add oil to it? Not too much, just a few drops," Austin instructed.
"Oil? Is that another trick you saw on TV?" Rose teased.
"Have you ever noticed that the pasta often sticks together when you boil it?" asked Austin."Well, if you add a few drops of oil, it prevents that from happening."
"That's a neat trick. Thanks Austin." said Rose. She carefully drizzled a few drops of oil into the boiling water and gave it a gentle stir. "There, a tiny bit of magic for your pasta," she said with a wink.
"Wait," muttered Austin, looking carefully at the packaging.
"Is the pasta expired?" asked Rose curiously.
"No, worse. It's really curly. What type is this?"
"It's fusilli," said Rose.
"It looks like a crossbreed between penne and corkscrew," said Austin.
"Why, don't you like this shape?" teased Rose.
Austin rolled his eyes. "It's just… I like penne better. It holds sauce evenly."
Rose took out another pan from the cabinet and placed it on the stove. "Now, add some oil," Austin instructed. Rose poured a generous splash into the pan, letting it shimmer over the heat.
She tossed in the chopped onions and green chilies. The sizzle filled the kitchen, releasing a sharp, fragrant aroma. Austin observed as the onions began to soften. "Once they lighten in color, add the bell pepper," he instructed. Rose complied, adding the glossy red strips to the pan.
They stirred for a few minutes until the vegetables seemed just right. "Now, dump the soup in," Austin said. Rose carefully poured the leftover tomato soup into the pan, letting it mix with the vegetables.
"Want to add a bit of ketchup too?" Austin asked, pulling a bottle from the counter. Rose squirted a small amount into the mixture, and he stirred it in.
Austin took a sniff and sighed wistfully. "I wish we had broccoli. Would've made it perfect."
Rose looked at him curiously. "You're… not like other kids your age, are you?"
"I'm just built differently," said Austin smugly.
"What?" asked Rose curiously, but she just chalked it off as some sort of childish lingo.
Rose drained most of the pasta water, leaving just a bit in the pot, and poured the sauce-and-vegetable mixture into it. She stirred carefully, coating the fusilli in the rich, spiced tomato base. The aroma filled the kitchen, warm and comforting.
"Don't forget the other spices," Austin reminded her, pointing at the small row of jars they'd gathered—pepper, salt, oregano, chili flakes.
"Oops, silly me," Rose said, sprinkling them one by one with a flourish. She gave the pan a few more stirs, then clapped her hands together. "And… done! Yay! Good job." She lifted her palm high.
Austin smacked it with enthusiasm. "Teamwork."
Just then, Alan peeped into the kitchen, curious at the sound of sizzling and laughter. He paused at the doorway, a little surprised at the sight of Rose and Austin working together like co-chefs.
"Smells amazing," Alan said, stepping inside. "Thanks for cooking for us, Rose."
Rose brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, smiling. "Of course. I hope you both like pasta."
"Come, sit and eat with us," Alan offered warmly.
Rose hesitated for a second, then nodded. "All right. I'd love to." Before following him, she cast a playful wink at Austin—like a little secret passed between them.
At the table, Rose carefully served generous portions onto their plates. The fusilli gleamed with sauce, speckled with peppers and herbs. Austin grinned proudly at his bowl as though he'd made it himself.
Alan twirled some pasta onto his fork and took the first bite. His expression brightened instantly. "This is really good."
Rose smiled, but instead of taking the praise, she tilted her head toward Austin. "You might be thanking the wrong person. Austin was the real chef today."
Alan blinked. "Wait… what?"
Austin looked down at his plate, fidgeting with his fork. "I like cooking, Dad. It's relaxing."
"When did you learn how to cook?" asked Alan.
"Rose did everything. I just instructed her on what to do this time," said Austin.
"Don't let him downplay it," Rose said firmly. "He told me when the onions were ready, when to put in the peppers, and even suggested adding the soup and a bit of ketchup. I was just following his lead."
Alan turned to his brother, brows raised in surprise. "Seriously, Austin? You did all that?"
Austin waved it off like it was nothing, "It's not a big deal."
Alan leaned forward, seizing the moment with a serious expression. "Actually, it is a big deal. Cooking is one of the most important life skills you can have. Do you know how many people grow up not knowing how to even boil water? Then what happens? They spend their lives living off takeout, getting unhealthy, and wasting money they don't have."
"Dad…" Austin muttered, already regretting saying anything.
But Alan was just getting started. "Think about it—cooking teaches you independence, responsibility, even creativity. You're literally taking raw ingredients and turning them into something nourishing. That's a metaphor for life right there."
Rose hid a smile behind her hand, amused by the life lesson.
Austin sighed. "It's just pasta, Dad."
Alan ignored him, warming up like he was giving a TED Talk. "This could be the start of something bigger, Austin. Today it's pasta, tomorrow it's a three-course meal. Who knows—maybe you'll end up hosting dinner parties, impressing friends, dates—"
"Dates?" Austin groaned. "I'm nine… oh wait. It's ten now."
Rose chuckled at that, while Austin buried his face in his hands.
Alan sat back, satisfied. "So yes, my son, this is a big deal. You're learning a skill that'll serve you your entire life."
Austin peeked at Rose from behind his hands, muttering under his breath, "Remind me never to admit I like cooking again."
Rose leaned her chin lightly on her hand, curious. "So, Alan… what about your family? I know Austin, but not much beyond that."
Alan dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, always ready to talk. "Well, I have one other son, Jake—my older one. Both of my kids are in fifth grade."
"So Austin has a twin brother?" asked Rose, surprised.
"Not exactly," said Austin. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin to drain the excess sauce from his lips and continued the explanation, "Jake and I are Irish twins."
"Irish twins?"
Alan interjected," It means that two siblings are born less than a year apart and sometimes end up in the same grade."
"Gee, Dad, you're amazing. You know a lot of things."
Alan blushed with embarrassment, knowing that it was actually his son who explained it to him for the first time. At that moment, the garage door opened outward, with Jake singing.
"It's got oats and corn and wheat, it's the sweetest breakfast treat, it's maple, maple, maaaaaaaaaaaa--"
"Jake, buddy, take a break," said Charlie. He stepped through the doorway behind him, juggling the groceries and pizza box. He froze mid-step, eyes narrowing as he spotted Rose sitting at the table with a plate of pasta, happily like she belonged there.