waking somewhere new {}tristan{}

Tristan checked the clock again and pulled some ingredients out of the pantry and the refrigerator. He turned on the oven and went to work on making the food. Humming a happy tune, he kneaded and whipped and rolled things. He quickly put together two masterpieces and set them to be cooked. One to boil and the other in the oven. He closed the oven door and put the top on the boiling pot.

Hmmm, what to drink? She was a bit young in this country to drink. How old was she? He thought to himself.

Tristan suddenly heard the shower running. Ah, she was up. Deciding on water, he set out the table. It had long been set for one and he was pretty excited to be finally cooking for somebody else besides his stuffy teacher and her customers.

The pot came to a boil and Tristan quickly went to stir it. He heard someone behind him and turned around.

"Whatcha makin', Frenchie?"

He took a second to collect his thoughts and answer the question. Though Tristan had many girlfriends in his teen years his mother would never let them stay the night. She was very strict about this so he usually stayed at their house. Of course there were girls running in and out of his dorm in t-shirt because of his roommate but they never wore his t-shirts. Yet there she was with his green one that he wore every once in a while. It was very different seeing Janie in it. Without pants--
He cut off his thoughts and turned back around stirring the pot with a new found purpose.

"Ragoût de Boulettes for dinner and Pudding au Chomeur for dessert. I hope you are hungry. Are you feeling bettre?" he said his voice not as loud and boomy as usual.

Tristan stopped stirring and let the food simmer. The aroma of it filled his nose and it brought back memories of being in his mother's restaurant. He smiled and checked on the pie.

"Oh, um... Sorry, I hope you don't mind me borrowing this... I just felt kind of gross in my clothes, y'know? Anyways, I'm a whole lot better now... I have a bit of a headache, but it's nothing I can't manage,"

"No no it's fine. I understand," he said turning back around, "there's watre on the table if you need zome."

Tristan looked at Janie and saw that she indeed looked much better than a few hours ago. He really never smoked anything but his roommate back in the dorms used to come in stoned on occasion. He really never understood the reason to do it if it made you look and feel that bad. Americans were strange.

"Hey, isn't this place kinda big for just one person? Where's your roommate?"

"Well, I would like a roommate but no one was been kind enough to azk. Most of them eithre live in the dorm or at 'ome," he replied.

Tristan went back to the food and took a taste. A smile crept onto his face and he knew it was ready. Grabbing two plates from the pantry he poured the meatballs and sauces onto two plates and brought then to the table.

"Dinnre is served," he announced in an alluring voice. He sat down and waited for Janie to take the first bite.

"Hey, how'd you get me here anyways? Did you carry me or something?"

Tristan nodded slowly. "You are very light. I did not want to wake you," he answered quickly before sitting down. Janie started talk about her roommate and used a word that he didn't quite understand but he nodded anyway. She began to mention something about how she could be his roommate when she came to Baum next year.

"Ah but I cannot keep you from the fun of dorm life. You will mizz all the parties," he said. He then began to think of Janie with all of the drunkards and rude people at those parties and thought otherwise. Most of those parties ended in huge headaches anyway.

Her compliment brought him out of his thoughts and he almost missed his favorite part of cooking: watching the person take the first bite. Their reaction always made or broke the dish. He watched her eat the food and smile and his eyes lingered on that smile. Her smile made him smile.

"Thank you, It is so nice to be cooking for othres besides myself. I'm glad you like it," he said shyly his eyes still lingering on her.