puckandpie | (no subject)

Entry tags:

derek

(no subject)

Somehow, even without class or exams or early-morning checking practices with Jack, I've managed to stick pretty close to the same schedule I had back at Samwell. If I'm honest, it helps having my own kitchen, the ability to make myself a ridiculously indulgent breakfast sometimes tempting enough to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn.

But even with that schedule, this morning is different. Because this morning I'm going to the Darrow farmer's market with Derek Hale.

(It's honestly a wonder I got a wink of sleep at all. I can only hope I don't have luggage-sized bags under my eyes as a result.)

I've never been much of a fashion guy, but I can't deny I fussed a little bit over my clothing choices this morning before finally deciding on a pair of jeans and a green button-down. I'm trying to go for casual, but not too casual. I know I've no reason to try to impress, but it's not everyday an ordinary lil' Southern boy gets to spend the morning with someone who looks like Derek.

I double-check the street sign with the message Derek had texted me and check the time while I'm at it. There's still five minutes left before our arranged meeting time and I hope I don't come off as too over-eager by arriving first. I mean, in truth, only half of the appeal is Derek-related; the other half is all about the wide range of fresh produce suddenly at my fingertips. Already, the excitement of the crowd is starting to get to me as I watch couples and families wander by on their way, dogs on leashes and hyper children. The sun has been up for only a few hours and there's a bit of a chill in the air, that perfect little hint that fall is on the way.

Today is going to be glorious, I can just feel it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I can tell Derek's joking and I smile at him, wide and reassuring. "Oh, you're special," I promise him. "But, unfortunately, not even you can eat all the pies I plan to make. I have a problem, I think you should know. A compulsion. And there's nothing worse than a pie left uneaten."

I'm still smiling at him when he points out the nuts and I hurry over, hunting out the pecans which, of course look incredible.

It doesn't take long to collect the pears and rhubarb and pecans I need and I'm soon bouncing back to Derek with two full bags. "I'm glad I came here with you my first time," I tell him, more than happy with my haul. "I don't think I've ever gone through a farmer's market so efficiently. You definitely have a sense for these things."

"Careful, I may feel compelled to take you up on that challenge," he says with a smile. He has quite a sweet tooth, but he isn't a fan of anything too processed. He can always smell and taste the chemicals, given his senses, so he's a sucker for anything homemade.

He follows Bitty over towards the nuts and leans against a support beam, watching in amusement and sipping his coffee as Bitty picks through them. Once his latte is all gone, he tips his head back to get the last drops and then tosses the cup into a trash can a few feet away.

"I'm honored to be your first," Derek teases as Bitty comes back over looking pleased with himself. "Was it good for you?"

Derek gives him a big smile and then nods, looking down at all the fresh food sticking out of of his bags. "Yeah, I guess you could say that I'm good at sniffing out the good ones. You ready to go?"

It's so difficult not to assume there's innuendo in Derek's words, my face heating at the just the implication though I thankfully don't trip over my words this time.

"It was marvelous," I tell him then and, feeling brave, my grin widens. "The earth shook and I may never be the same again."

I pull one of the bags higher up on my shoulder after taking the last sip of my latte and follow Derek out of the crowd. "We may have to do this again. You're like a homing beacon to the good stuff. Maybe not every weekend though," I quickly amend. "I don't want you to get sick of me. How far is your apartment from here?"

Derek isn't expecting that particular response, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face, or the delighted chuckle that escapes him. "Glad I could be of service."

They head out of the farmer's market and Derek looks over at him, quirking a concerned brow at his words. "I'm here about this time every weekend, and you're always welcome to join me."

He finds that he really means that, and he nudges his elbow against Bitty's shoulder to drive his point home. "I live in a cabin, actually. We're going to the commissary where we do all the prep for the truck. It's quiet and it'll have everything we need. I already asked Helen, and she said you could use anything you wanted."

"I'll keep that in mind then," I tell him, thrilling at the idea that Derek's extended an open invitation even if I'm still too cautious to take him up on it every single weekend. The last thing I want to do is risk driving off one of the few friends I've made in this place.

I'm still grinning when he mentions the commissary and I bounce a few steps ahead before catching myself. "Goodness, that's nice of her! I promise I'll treat all her equipment with the utmost respect and bring her a serving of anything I bake today. And if you want any to sell from your truck it's all yours. If you think it's good enough, of course."

"Good. I enjoyed the company," Derek says easily, looking both ways before crossing the street. A soft smile stretches across his face as Bitty springs past him and then turns back. He's enthusiastic and energetic in a way that Derek can enjoy, rather than a way that overwhelms him.

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that," Derek tells him. The commissary isn't far, and Derek pulls his keys out as they approach the main door. "The truck is her domain, but I'm thinking that having something like that at the bar might a good idea. Maybe this can double as a job interview."

He's teasing, because he's already confident that Bitty's pies will be delicious. It'd be a good way for Bitty to make some easy cash, and help Derek further cater to tipsy hungry people.

Derek leads them through the halls of the commissary and then unlocks the kitchen space they rent, gesturing Bitty inside before shutting the door. It's a small restaurant style kitchen, with plenty of dry storage and a walk-in refrigerator and freezer combo. He and Helen use it mostly for storage and prep, and it comes with a place out back to keep the truck.

"Here it is," he says, setting his bags down on the big steel prep table before turning to smile at Bitty. "Our kitchen for the day. Any dishes and utensils you'll need will be over there, and take whatever you need from the dry storage or fridge."

"Oh goodness, really?" I have the feeling Derek's just joking, but just the idea is exciting. "I mean, I have a job right now at The Enchanted Forest of Pizza, but, as you can imagine, it's not exactly the best place of employment. The customers aren't bad for the most part, but the food there is terrible. I feel guilty just serving it! And no matter how often I ask, they won't let me into the kitchen at all. Not that I could fix anything; I'm sure. The ingredients themselves are appalling. I hope you've never gone there. If you weren't a--" I catch myself just in time, remembering that admitting to knowing more about Derek than he's told me is not a great idea. "I mean, it's rife for food poisoning. It's a wonder I haven't gotten it yet purely by osmosis."

I realize I'm rambling as Derek sets his bags down on the prep table and I finally go quiet long enough to admire the space. It's not overly large, but perfectly sized for Derek's needs, I'm sure. There's definitely plenty of space for the both of us. I brush a hand over the cool, steel surface of the table and then turn to take in the tools available to me.

"This is a hundred times better than the Haus kitchen," I admit with a laugh then shoot Derek a quick grin. "Please don't ever tell Betsy you heard me say that though. I'd hate to upset her."

Setting down my own bags, I pull out the apples and arrange them carefully by type and then swiftly set about finding the flour and sugar and cinnamon, careful to remember how much I'm using so I can replenish Helen's stock later. It's easy to get lost in the familiarity of this and in no time, I'm totally focused on the task at hand. That being, to make Derek the best tasting Dutch apple pie he's ever put in his mouth.

"I don't understand why anyone eats there," Derek replies, wrinkling his nose as he spreads his items out on the other side of the prep table. He's on the other side at the opposite end, facing Bitty as they work. "Even the smell alone--"

He cuts himself off before he says anything more and has to explain why he has such a heightened sense of smell. After a moment of wondering idly how Bitty might react to the news, he dismisses the thought and goes about separating his purchases. Everything he's going to use right now gets left on the table, while everything that will go home with him later gets neatly put away.

"But yeah, we'll see how this goes, and I'm sure we can work something out," Derek tells him. Bitty is efficient with his movements and obviously knowledgeable. Derek takes a moment to watch him work before he looks down at two perfect steaks. One is quite a bit smaller, and Derek reserves that one for Bitty. It's not tiny by any means, but too small for Derek. In fact, were he alone, he'd eat them both. "Semele's has a kitchen too, so you could make them on site. It'd be easier than dragging pies all over town."

After spending weeks working there, I've gotten more used to the smell of the place, but it's not a scent I would ever call good. Being just a regular human with a regular sense of smell, it's bad enough; I can't imagine how awful it must be to a werewolf and I can't help but wrinkle my nose in sympathy.

I glance up to watch Derek start putting his things away, eyes catching on muscled forearms because, as previously noted, I'm human. I look away before he can spot me, easily distracted by gathering all the spices and powders I need for my pie. I haven't had time to create a crust from scratch, but I'm hopeful the one I bought from the store will be okay for now. This is only first stab, I remind myself. Plenty of time and room for improvement!

"Is that legal?" I ask even though something about working in a bar, in Derek's bar sends a weird sort of thrill down my spine. "I mean, I'm only eighteen. Not that I'd be drinking while working, of course. Not while baking! I've done that before and, let me tell you, it does not end well for anyone. But I'd hate to get you in trouble just by being there. I haven't gone looking for any pie carriers yet, but I'm certain I can find some if it comes down to that. Of course, this is all hypothetical at the moment."

"The drinking age in Darrow is eighteen, and age of consent is sixteen," Derek informs him, because he assumes that's the sort of thing that everyone should know. "So you working there wouldn't be a problem."

Once Derek gets everything organized he washes his hands, and then surveys the kitchen with a thoughtful expression while drying them off. Once he decides what he wants to do, he sets about making a spice rub for the steaks, mixing various spices in a bowl and tossing them before sprinkling the mixture over the meat and carefully rubbing it in with his fingers. He lets it rest as he rinses off his hands and turns on the oven and stove. moving gracefully around the kitchen as he grabs pans and trays.

"I trust you not to get drunk and burn down my kitchen," Derek says with a laugh, sending a smile his way as he melts some butter in a pan on the stove, letting it get a little nutty and brown before setting the steaks in it to sear.

With all my things gathered, I slow for minute to watch Derek work -- okay, maybe just to watch the muscles in his forearms work but who could blame me? -- before I shake myself out of my daze to turn on Helen's oven and then scrutinize the collection of apples I've procured.

"Do you prefer sweet over tart, or vice versa?" I ask, grabbing two apples from one group and two from another. "Personally, I prefer a little sweeter, but not too sweet so I try to balance it out with one apple that's a little more tart, but since this is going to be your pie, I want to make it to your liking. Also, what are your feelings on cinnamon?"

The room is already starting to smell delicious thanks to the spices Derek is throwing together and I breathe it in, enjoying the unusual sensation of sharing a kitchen with someone who actually knows how to use one.

Derek looks over just as Bitty looks away and smiles a little to himself, ducking his head a bit before looking back over as he's asked a question. "Your way sounds good. Sweet, but not too sweet. I'm definitely more of a red apple guy. And I like cinnamon fine, I guess."

He's never really been asked on his preference on sweets, aside from Helen using him as a guinea pig, and it makes him take pause for a moment. He blinks and looks down at his steaks, sniffing a bit. There's a nice sear on the bottom, and he uses tongs to flip them over. "How do you like your meat? Please don't say well done."

"Sweet, but not too sweet it is!" I say, grinning over as I put one of tart apples away for another sweet and get to peeling. This part, figuring out how many apples I need to fill the pie, always takes a little guess work so I try to go for too many instead of not enough. After all, I can just snack on whatever is left over.

The kitchen is already smelling so, so good and I glance over at Derek and then down at the steak he's cooking. "Well, that sorta narrows my choices now, doesn't it?" I ask, chirping him quietly. "How 'bout you make it like you would for you and I'll see how I like it."

I realize only after I've said it that there's a decent possibility that Derek actually likes his meet rare. He is a werewolf. Then again, he's a werewolf who exists pretty prominently in a civilized area, maybe he's used to acting more human to avoid unwanted speculation.

It's occurring to me that, despite watching several seasons of Teen Wolf, there's actually quite a lot about Derek Hale I don't know.

"Cooking a steak well done is an insult to a good piece of meat," Derek says emphatically, waving his tongs around. Bitty says he'll take his the same as Derek's, and he raises an eyebrow. Derek likes his meat pretty rare, which he supposes is probably pretty stereotypical, but it just tastes better that way. "I take mine pretty rare, but I can cook yours a little more if you want."

He sets some water to boil and cleans up some baby red potatoes before dropping them into the water and putting a lid on top. "Steak and smashed potatoes, I think. Nothing fancy today."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only