puckandpie | (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

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."