Monthly Bonus Content #2: ‘Simmering Affection' (Silas Version) (Patreon)

[Alternate Text: The header image is a blue heart made out of flames reminiscent of the fire used on gas stovetops. ‘Simmering Affection‘ acts as the title in a silvered font that is similar to stainless steel cookware in color. ]

[TFS Patrons, please be sure to see this post about adding my email address to your contacts so you can enjoy the RO character portraits. I haven't heard back from some of you, and I would like to make certain you have the portraits to enjoy. 🥰]

[A reminder of the call for Q&A questions/prompts can be found: here. It closes March 22nd.]

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'Bring the sauce to a light simmer.'

'No, delicate. Awaken the spices. A very low heat.'

You scrutinize the neat writing in the margins of the recipe book, trying to puzzle out what is the nuance of difference between a delicate and light simmer. The creamy alfredo sauce recipe was more straightforward than Mrs. Corvin's renowned spaghetti, but variety is always good in a shared meal. Her little notes might be helpful once you know how to interpret them.

It feels like you are trying to divine secrets while peering into the faintly bubbling pot.

Fresh tomatoes rather than canned, herbs harvested from the garden, and high-quality spices allude to how important this dinner is.

You, Silas, and Becca are determined to create a perfect meal for Mrs. Dorran on Valentine's.

…If only she would let you…

"Are you sure there's nothing I can help with?"

"Mom," Silas intones. "Please try to relax?"

"Alright, alright, I'll just leave these here…"

Mrs. Dorran sets down a pair of recently laundered dish towels in case there are any spills, but she lingers by the counter to watch Becca work on the dessert before her eyes rove over to where you man the stove. You bite back a smile at her honest curiosity. "Still not telling," you lightly tease her. This could never be a total surprise with how well she knows the B&B; however, details have been kept hidden.

"It smells so delicious, possibly, hmm, Italian?"

Silas steps over to your work area, depositing some freshly made pasta into a boiling pot while simultaneously fixing his mother with a gently scolding look. You're actually surprised how well he copies it, but his affected sternness is nothing compared to Mrs. Dorran's. He looks at her with too much compassion, not truly irritated when this was mostly his grand idea.

The three of you getting hand-made Valentine's Day cards this morning only cemented that you should do something sweet for her soon.

"I'll be in the living room, hun," Mrs. Dorran relents. "Let me know if you need me, please."

"Yes, ma'am." "I promise." "Will do."

Mrs. Dorran only reluctantly leaves after each of you acknowledge her offer, which pulls a low sigh from Silas that you barely hear over the simmering and boiling pans. He peers over in your direction, smiling faintly with a tinge of exasperation that you see right through. "She doesn't really know how to take a break, but we can help," you reassure him. "It will take time."

"Maybe…"

Silas returns to pushing down a few of the rebellious pasta noodles that threaten to bob above the waterline. His head remains subtly tilted in your direction, clearly listening or open to conversation. Aside from the noises of the meal preparation, Becca is adding to the white noise effect by occasionally muttering under her breath while making brownies. She gets in the zone when baking.

"Is maybe not good enough?" you wonder.

"It's a possibility of something," Silas replies with a weak shrug. "My mom's a caregiver by nature, but some of her attentiveness is because she's independent."

You can see that…

Mrs. Dorran's desire to make sure those under her roof are taken care of to the fullest extent possible means she won't rely on others to do it.

"What you said about time is true," Silas admits, adjusting the dial on the stove when the water from the pot boils a bit too rapidly. The warning hiss of it causes tension to thread itself into his wrist. He casually angles to be between the burner and you until the flames level back out, keeping his eyes downcast. "How's the sauce?"

It's only then that you realize why you were given salad and garlic bread duty—the fire.

He didn't want you alone near this stovetop.

Your fingers tighten around the spoon you have been using to idly stir the mostly finished sauces that are simmering or keeping warm. It is hard to see the ring of blue flames peeking out from under the pot; they are so tiny. What if those are Silas's notes and not Mrs. Corvin's?

Did he try to 'fireproof' this experience…?

"It's, uhm, fine," you distractedly reply, unsure how to feel about his consideration. "I mean, it's probably great, yeah. 'Awakening the spice.'"

The slight hesitation in your voice could be why Silas stops prodding the wayward pasta, though he turns the heat lower and partially covers the pot with a lid before looking over. His sudden focus causes your eyes to retreat to the rich red depths of the sauce. Suddenly, you wonder if you are even stirring it right; there was a note about that too. "Maybe you should just—I don't want to mess this up for her…"

'For you.'

Really, for either Silas or Mrs. Dorran.

"I know you won't, but even if you did and there was a tomato calamity, how else would you ever learn?" Silas's reasoning is softened by a hint of dry humor. "We can do it together."

He only steps closer after you nod, choosing to telegraph his movements so that you can be the one to accept or refuse them. Your grip on the large spoon nearly falters when he slowly covers your hand rather than taking it from you. This gives a new meaning to a hands-on demonstration. None too subtly watching him remove all of his rings one by one distracted you during the first few minutes of this cooking project.

It was hard to look away.

Each faint clink of them against the far counter drew your attention as Silas nimbly pulled or twisted the bands of metal in a way you found attractive. He was preoccupied, but Becca saw you looking and had smiled to herself. Maybe it wasn't the most typical thing to find hot, but…

"[Nickname] (or [Name])?"

"Yeah?" you quickly reply, feeling the inquisitive squeeze Silas gives the back of your palm as if checking you're still there. "I'm listening."

"The heat is low enough that you don't need to worry about the sides sticking too much." He guides your hand in a broad swooping motion, tracing the side of the pot with the spoon's edge to scrape. "It's the herbs. Some of them will continually release flavor as they cook down"—Silas melds his hand to yours to ensure a unified hold—"so we want to incorporate that by folding the sauce inwards. Always gently."

Obviously, he is talking about the sauce, not how he is just behind you guiding your actions with a gentleness that you can feel. His tone is unbearably patient, kept in a soothing register that seems meant for you alone. He may have guided you initially, but the tension in his wrist eases to be virtually non-existent as another slow rotation rolls by and the spices grow more aromatic. Silas completely trusts you to do it.

Your eyes deviate from the sauce to see that he is already watching you with a tender smile.

It's a good thing the heat is set to simmer; you return his attention without any hesitation…

"You're both doing amazing!"

"I know, right?" Becca chimes in. "It's like I'm a part of a studio audience on a cooking show."

"Mom," Silas exhales lowly, drifting closer to you as if to tuck away into your shadow despite his statuesque height. His hand stays on yours as he checks the timer and peeks at the noodles before he eventually pulls back to remove the finished pasta from the burner. "Dinner's ready. We all"—he seeks out you in particular—"did great."