Chapter Five

I'm too exhausted to even consider trying to formulate a proper blog entry. I'll play catch up tomorrow. But I will leave you instead, with another installment of the Anderfic. I want to say thank you though, to everyone who leaves comments on the blog. I really appreciate it, even if I don't answer all of them (depends on my mood). They always make me smile.

Warning: Definitely fiction. If it were true, do you think I'd be here blogging for you?

As we drove out of the city, he asked more about me. He asked things that were rather trivial, like my favourite movie, to what my family was like and why I’d chosen to go into journalism. I gave him my answer and then asked him a question in reciprocal. As we drove, I gazed out the car windows as buildings blurred past and turned into trees and expanding lawns.
We entered what appeared to me to be a residential neighbourhood, slowing and pulling into a cobblestone driveway. The car came to a stop and I looked around trying to find anything that may suggest it was some type of restaurant. Nothing. We were completely alone. When I got out of the car, Anderson asked if I could help him carry some things inside. I obliged and went to the rear of the car to help. I was surprised by what I found.
“Groceries? You’re planning on cooking?”
“No, we’re planning on cooking.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I loved to cook, but I loved even more a man who could cook. I looked at the array of fresh vegetables and spices, trying to put together an idea of what might be on the menu.
“What are we going to cook, Anderson?”
“I’m not really sure. At least, I don’t think. We’ll see where this takes us.”
I continued to ask questions as we walked towards the house. It was his; a place to get away from the hectic pace of the city, a place to reflect and relax. Very exclusive, I smiled to myself thinking about what he’d said.
The outside of the house was very Victorian, architecturally. It was set far back from the quiet road, a vast expanse of neatly kept grass and shrubbery surrounding it. The inside was an elegant blend of modern minimalism and elaborate traditional decoration. The floors were all rich oak wood, warm and inviting; the walls varied from calm pastels to bold jewel tones setting the atmosphere of every room individually. I made mental notes in my head of the paintings and other pieces of art lining the walls as we walked toward the kitchen; a Pollock, Renoir, Mucha, a large Ansel Adams print all mixed among pieces done by his mother. I gazed in bewilderment, impressed by it all.
“My mother helped decorate,” he scratched his head with his free hand. “I’m fairly useless when it comes to design.”
“It’s gorgeous. The art… How did you… Are they all originals?”
“Mostly. Some are numbered prints. I have more upstairs if you’d like to look later.”
I nodded that I would, still astounded by what I had seen of the collection. I’d forgotten to mention during our talks that I was a bit of an artist myself; one without motivation, but still an artist.
We entered the kitchen, a room that in itself was a work of art. Growing up with a cook for a mother and a family that always gathered in the kitchen, I had learned to appreciate the importance of a good kitchen. It was incredibly spacious with immense marble countertops. A butcher’s block stood near the centre island. An oversized flattop stove and an oven were built into one side of the countertops. After unloading the groceries, I placed a hand on the marble enjoying the smooth texture of the cool stone. Anderson had begun pulling out pots and pans while I stared aimlessly.
“Are you ready?”
He looked at me as though he could read my mind. I felt so vulnerable, so naked beneath his eyes.
“Sure,” the word came slowly from my mouth in a distracted tone. “What do you want me to do?”
“Start chopping some vegetables. The ones you like, I’m not picky. I’ll do everything else. I want to leave you guessing, a surprise I suppose.”
I smiled at him and began looking through the vegetables; onions, mushrooms, zucchini, tomatoes, peppers and some others. I busied my hands while I let my mind wander to think about what all of this was supposed to mean.
Anderson was busy cooking up something that smelled delicious. The kitchen was filled with the mixing scents of peanuts, coconut and something I couldn’t quite place. It was all very Asian in nature, something I enjoyed.