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abramsbooks · 4 years

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RECIPE: Spaghetti with garlic, tomato, basil, and beurre tomate (from From Scratch by Michael Ruhlman)

This is one of my all-time favorite dishes in summer, when tomato and basil are abundant and I can also usually find really good garlic at the farmers’ market. Freshness is everything here, but the very concept of the sauce is also gratifying, and delicious. I’ve been making a version of this since I read about it in an obscure paperback cookbook in 1984. At the time, I hadn’t heard of fresh basil, so I used dry, assuming that’s what the recipe called for, and still it was good enough to make again. I moved to New York City in 1985, where I discovered fresh basil at my local bodega. Ah! Now I get it, I thought. This dish became a staple in my penurious city days.

Maybe fifteen years later, I began to notice that when I salted the tomatoes early, they released a lot of liquid. I knew there was a ton of flavor in that liquid, but how to get at it? It was the consistency of water, and you wouldn’t want to put water on your pasta. By then I’d learned about beurre blanc (whisking butter into white wine to make a sauce) and beurre monté, a restaurant term for melting butter while keeping it homogenous, by whipping it into a small mount of water. I figured the same could be done with the tomato water, making what in effect is not a beurre blanc, but a beurre tomate. It worked like a dream. The tomato water emulsifies into the butter so that it all clings lovingly to the pasta. Combine it with the tried-and-true combination of garlic and basil and you have a sublime pasta dish.

This makes for a genuinely satisfying meal in itself, or a terrific “primo” dish before the main course, Italian-style. It is best cooked as you need it—it shouldn’t take longer than it takes a pot of water to boil and spaghetti to cook. But if you want, everything can be made ahead and combined quickly à la minute.

Make your own spaghetti, and this one is out of the park.

Serves 2 to 4

4 large ripe tomatoes, diced (if tomatoes are plentiful, use a mix of red and yellow)

1½ to 2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more for the pasta water

1 cup/15 grams fresh basil chiffonade

12 ounces/340 grams spaghetti

6 tablespoons/90 grams unsalted butter

8 garlic cloves, minced

Put the tomatoes in a bowl and sprinkle the salt over them to encourage them to give up their water. Take a pinch of the basil chiffonade and mince it. Add it to the tomatoes and toss to combine. Set aside.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Cook the spaghetti until al dente.

Meanwhile, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter in a sauté pan over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook till it’s tender, then turn the heat to high. Working quickly, hold a basket strainer or colander over the pan with the garlic. Pour the tomatoes into the strainer so that the tomato water goes into the pan. Return the tomatoes to the bowl and set aside.

When the tomato water comes to a simmer, add the remaining 5 tablespoons/75 grams butter and swirl the pan continuously over the heat until it’s completely melted. Remove the pan from the heat.

When the pasta is done, drain it and toss it with the beurre tomate. Serve in pasta bowls, topped with the tomatoes and basil.

An indispensable new cookbook from James Beard Award-winning food writer Michael Ruhlman

From Scratch looks at 10 favorite meals, including roast chicken, the perfect omelet, and paella—and then, through 175 recipes, explores myriad alternate pathways that the kitchen invites. A delicious lasagna can be ready in about an hour, or you could turn it into a project: try making and adding some homemade sausage. Explore the limits of from-scratch cooking: make your own pasta, grow your own tomatoes, and make your own homemade mozzarella and ricotta. Ruhlman tells you how.

There are easy and more complex versions for most dishes, vegetarian options, side dishes, sub-dishes, and strategies for leftovers. Ruhlman reflects on the ways that cooking from scratch brings people together, how it can calm the nerves and focus the mind, and how it nourishes us, body and soul.

For more information, click here.

#abramsbooks #abrams books #michael ruhlman #from scratch #from scratch book #recipe #free recipe #beurre tomate #pasta recipe #tomato recipe #fresh tomatoes #tomato season

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darecruit · 4 years

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Sneak Peek: New One Shot!

A Shelby/Rachel AU where they aren’t related but form a special mother/daughter relationship. Rachel’s in college and hasn’t been making the best decisions when it comes one of her classes. When Shelby finds out, she has something to say about that.

Motherly Attentions

Twenty-year-old Rachel Berry stood outside a familiar row home in Queens, shifting from foot to foot as she worked up the courage to knock on the front door. It wasn’t a common occurrence for her to feel anxious about facing the woman behind that door. Normally she couldn’t wait until Friday rolled around so she could go visit her favorite middle school teacher.

Shelby Corcoran was a tough-as-nails teacher with a heart of gold. She had taught Rachel eighth grade English. Truthfully, Rachel had been intimidated by the stern teacher those first few weeks of school but grew to love her as the year progressed. Shelby had helped Rachel through a tough year full of bullying and no friends. And she had stayed in touch with the young teen through high school and now her first two years of college. Truly, Shelby was the mother Rachel never had, having grown up with two loving fathers instead.

Shelby had been there to offer guidance and advice all through Rachel’s teenage years, and a few stern words whenever the girl needed it (something she didn’t tend to get from her doting fathers). Rachel had always craved the attention from the maternal figure, taking the woman’s words to heart even when they were to scold.

Rachel knew she was in for a pretty serious scolding tonight. Shelby had been informed by Kurt (that fink!) that Rachel had been skipping most of her physics lectures this semester and her grade in the class was dropping. Shelby had sent her a text earlier asking her if she was still coming that evening as planned. When Rachel replied in the affirmative, Shelby then informed her that she wanted to sit down and have a long talk with her about school and her grades. That had made Rachel’s stomach flutter with guilt, but nothing compared to the text she had received just thirty minutes ago. She was running late to Shelby’s and had expected a text…just not the one she got.

Where are you? Get your butt to my house so I can beat it!

Rachel had been on the subway when that message came through and had audibly gasped. She had gotten a few looks from those closest to her but ignored them as her mind raced. Shelby couldn’t possibly mean that literally…could she?

The twenty-year-old looked down at her phone and reread that message for what must have been the thousandth time, then eyed the door warily. She couldn’t stay out here all night, and she didn’t want to. She loved seeing Shelby. She was even still looking forward to tonight—Shelby was making her favorite, eggplant parmesan (vegan, of course), and then they planned to catch up on this week’s episode of Project Runway. Rachel only wished that she knew if her mentor was serious or not in that text.

Surely she wasn’t…but on the other hand, Shelby had once swatted a fifteen-year-old Rachel. Rachel was visiting Shelby one Saturday afternoon and they were making chocolate chip cookies. She couldn’t remember exactly what she had said, but she knew it had been something meant as a joke that came out more smart-alecky than intended. It had all happened so quickly. Rachel remembered how Shelby had turned on her with that scary teacher face that had so intimidated her once upon a time, the sudden fear and guilt that had bubbled in her chest at clearly having upset the woman she looked up to and adored, and finally the surprise and then shock she felt when Shelby had laughed and swatted her with a wooden spoon. The girl hadn’t even seen the woman pick it up! The swat left the barest of faint stings, obviously meant to be playful, but Rachel, always so dramatic, had yelped and flung a hand back to rub just the same, all while giving Shelby a hurt-puppy look. Rachel could still see the teasing look the older brunette had given her and hear her words as if she had just spoken them this minute. “That’ll teach you not to mouth off to your mother, won’t it?”

Those words still brought a smile to Rachel’s face. Your mother. Of course, Shelby wasn’t really her mother, but she and Rachel had cultivated a familial relationship over the years, Rachel even calling her Mom and Shelby introducing her as her daughter when they were out together. Rachel’s fathers weren’t always so supportive of the role Shelby had grown to have in their daughter’s life, but even they had had to admit the benefits that came from Rachel having a trusted adult (and female to boot!) she could talk to and seek help from for things she wasn’t comfortable going to her dads for—especially those matters that dealt with the more delicate issues of growing up and becoming a woman.

In turn, Rachel knew that her own role in Shelby’s life meant a great deal to the woman. Shelby had long since been divorced, had one son, Jesse, who was twelve years older than Rachel and living in Northern Virginia with a wife and family of his own, but wasn’t able to get away from work often to visit. The year that Rachel walked into Shelby’s English class was the same year her son had moved away, and Shelby had said on more than one occasion that Rachel had come into her life at a time when she needed it most too.

Rachel was pulled from her thoughts as her phone buzzed in her hand and she saw “Momma S” flash across her lock screen. Shelby was calling! Slightly panicked, Rachel’s thumb fumbled once before she was able to swipe to answer.

“H-Hi, Mom,” she said, wincing as her voice cracked.

“Alright, Rach, seriously, where are you? It’s not like you to be this late. I’m starting to worry about you, kid. Are you okay?” came Shelby’s concerned voice in her ear.

More guilt bubbled inside and Rachel let out a sigh before replying, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m right outside—just got here.”

A second later, Rachel heard the deadbolt unlock and then the door was opening, revealing the beaming face of Shelby Corcoran. Arms opened and Rachel was pulled into a quick hug before being dragged inside the light and warmth of the house.

The delicious smells of dinner wafted towards her nose and coupled with the familiar smell of Shelby’s favorite perfume, Rachel couldn’t help but relax. She was home here.

“I’m sorry I’m late…and for worrying you. I didn’t mean to,” Rachel offered as Shelby took her coat and hung it in the closet. She bit her lip and shifted her feet when the woman turned back towards her. “Dinner smells wonderful, Mom,” she added, figuring a bit of buttering up couldn’t hurt.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You know me, I worry about you regardless. Momma’s prerogative, right?” Shelby said with a wink. “Now come on, the food’s almost ready. You can keep me company while I finish up.”

Shelby led the way from the foyer down a narrow hallway, past a small sitting room and Shelby’s study, to the back of the house where it opened into the kitchen/dining area and family room. Rachel followed a pace behind, wondering when Shelby was going to start in on her about her class. She knew it was coming and didn’t want to be caught off guard—especially since they were heading to the very same area of the house where a certain wooden spoon could be snatched up at a moment’s notice. And Rachel was almost certain that if it was, it wouldn’t be for play.

“So how was your day, my little rebel? And your classes? You did go to all of them today, I hope?” Shelby asked as she rounded the island to check on the meal.

Rachel noted with relief that while Shelby did sound exasperated, there was also a hint of amusement in her voice too. She chose to monopolize on that. “I…went to all the important ones?” she ventured. She ducked her head at the glare her adoptive mother shot her over her shoulder.

“Rachel,” Shelby warned, and there was no amusement in her tone now. “I obviously know you’ve been skipping at least one class and your grade is starting to reflect that. Are there any others I need to know about? Now’s the time to tell me if there is.”

“Mooom, I’m not,” Rachel found herself whining before she could stop herself. “And it’s not—my grade isn’t dependent on attendance for that class.”

“But your ability to learn and understand the material is dependent on it, is it not? Why are you skipping anyway? That’s not like you—you’ve always been very responsible when it comes to school. What’s changed? Is it a boy?” Shelby fired questions at her as she dipped a fork into the boiling pasta water and fished out a long linguine noodle. Bringing the fork to her mouth, Shelby took a small bite from the noodle and then nodded to herself. “No boy is worth changing for and certainly not failing a class for. Grab the strainer for me, please.”

Rachel rolled her eyes at the woman’s back and did as she was asked. She handed it over and then went to collect plates and silverware to set the table, knowing that would be the next request. “Nothing’s changed, no there’s not a boy, and I’m not failing.”

“That’s not what Kurt told me when he called to let me know what’s been going on with you,” Shelby disputed. “He said you’re worried about passing the final. How many weeks are left in the semester? You’ve got to stop fooling around, Rachel.”

“I’m not sure why Kurt even told you to begin with,” Rachel grumbled. “I’m not fooling around either, I just—”

“Are you or are you not failing the class, Rachel?” Shelby demanded, turning to face the girl with her hands on her hips.

“I’m not failing,” Rachel insisted. “I’m just…barely—” She made the mistake of catching Shelby’s eye in that moment and faltered, finishing in little more than a whisper, “—Passing.” Rachel licked her lips and felt her cheeks grow warm in shame. Shelby’s eyes had narrowed to little more than slits and she gave Rachel a look that made it exceedingly clear that she didn’t appreciate her subtle distinction on the matter of her grade.

#one shot #new #Shelby Corcoran #Rachel Berry

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crimsonfantrash-blog · 7 years

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Don’t Forget - Sans x Gaster (Human AU)

Chapter Three - Phone Calls

Sans came into the lab at around seven fifty in the morning, much to Gaster's surprise. Early, his first two days? This was beginning to become too good to be true.

"Three sugar, two cream?" Gaster asked when Sans had set the mug of hot coffee on his desk.

"Three sugar, two cream." Sans confirmed. Gaster nodded, sipping his coffee. Sans had made it perfectly, just like yesterday. He could get used to having Sans around. His co worker yawned before going to his desk. "What are we doing today?"

"I'm not sure yet. Asgore usually comes by and tells me what I'm supposed to be doing. I suppose the goal is the same as always, so he saw no use." Gaster replied, setting the mug of coffee down and digging through papers on his messy desk.

"What's the goal?" Sans asked. Gaster looked at his assistant.

"To get to the surface." He answered. "The only way we can do it is if we have seven monster souls, but the King's child is a monster. He would never be able to take the soul of an innocent monster. I- we have to find some other way out."

Sans seemed to make an uncomfortable face. "What if we get there, and it sucks?"

"We have to try." Gaster replied. "No matter what, we have to try."

Sans nodded a little, focusing his attention to his desk. Huh. He had papers on it. Didn't have those yesterday. "I mean, it doesn't appeal to me personally, but okay."

Gaster sipped his coffee, closing his eyes. "Today, we're going to work on a machine I've been working on sporadically."

"What does it do?" Sans asked. Gaster leaned back in his chair.

"It erases any memory you want to forget." Gaster explained. "I've almost finished it. I just need a few more parts."

"Sounds a little too good to be true, dude." Sans replied skeptically.

"Anything is possible with the proper knowledge and materials to make it a reality." Gaster replied. "It has to work."

"What if it doesn't?"

"You ask too many questions." He chuckled.

Once they had started working on it, Sans sat on the sidelines beside the toolbox, passing Gaster whatever he had needed as they talked. "What do you think the surface is like?"

"Spacious, surely. Much better than this cramped little cave we live in, I would assume. Plants, animals... The kinds you've seen in books. And monsters. Probably loads of them."

"How many monster do you think there are?"

"There isn't any real way of knowing, but I'm sure if you measured the diameter of the Earth- I read in a book from the surface that it's seven thousand, nine hundred seventeen and a half miles- and then measure the amount of land there is, you could estimate about how many monsters there are up there. My guess is a few billion."

Sans blinked. "You know too much, dude."

"Screwdriver." The scientist said, holding his hand out. Sans passed him the screwdriver, resting his chin in his hand as he blew hair out of his face. "You need a haircut."

"I like it this way. It hides my face." Sans replied.

"Why would you want to hide your face?" Gaster asked. He was puzzled.

"Because I'm ugly." Sans answered.

"No, you're not." Gaster objected. Sans frowned a bit. "I saw your picture on your ID, your hair is barely covering your face in it. You're not ugly. You look fine."

"I dunno, man. I'm kinda ugly." Sans said. "Doesn't matter what you say, I'm ugly."

The scientist sighed. "Wrench."

~~~~~~~~~~

Gaster closed the door behind him, leaning against it as he sighed. What a busy day... He loosened his tie, and kicked off his shoes before heading upstairs to his study. He sat at the desk, leaning back in his chair. The only sound in the room was his breathing and the tick of an old grandfather clock. A picture frame that sat on the desk burned holes into his soul. He turned it around. Not today.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. The clock wouldn't shut up, and Gaster was painfully aware of every second that went by. His mind screamed at him to get up. To do something. With haste, he pulled his phone out and scrolled through his contact list.

Asgore Sans Toriel

Really...? He only knew three people...? Oh, well... His finger hesitated over Sans' name, before he pressed it. He held the phone up to his ear, biting his nails. It rang a few times before there was the sound of someone picking up. "Sup?" Sans' voice came over the line. Thank God.

"I, uh..." Gaster swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Wanted to call to say hi."

"Uh, we just saw each other not even twenty minutes ago, Gast." Sans said. Gaster could basically hear the other male's confusion as to why his boss would call him not even twenty minutes later. "But, hi."

"Hi." Gaster said. And then the call became silent.

"I'm still walking home, would it be okay if I called you back when I start making dinner?"

"Yes, of course, that is fine." Gaster replied. He tried to shove all the anxiousness in his voice down. "I will talk to you later."

"Bye, Gaster."

"Bye."

Click. The call ended almost as soon as it had been started. Gaster checked the call log. He had made more calls to his co worker in the past two days than he had made to Asgore last week. Three calls with Sans verses one with Asgore. The scientist frowned. This was very strange...

~~~~~~~~~~

He kicked his shoes off (an old pair of sneakers he had pulled out of the closet once he realized wearing slippers to work wasn't all that good of an idea) and flopped onto the couch. He could hear his little brother and Undyne upstairs, probably playing with Pap's action figures and much too busy to realize the man of the house was home.

When he finally stood from the lumpy, uncomfortable couch, he walked into the kitchen. May as well start on dinner... He pulled a box of mac and cheese out of the cupboard. He didn't even need to read the directions to know exactly what he was doing. Once the pasta was in the pot, and the stove was hard at work, bringing the water to a boil, Sans pulled his cell phone out, and called Gaster back. It barely had a chance to do half a ring before the other male picked the phone up. "Hey." Sans said. He leaned against the wall.

"Hello." Gaster replied. Sans couldn't quite place the vibes the slightly older male was giving off, but he could tell his boss wasn't exactly happy, just from the tone of his voice, and the conversations they'd had throughout the day. He chose to ignore it, however. It wasn't his business, and he doubted Gaster was the type to open up like that to people who were basically strangers.

"What's up, dude?" Ah, jeez, had he really just asked one of the most brilliant people in the Underground 'what's up, dude?'? How embarrassing... Little too late to take it back, however, so he bit his tongue as his cheeks flushed pink, and prayed that Gaster wouldn't think he was weird, or something.

Thankfully, Gaster had ignored the informality of that sentence. "I'm just a bit bored, honestly." He didn't sound bored. He sounded borderline upset. Then again, he looked like the type who would attend a wedding wearing all black, or attend a funeral and be envious, wishing it was him who was getting lowered six feet under. "What, uh, what are you up to?"

The fact that his co worker was interested in what he was doing was a bit strange to Sans. They were barely even friends yet, and here they were, talking on the phone as if they had known each other for much longer than they actually had. "I'm making dinner. Mac and cheese."

Gaster felt everything in him scream to end the conversation and hang up, before he embarrassed himself, but, for whatever reason, he continued. "I'm just ordering a pizza. I don't feel like cooking tonight."

"I've never had pizza before." Sans said. The scientist could hear him laugh nervously. "Never really been financially well off enough to have pizza. Is it good?"

Gaster nodded, but then reminded himself that Sans couldn't see him. "Yes, I think so. It is my favourite food."

"You struck me more as a fancy food kind of guy. Pizza isn't all that fancy, I don't think." Sans replied.

"Why do I strike you as a fancy food kind of guy?" Gaster asked.

"Well, I dunno. You became the Royal Scientist when I was eleven, and you looked really important, and I'd always thought important people liked fancy things." Sans said. "I suppose it's a weird mindset to have now that I'm an adult, but when I met you last week, you still gave me fancy person vibes."

Gaster opened his mouth to rebuttal, but then remembered he had a wine rack in his kitchen, and was probably going to listen to classical music while eating his pizza and drinking a glass of said wine. That felt very... Snobby. He fixed his glasses and thinned his lips into a line. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Gaster said. He heard loud sounds on Sans' end of the phone.

"Papyrus, come back here!" "You'll never catch me alive!!"

"Guys, no running and yelling in the house!" Sans had yelled. "Sorry, my brother and his friend are being loud."

"Children are usually very loud." Gaster said.

"NGAAAAAH!! COME BACK HERE!!!"

"NEVEEEERRRR!!!!"

... But not quite that loud. "Guys, I'm on the phone! Keep it down!" Sans yelled. "I think I should hang up, she's got him in a head lock, and this usually doesn't end very well." Sans said. The scientist felt... concerned. He didn't know who to be more concerned about; himself, for associating with Sans, Sans, who had to deal with this, his little brother, who he didn't even know, for being in a headlock, or his brother's friend for putting him in said headlock.

"I have to call the pizza place, anyways." Gaster said. "See you at work tomorrow, Sans."

"See ya."

Click.

"Get off, get off, get off!!" Papyrus yelled, struggling. Sans came in, and broke it up, holding Undyne back.

"Alright, that's enough. Play nicely, or don't play at all." He scolded. Undyne crossed her arms.

"Well, it's not my fault he isn't tough enough." She said.

"Undyne, play nice with my brother." Sans said. He returned to the kitchen.

The pasta had boiled. He strained the water out with a strainer, put the pasta back in the pot, and added the cheese sauce. He gave a bowl of mac and cheese to his brother and Undyne, before getting a bowl for himself and going up to his room. He sighed before eating. Peace and quiet...

As soon as Gaster's pizza had arrived, he paid the delivery person, and set the box on the table. Maybe he'd skip on the classical music part and just skip to the wine... He was feeling rather self conscious now after that conversation with Sans. As the scientist ate his dinner, he kept wondering what had possessed him to make conversation with his co worker in the first place. He sipped his wine. He supposed... Sans was just very interesting, compared to his boring life. Yes, that must have been it.

((This chapter was kind of challenging to write. I just couldn't find the words for this one. Had to walk away from it a few times.

I'm hoping to update this at least once a week, but if no one reads it, I'm not so sure that would be the best use of my time. I'm working on a few things right now, so we'll see.))

#sans #gaster #undyne #papyrus #undertale #undertail #sanster #sans x gaster #gaster x sans

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thorne93 · 7 years

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Fox the Fox (Part 3)

Prompt: Reader starts her job at the BAU, but her young associate and her have a chemistry they can’t deny; but will the fates let them be together?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 1976

Note: First whack at a dedicated Criminal Minds fic. A huge thanks to my beta @like-a-bag-of-potatoes I couldn’t have done this without her. Thank you all for reading!!

Song: You are in Love - Taylor Swift

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks had gone by since you started at the BAU. The team was still great and you had solved several cases in that time. The paperwork was the worst part. Finding the scum of the Earth was the highlight. Well, that and having Spencer as a friend. Gideon had put you two together on a lot of cases, pairing you up because he said you worked well together. You had to agree with him. Spencer kept up with you and your thought pattern, and same for him.

Most of the time you found yourselves having lunch together, him volleying random information at you. Half of it you knew, the other half, you soaked up. The dance sessions continued, but in all honesty, he didn’t need them. After two days of it, he had it down. Tonight would be the seventh dance class with him. You were very fond of him as well. Admittedly, you kept having to remind yourself he’s a coworker and ignore the way it felt when you looked into his eyes, the way his hands felt on your skin, your back, the way you were excited to just see him coming into work, eagerly looking forward to your time at lunch or the dance sessions. All of these things would suggest a mutual crush, but was it really? You knew Spencer’s was. His physiological changes were apparent enough, but were you perhaps just happy to have someone to relate to, to be friends with? You hadn’t made any friends in your time while training. As good as you were at your job, your own feelings were sometimes a mystery.

As you wrapped up your dance session with Spencer he gave you a small wave after throwing his bag over his shoulder and leaving. You followed suit just a few minutes later and headed to the library to stay sharp on your knowledge and skills.

Only after ten minutes perusing the psychology section, you spotted a familiar face at the table at the end of the aisle.

“Spencer?” you said, controlling your tone so the excitement didn’t show through.

He glanced up from his book and smiled at you.

“Oh, hi, Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I got lost on my way to get Chinese,” you joked sarcastically before sitting down with him. “I’m here for the same reason you are. Research and study. Got anything good?” you asked, peeking at his book. “That’s a good one,” you noted.

“You’ve read it?” he questioned, a light twinkling in his eye.

“Yeah. Ph.D in Psychology, minor in criminology,” you informed, shrugging.

“Interesting. Have you ever read Cockner’s book on Theory of Nature?” he questioned, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“I haven’t, was it good?”

“It’s interesting. I’m not sure I agree with it though.”

“So you’re a nurture fan?”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested lightly before leaning back up and putting his hands on the table. “I’m a believer in case by case basis.”

“I bet you are. Do you have any books you recommend?”

He thought for a moment and gave you three titles. You jumped up and began looking but he quickly joined you, finding the books almost instantly. He pulled them out and handed them to you. You asked if you could join him at his table and he said of course.

You read so much slower than he did, although, you doubted many people could rival him. You were only the quarter of the way through one book, and he had put away a five-hundred page book, and was about to finish the three-hundred and fifty pager now.

“That’s amazing, you know,” you mentioned, your eyes not leaving the pages as you read them.

“What?” he asked, stopping, his finger stopping on the page.

“The fact that you can read so fast. You have no idea how jealous I am. It’s amazing,” you echoed, nodding toward the book.

“It’s nothing really.”

“Seems like it to me. I read slower than molasses in January.”

“Which means you take in details. Most people only skim content. It’s been proven that if you have an average reader read something then summarize what they just read, it’s virtually impossible. So, the slower reader the more they take in.”

You cocked a half smile. “Well so far, it seems more like a curse, details or not.”

“Your job requires you to pick up on detail, I’m not surprised that you don’t read incredibly fast. In fact, it fits perfectly that you would slow down, take your time, take in every minute detail...I’ve seen the way you work, and you work exactly the same way. See, people who read quickly, on average, don’t retain the information, they get it in then it’s gone. It’s processed and finished, their mind never catching up. But you, you imbibe the information, and process it faster.”

You cocked your head side to side. He was right. You read slowly, you assessed situations sort of slowly but then they clicked faster than almost anyone on the team. His tone changed though, again, his words coming out faster than usual. The tone was the most peculiar thing though, because underneath the explanation was admiration.

The evening continued such that Spencer would say something, such as, “Listen to this,” or “This is interesting,” or “Look what I found.” Sharing a love of the mind and law enforcement was amazing, not to mention being almost on his level of intelligence. Often times, you felt a little alienated because people couldn’t follow your thought process, humor, ideas...But Spencer kept up with no problem.

“Would you like to meet here together for a couple of nights a week?” Spencer questioned, a tiny bit nervous as you gathered your books that you couldn’t finish and he grabbed a handful that he couldn’t get to.

“Sure, I’d love that. Maybe we could go after your dance sessions?”

“That’d work!”

You checked your books out and started to leave before he called out.

“Y/N, wait!”

You stopped right outside of the doors as he checked out and jogged after you.

“Let me walk you to your car,” he offered.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” you said softly. You weren’t sure why he was doing it, you were an exceptional agent. Just as capable to take down someone who might bother you as he was--Oh, it’s not about you not being able to, it’s about him wanting to. Right. Sometimes you couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

------------

The next day, you were aware of the team’s eyes’ following you two all over the office, how you seemed to go where Spencer went, how he seemed to join you everywhere. It was quickly becoming apparent that all your time was spent together - work (on cases - together), lunch, dance sessions, now library study sessions.

Spencer pulled out a cheese sandwich the next day at lunch with celery. Hardly hearty. This wasn’t unusual either, you had noticed more than once his lunches were light and lacking protein, fiber, nutrients.

“Spencer,” you started, your eyes on your computer screen as you filled out a report.

“Yes?” he said, lowering his sandwich.

“Do you refuse to eat enough to keep you healthy or do you just not know how?” you questioned, feeling a little...protective over him.

“To be honest, I don’t know how to cook. I know the proper temperature and time to cook most meats on though.”

“How about you come to my place tonight for a real meal after our dance session?”

“Oh,” he said, the small blush coloring his cheeks as it so often did when you mentioned you and him in an activity together. “Alright.”

-----------

After leaving the dance session that gave you a good little workout, and a good reason to get your heart beating - in more ways than one, Spencer followed you in his car to your place.

“Are you allergic to anything?” you asked as you got into your apartment, throwing your stuff on the couch.

“No,” he replied, awkwardly stepping into your apartment.

“It won’t bite, Spencer. Come on in. Just drop your stuff anywhere. Come here, I want to show you what I’m doing.”

You decided to make cajun chicken alfredo with garlic toast. You got out the pan and coated the chicken in spices, put butter in the pan, and put it in to fry. You also got a pot of water on to boil and preheated the oven.

“For your stove, to cook chicken the best way, it should be on dial five,” he informed, standing right behind you, so close that you could feel his body heat.

“Thank you, Spencer, but when it comes to cooking, I leave the unnecessary science out of it. Just trust me.”

“Alright…”

“Now, cook the chicken thoroughly. It’ll start to be golden brown, and I like mine a little darker, a little tougher, so I let it go longer.”

When the water began boiling, you dropped in the pasta, and once the chicken was done, you slid it out of a pan, onto a cutting board. Then you slid frozen bread on a cookie sheet and made a quick garlic butter sauce, and lathered the bread in it, then threw it in the oven.

“Next, we’ll toss in this cooked pasta after we drain it…” You lifted the pot and carried it to the sink and dumped it in the strainer, Spencer nearly glued to you the entire time as he followed you around, barely giving you an inch of space. You had to admit, you kind of liked being this close to him - okay, you liked it a lot.

You put the pasta in the pot where you cooked the chicken and poured in heavy cream, more spices, and a little more butter and stirred it around until it boiled. You pulled out the bread from the oven, Spencer’s eyes trained on you the entire time.

“Okay, now we cut the chicken like so, then toss it into the mix…” You scraped the chicken into the pot and held your hands toward it. “There! Cajun chicken alfredo.”

You grabbed plates, silverware, and glasses and dished the food up and went to your small table in the living room-dining room combination.

“This looks delicious,” he said with admiration, his blush the deepest you’d ever seen.

“Thank you, just wait until you try it.”

He bit into it and his face lit up. “This is very good, Y/N,” he commended. The way he said your name made butterflies hit your stomach. The most intelligent man you’d ever met just complimented your cooking.

“I’m glad you like it. I was thinking maybe I could make you some lunches, if you don’t mind. I notice you don’t get a lot of nutrition.”

“You want to make me lunch?”

“If you don’t mind. I make my own lunches, it's not that hard to double it, to make sure you eat well.”

“I have to admit I’d like home cooked meals rather than cup soup or a soggy sandwich. I’d really appreciate that. Would you like me to pay you for your time and the ingredients?”

“Not necessary. In exchange, just, tell me one fact about everything I bring you, sound like a deal?”

“Odd, no one’s ever requested extra information from me. But, I’d be delighted. Great food, from a pretty girl, you can’t beat that,” he said with a smile before he took a bite.

You were too stunned to eat for a moment. Dr. Spencer Reid just called you pretty. Spencer is too clinical and calculating to flirt, he only says facts - truths. Smirking slightly, you realized, in Spencer’s mind it was just a fact that you were pretty.

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