My Funny Valentine

Justin stood in the middle of the kitchen, dazed. The red sauce that was supposed to have been simmering on the stove had decided it was done being in the pot and exploded out. The stove, ceiling, floor, and oh yes, Justin, were dripping with the aftermath. He sighed and yanked off his apron before beginning the clean up. 1:30pm, and he was starting his fourth version of a Valentine's dinner.

After the steak fiasco at 10, he had called JC for help, but JC had his own plans. So he tried Chris, but Chris was visiting his new girlfriend for the day and hung up on him. He wished Joey was available, but he had Brianna for the day so Kelly could spend time with her new boyfriend. Even knowing that, he had tried calling him after the crab legs incident at noon, and had gotten nothing but several laughs at his expense for his pains. So he did what any other young man desperately trying to cook a nice dinner for his valentine would do - he called his mother. She at least mostly restrained her laughter through his tales of woe, and gave him what she called a "simple recipe" for stuffed cabbage. Looking around his red and white kitchen, he couldn't quite agree with that description.

When the kitchen was cleaner, he dropped onto a chair at the kitchen table. He had two options. He could call his mom back and beg for a real "simple recipe" and put up with far more laughter, or he could call lance and admit defeat. When Justin had told the guys of his plans for Valentine's dinner - take out from the near Italian restaurant in town - Lance had laughed at him and dared him to make a real dinner. Of course he had accepted; what else could he do? But he apparently had tried to start with recipes that exceeded his abilities, and now he only had a few hours to make an appetizer, main dish, and dessert.

He sighed and reached for the phone. He didn't really have a choice, he decided - he needed the actual help in the kitchen - and really, he didn't mind at all. It would be much more fun with Lance anyway.

He hit the first speed dial button and waited for Lance to pick up.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Look, I need some help," he said, playing with the phone cord.

"What's wrong, Emeril?" Lance asked, laughing.

"Oh, hush your mouth. This is your fault, Bass," he said, trying to pout.

"My fault?" Lance repeated. "You know, you really amaze me sometimes, J."

"If it wasn't for you, I'd be ordering some elegant and perfect dishes and putting them on the table," Justin explained. "Well within my capabilities. But no, I've been cooking since 10am, dinner is at 5, and all I have to show for it is, well, you don't want to know. So you have to come over and help me cook," Justin told him.

"I have to, huh? What if I already have plans?" Lance asked.

"Wait, you said you didn't!" Justin exclaimed. "When we were talking about our plans, you said you were going to do some work and revel in your singleness while the rest of us saps were tied down to the various women in our lives. And that was a direct quote!"

"Justin, calm down," Lance said, sounding amused. "I was just teasing. I don't have any plans, and I will come over on one condition."

"Name it," Justin said, relieved.

"Will you please tell me who we're cooking for?" Lance asked. "We're all curious. You've been all mysterious about it."

Justin grinned. "When dinner is finished and on the table, you'll know."

"Good enough," Lance agreed. "See you in a few."

Justin hung up the phone and ran his hands over the curls that were just starting to sprout again. It was a small change in plans, but one that should actually work out even better, he thought. He glanced at his watch and headed towards his bedroom to change. He only had about ten minutes to change out of the ripped t-shirt and ancient sweats he had been wearing. He came back down the stairs, clad in a long sleeved red shirt and new jeans, just in time to see the front door open and Lance walk in.

"Hey," Justin said, smiling at him.

"Hey," Lance answered. He held up the key as he shed his leather jacket. "I rang the doorbell, but you didn't answer. So I just let myself in."

"That's fine," Justin said as they walked to the kitchen. "Ready to cook?"

"You bet," Lance said, pushing his sweater sleeves up. "What are we making?"

Justin paused. "That's a good question," he said, considering. "I don't know. I don't know what I have left. What would you want to eat?"

"You're cooking for me, it's Valentine's Day, and again, you're the one cooking," Lance said thoughtfully. "How about hot dogs?" He ducked as a potholder sailed over his head. "Okay, you don't like that suggestion?"

"I'm serious here," he pouted. "I want to make something nice."

"Actually, all evidence is pointing to you wanting me to make something nice," Lance said.

"Well, I want to help," Justin explained. "I thought we could make something together. It'll be fun and edible that way." He gave Lance his best smile, and Lance laughed.

"All right, all right. Let's see what you have. What's your time frame?" Lance opened one of Justin's cabinets and looked through it while Justin watched.

"We need to eat around five, because I got us tickets for that new theater thing at 7. You know, that play you were telling me about last week?" He perched on the counter as Lance moved on to the next shelf.

"Oh, cool," he said, comparing two boxes Justin didn't remember buying. "You'll have to tell me about it tomorrow." He put one of the boxes back and moved to the next cabinet, working his way around the kitchen. "Okay," he said finally. "We're gonna make a leafy salad, a slightly modified version of my lasagna, garlic bread, and a vanilla meringue for dessert. The meringue will cut it close to five, but you'll eat it last anyway. How does that sound?"

Justin grinned and hopped down. "I'll make the salad."

"Oh, you will do much more than that, my friend," Lance said as he slipped an apron on over his head and tied it. "The salad isn't until later. Now, you grate cheese."

Justin shuffled over to the island counter, sighing in a very put upon manner. "Yes, sir, Mr. Bass, sir," he saluted.

Lance slapped him on the ass as he headed towards the fridge for ingredients. "Hush, child, or else you get to feed wonder woman your own cooking," he threatened cheerfully.

They worked in companionable silence for awhile, Justin grating cheese while Lance assembled and mixed ingredients and spices for his lasagna. When Justin finished his task, he followed Lance's pointed finger and began chopping onions and tomatoes. Lance bustled around the kitchen, stirring, browning, and directing Justin, who did his best to keep out of his friend's way.

"Okay, enough of this," Lance said finally. "Do you have a radio or something in here? The quiet is driving me nuts."

Justin gestured towards the windowsill over the sink. "Over there." He might not spend a lot of time in the room, but his mother had taught him that a kitchen wasn't complete without one.

Lance tuned into an oldies station, explaining that it was necessary to cook to the oldies, and they sang along when they knew the words, and sometimes when they didn't. When "Midnight Train to Georgia" came on, Justin took Gladys Knight's part, while Lance performed admirably as the Pips.

"We need to do more duets, man," Justin said. Lance pushed the lasagna into the oven and set the timer, humming softly.

"We do well together," Lance agreed. He turned to face Justin and grabbed for his hand. "Give me one kiss and I'll be happy, just to be here with you," he sang suddenly, and Justin's heart raced. Lance twirled him around and he felt like an idiot as he realized that Lance was still singing along with the radio.

"Give me a chance to be near you," he joined in when Lance pointed at him, "because, because, I love you." He let Lance, who was satisfied with Justin's contribution, finish the song by dipping Justin in a low sweep.

"I love that song," Lance explained as he rightened Justin, their fingers still entangled. "My mother used to sing it all the time, you know?"

"My mom was big on the Four Tops," Justin told him. "'Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch' was her song." He tried to relax his fingers, hoping that Lance wouldn't remember they were still connected, but no such luck. He dropped his hand down to his side when Lance let go. "Okay, now what?"

Lance checked his watch. "We have an hour before we start anything else, so we can just hang out," he said.

They headed for the living room and Justin's PlayStation2. The hour passed quickly as they played Justin's new game and set up the dining room, and before he knew it, Lance was finishing the garlic bread and meringue and he had made the salad with minimal bloodshed. Lance helped him carry the dishes to the table.

Justin checked his watch as Lance looked around the room, looking pleased with the results. "Five o'clock on the nose," Justin announced, butterflies starting their way into his stomach. "Right on schedule."

"Okay, so I've done my part, now it's your turn," Lance said, crossing his arms expectantly. "Who is this all for? Do we know her?"

Justin unclenched his fists and tried to relax. "Well, it's not a her, but you know him," he said, pulling out a chair and gesturing to it. "It's for you, actually."

Lance didn't move, his eyes on the chair.

"Happy Valentine's Day?" he tried again.

Lance exhaled slowly. "Wow. This is unexpected," he said finally.

"In a good way?" Justin asked, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Ummm," Lance trailed off. "Good, I think." He smiled slowly at Justin, and Justin beamed back in relief. "Yeah, it's good." He sat in the proffered chair and scooted himself in as Justin took his own seat across from him. "I really can't believe this is for me," Lance said, shaking his head as he reached for the salad. "You are either far better at keeping a secret than I gave you credit for, or I'm just plain blind."

"Some of both, I think," Justin said, still grinning madly.

"Probably," Lance agreed. "But don't think for one minute that I didn't notice you had me cook my own Valentine's Day dinner."

"Hey, I made the salad myself," Justin protested.

"Salad not-withstanding, you will be spending time making this up to me," Lance said, pointing his fork for emphasis. He grinned at Justin.

"What, you wanted to eat my cooking?" Justin asked. "Didn't you see how my walls were pink? And the ceiling? That was the remains of attempt number three today."

"Fair point," Lance conceded. "And I did wonder about that. But it's the principle of the thing. Start thinking. I expect great things to come of this."

Justin leaned forward and lightly touched Lance's hand, grinning. "So do I."

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