Page 8 of Losing My Rejection

“Wow…” Sam breathed, staring down at the steaming bowl. “That was something else to watch. You cook like a professional!”

“I’m not,” I replied, a wave of regret washing over me. “I’m a stu–” I stopped. “I just like to cook.”

“Well, it shows. This is amazing!”

“It’s not complicated,” I replied, handing him a fork. “This is about the easiest thing you can make.”

“Pretty sure boxed noodles would’ve been easier,” Sam chuckled, dipping his fork into the bowl. He made sure to get a gnocchi and a piece of chicken in the first bite, both dripping with sauce. The moment he brought it to his mouth, he closed his eyes and let out a very sexual-sounding moan. “Oh my fucking god…”

“That bad, huh?” I grinned.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted…” He took another bite, making that same noise again. “Christ, that’s good. You should be a chef or something!”

The grin faded from my face. “Thanks.” I took a seat next to him, taking a bite from my own bowl. “But that’s not gonna happen. I’m nothing special.”

“Why do you say that?”

I gestured around at the hotel. “Because I’m here. My life is fucked.”

“Don’t give up that easily,” Sam said, waving his fork at me. “There’s a lot of wolves that have come through here, and nearly all of them ended up with a life better than what they started with. That’s sort of the magic of this place.”

“Your hotel is magic?” I scoffed.

“I know starting life over is hard. I had to do it too. But when you have nothing to hold you back anymore, and you can do whatever you want, the possibilities are endless.” He took another bit, his mouth full as he spoke. “I know it sucks now, but it’ll get better. I promise.”

“If you say so.”

Did I believe him? No. Not even a little bit.

“Do you like to bake?” Sam asked, taking another bite.

“I just like to cook. Baking is fine. It’s just more involved than making dinner.”

“Can you make a batch of cinnamon rolls tomorrow morning?”

I looked over, seeing that disgustingly friendly look in his eyes. I didn’t want to get up early and make them, but this man was letting me stay in his hotel and feeding me for free. How could I turn him down?

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Great,” he smiled, stuffing his face even more. “I can’t wait to try them!”

“How many guests do you have?”

“Fifteen, including you and me.”

“I’ll make three dozen then.”

“Three dozen?” Sam laughed. “That seems like a lot.”

I lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “You ever seen someone eat just one cinnamon roll?”

“Point taken,” he nodded, pausing for a moment. “So… where are you from?”

I sighed, picking up my bowl as the depression threatened to overwhelm me again. “I’m gonna eat in my room. I’ll come back and do the dishes afterward.”

“Okay…” Sam replied in an apologetic tone.

But I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else as I left the kitchen. I didn’t care if he was letting me stay there. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about home, especially with a complete stranger.

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