Page 21 of The Kitchen Contract

There’s one category of comments that kind of throws me—a surprising number of people commented on Alex, specifically on how attractive he is. As one woman put it, there’s “more than one kind of snack” to be found in our kitchen.

I’m not sure how I feel about these reactions. On the one hand, any engagement with the videos is good for the algorithm, right? And I’m not blind. I know that Alex is objectively hot with his mussed blond hair, easy smile, cool blue eyes, and firm muscles. At the same time, I’m a little miffed that not all the viewers are here for the food, per my intentions. And a small, petty part of me can’t help noticing that there aren’t any comments pertaining to my snackability.

Nevertheless, I can’t wait to tell Alex about how our channel is taking off. I start typing a text to him but change my mind and erase it. I’m going to his house to record another video when I get off work in a few hours and I’d rather tell him in person. I don’t see any reason to mention the comments about him, though. Just the general numbers will be good enough.

With only five minutes until I have to get back to work, I pick up my nearly forgotten sandwich and wolf it down, tucking my phone into my pocket. I float back inside the restaurant on a cloud of excitement, and the rest of my shift passes quickly as I prep for the dinner rush that the next cook will handle, all the while brainstorming more recipes to film.

When I finally get off, I can’t get to Alex’s house fast enough. Normally, I would take a quick shower to get the greasy kitchen smells off before heading his way, but this time I just grab the crates of ingredients I packed up this morning and dash out the door.

I pull up at his house and retrieve one of the crates from my back seat. His front door is unlocked, and I let myself in without knocking. He’s expecting me, so I figure it’s a waste of time and effort for him to come let me in when I’m perfectly capable of turning a doorknob.

“Alex?” I call as I step into the kitchen and lower the crate to the floor beside the island. “Oh, there you are…”

My words trail off as I realize he’s standing in front of the fridge wearing only a towel. I backpedal the way I came, my hands flying up to cover my eyes. “Sorry! Sorry, I should have knocked. I’ll just, uh, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I think I hear Alex call my name, but it’s hard to tell over the pounding of my heart and the slap of my sandals making tracks out the front door.

Back outside, I lean against the far side of my car with my face in my hands, embarrassment pumping through me like the bass at a concert. After waiting what feels like enough time for him to get fully dressed at least twice, I grab the other crate of supplies. This time I approach the door warily, with every intention of knocking and waiting like a normal person, but Alex already has it open before I get to the top of the three-tiered brick steps.

“Hey, why’d you take off?” He smiles casually like nothing just happened.

I blink, confused by the question. “Um, because you were naked.”

He tips his head back and guffaws. “I wasn’t naked, I was wearing a towel.”

“Yeah, but…you were naked underneath!”

“By that definition, we’re all always naked under our clothes,” he replies with a smirk. I blow out a breath. Apparently, it was no big deal in his eyes, and I should probably take a cue from him and let it go, rather than marinating in embarrassment all evening.

“Well, I’m still sorry. I should have knocked, and it won’t happen again.”

Alex reaches out and lifts the crate from my arms, which is a relief. It was starting to get heavy with us just standing out here talking. “Don’t worry about it. I should have put some pants on before I came out for a bottle of water, or locked the door, so that’s my bad. I’m just glad I put the towel on instead of dashing out here au naturel like I almost did.”

“Oh my word,” I squeak. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to picture such an event. If I hear or think the word naked one more time tonight, I’m going to self-destruct. “Can we please stop talking about this now?”

“Sure. Let’s talk about what we’re making tonight. I’m starving.” Alex sets the crate next to the one I carried in and abandoned earlier.

“Oh! That reminds me, I had something I wanted to tell you.” As I unpack the ingredients in the crates, I tell him about my discovery at lunch today. “And when I checked after work, the views had increased another twenty percent. People are actually watching our show, Alex!”

“That’s amazing!” He holds up his hands for a double high-five, and I slap them enthusiastically. “I knew the people would love you.”

“Yeah, they love me alright.” My tone comes out a little on the sarcastic side, and Alex eyes me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think anything is wrong? We got lots of views. That’s great.” I know I’m babbling, but hopefully the words I’m saying and the cheer I’m infusing into my voice will distract him.

“No,” he says slowly. “Something is definitely bothering you. Any chance of you just telling me what it is so I don’t have to keep pestering you to tell me?”

I drop my head and sigh. Maybe I should just get it off my chest. Then the air will be clear and we can concentrate on making another good episode. I don’t want to slow the momentum we’re gaining by losing focus.

“It seems like people like you more than they like me.” I cringe as I hear myself. I sound like I’m in middle school.

“What?” Alex leans back and blinks, clearly surprised. “Why do you think that? Have people been leaving mean comments?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins tapping and swiping rapidly, intent on looking for himself.

“No, they haven’t been mean,” I reassure him. “I just think some people might be more focused on you than on the food.”

He’s scrolling through the comments on our latest video now and I can tell the moment he understands what I’m talking about because his eyebrows go up and a smirk tweaks his lips.

---