Page 3 of A Recipe for Romance

Drew sighed, setting down the knife with more force than needed. Of course, Zak. His little brother had an uncanny ability to show up when Drew least wanted to see him. Always with a grin. Always with a plan.

“Fine,” he growled. “Send him back.”

Moments later, Zak burst into the kitchen, his energy jarring against the stillness. Drew wiped his hands on his apron—once pristine, now smudged and stained from dishes that barely deserved the effort. Zak’s crisp suit and bright eyes were a stark contrast to Drew’s rumpled whites. Sometimes Drew wondered how they were even related.

“Big bro!” Zak clapped him on the shoulder, the scent of expensive cologne clinging to him like an uninvited guest. “How’s the culinary genius today?”

Drew shrugged him off, uncomfortable with the unearned praise. “What do you want, Zak? I’m in the middle of prep.” He gestured to the pile of half-chopped vegetables—just another reminder of how uninspired he had become.

Zak’s smile wavered, but his enthusiasm held. “I’ve got something for you. A chance to get back in the game.”

Drew snorted, a sharp, humorless sound. “I am in the game. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m running a restaurant here.” His arm swept out, encompassing the kitchen that once felt like home but now felt more like a cell.

Zak didn’t flinch. “A restaurant that’s barely staying afloat,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. Drew winced despite himself. The truth stung, more than he wanted to admit. Zak pressed on, “Come on, Drew. When was the last time you created something new? When was the last time you felt excited about food?”

Drew’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled against the countertop, feeling the cool metal bite into his skin. He turned away, pretending to adjust the burner under the sauce. His hand hovered over the flame, the heat licking at his fingers, but he barely felt it.

“What’s your point?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

Zak’s voice softened, though his determination stayed. “I’ve got a spot for you on the show. As a consultant. You’ll be working with up-and-coming chefs, sharing your expertise.”

Drew barked out a laugh, but there was no joy in it. The sound echoed in the kitchen, hollow. “Expertise?” He could still feel the sting of those last reviews, the ones that gutted his pride. “I’m a has-been. A burnout case. That’s what they’re saying. Why drag me into the spotlight again?”

Zak stepped closer, his tone low and urgent. “That’s exactly why you need this, Drew. It’s a chance to show them they’re wrong. To prove you’ve still got it.”

Drew clenched his jaw, a muscle in his cheek ticking as he stared at the pile of chopped onions. For a brief second, he let himself imagine it—stepping back into the spotlight, feeling the heat of the cameras, the pressure of creating something extraordinary. His heart quickened, but then reality weighed him down again. The restaurant. The debt. The hollow feeling that haunted him every time he picked up a knife.

“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “The restaurant—”

“Will survive without you for a few weeks,” Zak interrupted, his voice sure. “Come on, Drew. What have you got to lose?”

Drew scanned the kitchen, his eyes lingering on the gleaming equipment, the stacks of unpaid bills in the office, and the empty dining room that whispered rumors of failure. He could refuse. Keep chopping, keep going through the motions until the place went under. But Zak’s words... a chance at something new... what if this was a lifeline?

“This isn’t just about you,” Zak said, his voice softer now. “I’ve put everything into this show. I need you there. Not just because I believe in you—but because I can’t afford to let this fail. We’re in this together, big brother.”

Drew turned, really looking at Zak for the first time. His brother’s usual carefree grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Drew saw it—the tension lines, the hint of desperation. This wasn’t just another of Zak’s schemes.

He sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “Fine,” he said finally, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “I’ll do it. But on my terms.”

Zak’s face lit up, his grin bright enough to cut through the gloom. “Of course! Whatever you need. This is going to be great, Drew. You’ll see.”

As Zak left, practically bouncing out of the kitchen, Drew turned back to the cutting board. He picked up the knife again, feeling its familiar weight. But something had shifted.

He brought the blade down on the onion, and this time, he felt it—a pulse of energy in his fingertips. The crisp sound of the onion splitting, the precision of his cuts. It wasn’t just mechanical. For the first time in years, it felt... right.

A spark. Small, but there. The onion’s layers revealed themselves cleanly, and for a moment, Drew didn’t just see ingredients. He saw possibilities.

He muttered under his breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “Alright. Let’s see if I’ve still got it.”

The kitchen came alive around him—the hum of the equipment, the sizzle of pans on the stove. Drew reached for another onion, but this time, his movements were purposeful. There was life in his cuts, precision in his hands. His mind buzzed with ideas. New flavor combinations, innovative techniques—things that could reignite the culinary fire he thought had gone out.

But with that spark came the old fear. What if he couldn’t deliver? What if the critics were right? What if he’d lost his edge for good?

He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task in front of him. One step at a time. One ingredient at a time. He had a long way to go, but at least now, he had a direction.

And as the day wore on, Drew found himself looking forward to the challenge ahead. It wouldn’t be easy—nothing worthwhile ever was—but maybe, just maybe, this was the opportunity he needed to rediscover his passion.

---