Page 22 of Stolen Dreams

Needing to brighten the mood, I switch topics. “Did I tell you about the cooking school?”

Tucker peeks up from his drink and shakes his head.

“Chef Beaulieu came up with the coolest idea,” I say, smile on my face and in my voice. “Summer cooking school for kids.”

A soft glow twinkles in his hazels, and I love the sight.

“And guess what?”

“What?” Tucker asks, curiosity edging his tone.

“You’re the first kid signed up.”

Tucker goes quiet. Eyes glued to the ice cream in his cup, he swirls the straw and blends it with the root beer. I don’t interrupt his thinking. Don’t push him to respond. Don’t force him to feel one way or the other about the news.

For most of his life, Tucker has had most of his choices taken from him. At an early age, he was forced into adulthood. Callously, Brianna stole the light in his eyes and used his innocence for her own personal gain.

I may have already signed Tucker up for the kids’ culinary classes, but if he says he doesn’t want to go, I won’t make him.

The server returns with the pizza and sets a plate in front of each of us. I put a slice of cheese on Tucker’s plate and add two supreme slices to mine. As I’m about to take a bite, Tucker finds his voice.

“Will…” His brows scrunch together as lines mar his forehead. “Will you be there?”

Shit. I didn’t mean to leave that part out.

“Yeah, bud.” I nod. “I’ll be there. I’m teaching the class with Chef Beaulieu.”

Tentatively, he picks up his slice of pizza, takes a bite, and sets it back down. Mulls the news over as he chews. And it’s like watching a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis, the way the light filters back into his features. Zeal dances in his eyes. Excitement tips up the corners of his mouth. And this undeniable effervescence makes him fidget.

“Are we gonna make weird food?” he asks, voice garbled as he talks around the bite in his mouth.

I chuckle. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, bud.”

He swallows, then takes a sip of his drink. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, bud.” I reach across the table and ruffle his curls. “And yes, we’ll probably make some weird, fun recipes.”

“Yes!” he says then does a fist pump. “When does it start?” He picks up his pizza. “How many kids will be there?” Bringing the pizza to his mouth, he goes to take a bite then pauses with the slice an inch from his mouth. “Do I get to wear a chef hat like you?” He shoves the pizza in his mouth, takes a monstrous bite, and stares at me wide-eyed, waiting.

God, I love his enthusiasm. Love the light in his eyes. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it stays.

While we devour pizza, I share all the important details of the kids cooking school. When it starts. How many kids will be there. How many weeks it will be. And that we will get to spend almost all day together.

What I leave out is after the kids cooking school ends in August, I’ll have a new schedule. One more flexible and in line with Tucker’s schedule.

When I approached André to discuss my hours, he told me about the cooking school concept. I immediately loved the idea. Although most kids were likely signed up for summer programs months ago, neither of us worried about filling spots. Thirteen kids—a baker’s dozen. Parents will fight to get their children in.

The classes will bring new life to Calhoun’s Bistro.

Once the summer classes end, André wants to start adult classes. Monday through Friday, I’ll be teaching cooking basics and how to make decadent dishes without breaking the bank or your kitchen. After we have several classes under our belt, we’ll offer beginner, intermediate, and advanced classes.

The best part? On the days I teach, my evenings in the kitchen will be shorter. Several hours shorter.

If everything goes according to plan, between now and the end of the year, I’ll spend half the day teaching and the other half leading and prepping the kitchen. I should be home an hour or two before Tucker’s bedtime. If everything goes according to plan, next year, I should be home well before dinner.

The initial stab felt as though I lost my sous-chef position. But the more André and I talked, the more he explained this change as an advancement in my culinary career, not a step back.

“All chefs dream of running their own kitchen and restaurant, but the ultimate reward is passing on your knowledge. Watching someone create their first dish with the skills you taught them is the greatest gift.”

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