Page 16 of In a Pinch

Regina has kicked ass as a trainer. She’s five-foot-nothing and filled with nothing but work ethic and good jokes. Considering this is only my first day, she’s taught me more than I learned in a year at my last job. It’s nice working side by side with someone who takes it seriously.

We get lost for hours. By six, we are completing our last task, when it hits me: I am supposed to meet Isla at the cooking class. It’s literally only the second week, so I can’t leave her hanging. Pulling my phone out of my desk drawer, I find a slew of messages and missed calls.

“Shit. Regina, I am sorry, but I have to go. I forgot I was supposed to meet Isla at six. Are you okay if I head out? I will come in early tomorrow to finish up.”

“No worries. You did great today. I bet you will only need my help for a few more days.”

“I appreciate your faith, but let's wait and see how day two goes.” We laugh at that, and I grab my bag and beeline for the door.

Son of a gun. If I haul ass, I can make it and only be ten minutes late. I can’t wait to see what Sam’s entitled ass has to say about people arriving to his precious class late.

Chapter Eight

Sam

Everyone rolls in, minus the red head. I almost want to punch myself for even noticing. I blame it on the entertainment factor she and her dynamic duo partner, Isla, have on the class. Not me. The class.

The room quiets as my feet pad against the carpet on my way to the front. “All right, guys, glad to have you all here. There is a recipe card sitting at your table, and I also have a cheat sheet for why measurements are important and why each ingredient is used when it comes to things like pancakes and waffles. Today, we will be doing a few things: frying eggs, scrambling eggs, and of course, my personal favorite, waffles. I decided to save the cooking temperatures until next week’s class, when we dive into lunch and dinner items.”

The class chatters about agreeing to the plan. Breakfast sounded like a safe place to start, while still being able to teach some basic cooking concepts.

After some thought, I decided it would be best to lead the class with demonstrations, explaining each step and then letting them try their hand at it.

“I have a somewhat controversial approach on scrambled eggs. Gordon Ramsay says the butter works as the fat, and while I still like to use butter at the base of my pan, I prefer to incorporate just a splash of milk. I feel like it helps the texture of the eggs and prevents them from becoming rubbery.”

Not following my own rules, I eyeball everything and get to whisking. “This is the most important part: we are incorporating air when we whisk, which will give the light and fluffy texture.” Eggs borderline repulse me, and once they are rubbery and dense, I’m gagging.

A hand pops up in the back, I nod to the girl, Emily, to go ahead and ask her question. “If we don’t like eggs, is there a substitution we can do instead?”

There it is. I knew last class gave me too much faith.

“Is there a substitution for eggs in scrambled eggs?” Maybe hearing it back will help the girl hear the problem with that sentence.

“That's what I asked?”

My smile slips and I realize I'm glaring a minute too long when her face drops. A sliver of guilt floods me. So, I fix my face and try to clamp down on my remarks.

“Um, I have never looked into that, but I will check and get back to you next week.” My voice is disgustingly more polite than before. With my luck, there will be a satisfaction survey at the end of this. If I don’t get the promotion due to stupid questions, I will lose it. I can already hear Chef saying,there are no stupidquestions in the kitchen. Respectfully, I am going to have to heavily disagree with that statement.

Before I can move on to the next step, a streak of red enters my vision. Jesus.

As much as she makes me question my sanity—for no reason other than she tends to meet my attitude with more attitude—Addie is a fucking knockout. Add in dressed up and in heels? Jesus. Even in a rush, her confidence and swagger demand attention, and damn it, I am giving it to her.

She must misunderstand my reason for staring because she notices and immediately rolls her eyes. Why is that attitude equally repulsive and attractive?

“I know, I know. I am late, Prince Charming. You can quit staring.” She drops her purse into the cupboard below the sink. “I’m sure you haven’t revolutionized the culinary world in the few minutes I was running behind.” She tosses her hair off her shoulder and pulls the apron over her suit. Fuck. That shouldn’t be attractive. At this point, I don’t know if it's the sass that is turning me on or the suit.

I snap out of it and roll my eyes for good measure. “You would know, if you could show up on time,” I mutter.

Across the room I hear her mimic my words and Isla hides a laugh.

“Okay, up next is the cooking part. We are going to butter the pan, whisk the eggs so they have the max amount of air in them, and then pour them into the pan.” The eggs start to cook, and I show the class how to pull the cooked pieces with a spatula off to the side to let the raw eggs find the bottom of the pan. I repeat until all the eggs are perfectly cooked.

“All right, guys, for scrambled eggs, that's it. Now, let's move on to frying eggs, which doesn't have to be as hard as you think it is. Raise your hand if you always break your yolk while flipping your egg.”

Over three-quarters of the class raise their hands.

“There are a few things to make sure of, and I also have a tip so you don’t actually have to flip the egg.” I start dishing out tips, and then set the class loose.

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