Page 25 of Go Cook Yourself

Walking towards the shop attached to the warehouse, I glimpse Chantelle through the window.

“I’m going to stay here,” I say.

Garett’s hand is on the door handle to the merchant's reception. He turns to stare at me, his eyebrows raised. “Whatever. You do you.”

As he yanks open the door, Chantelle spots me through the doorway.Shit.This day is the pits. She makes a beeline for me.

She smirks. “Look who it is. Dowdy Cloudy.” She smirks, using a name she’d taunt me with at school.

“Hello, Chantelle.” I don’t fake a smile.

“I heard you were back. My grandma did a cookery course where you tried to catch a knife. How embarrassing.”

I attempt to stare her down in a way I was too anxious to at school, but her mouth keeps flapping. “What brought you back, Dowdy? Did that shitty boyfriend that didn’t even accompany you to your grandparents’ funeral come back with you?”

“You’re still a nosey bitch, then.”

I can feel Garett’s eyes on us as I feign ambivalence. Darkness falls, and I regret my thin jumper. I fold my arms tighter as I shrink under her gaze.

“And your business, how’s that going? I’m guessing not well if you’re back here.” She challenges me with an ugly twist to her mouth that tells me she already knows the answer.

She’s probably stalked me on social media. I’ve looked her up several times, but she must have visited mine regularly if she knows Naughty Treats closed.

Garett clears his throat. “I knew of her reputation as a baker, and I insisted she run the school in her sister’s absence,” he says with a raised voice, drawing Chantelle’s attention. She hadn’t noticed him even though he’s a dark-haired, tattooed, six-foot sexy chef. He may be an arsehole, but he’s a bloody gorgeous one. “She’s already transformed our cookery school activities. Honestly, she’s one of the best people I’ve ever worked with.”

I try not to stare at him. God, he’s good.

“Her reputation?” Chantelle mumbles until he pushes up his sleeves. I swear drool hangs from the corner of her mouth.

“Have you eaten her cupcakes? They’re like baked bites of heaven. I ordered a box of them from her company earlier this year, and as soon as I tasted them, I proclaimed I’d never get enough of her baking.”

That’s a lie. Chantelle tips her head. If she spent time on my old website, she’ll know we didn’t do mail-order goods, although that’s a great idea. I should’ve thought of that. But Chantelle doesn’t argue with the great Chef Garett and his disarmingly sexy forearms.

“Obvs. Her cakes were great. I had some delivered.”Liar.“I presume you’re here for your wine order. Kath phoned and told me you were coming and not to close before you arrived. Why did you come this late when you could have picked it up during the week?”

“But—” I stop myself.

Kath. Of course. She set us up and stopped us nearly killing each other at the cookery school. She used to sneakily mediate when Grandma and Grandad argued. Their relationship was fiery at times. She’d send them on a wild goose chase or make them do a stock run and insist it must be both of them.

I glance at a smiling, head-shaking Garett. He meets my gaze, and I shrug, returning his smile. Bloody Kath strikes again, and even worse, it’s worked.

Chapter Fourteen

Ruby

Garett reverses out of the parking space. He’s still got his sleeves pushed up to the elbow. He leans one of his panty-wetting forearms on the back of my seat as he twists his head to stare out of the car’s rear window. It’s like something from the cover of one of Amber’s spicy romance books. His muscles flex, and I sit on my hands and tighten my jaw to resist touching them. He’s still a dickhead.

I debate whether I’m tired or still carrying that end-of-shitty-relationship horniness that’s dogged me over the last fortnight.

He drives us down country roads. The journey seems slower this time.

I glance at Garett as I consider something Chantelle whispered before we left:“I don’t like you, Ruby, but the cookery school is one of our best customers. You need to watch Garett. There was a big bust-up at his old place. Ask your parents why he’s slumming it at the cookery school.”

I don’t trust a word from her mouth, but it’s another reminder that I must visit my parents. I want a bit of background on why Garett is at the cookery school, too, although I doubt it’s as controversial as Chantelle suggests. Maybe I can get something out of him by opening up a little. I owe him for what he said to Chantelle.

“The stick shift manual car thing,” I say, pulling Garett from wherever his head is.

“Yeah?” There’s a softness to his gaze. I can’t escape the niggle that there’s more to him and especially more to why his dog, who he adores, isn’t with him.

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