Page 84 of Go Cook Yourself

When I come off the call, my body sparkles with excitement. Ciara’s dreams for the restaurant resonate with everything I want to do. I’ve tried to forget how much I love running a restaurant and making it my signature place, but that call with Ciara enthuses me.

“Fuck you, you floury dickhead,” Rubes shouts at whatever she’s working on at the demonstration counter.

“Floury dickhead?” I ask as I near her.

She slams down a crushed macaron.

“Whatever,” she grumbles as she throws another onto the side. “How was Flora?”

“It wasn’t Flora. It was a chef I know.”

If she senses my awkwardness, she doesn’t comment.

Ruby attempts to fill the macaron, but it disintegrates in her grip. “They’re not working.”

I stand behind her and attempt to massage her shoulders, but she shrugs me off. It’s weird how much that hurts. I never hugged my parents because the couple of times I tried, they shoved me away, too busy smoking or playing on their phones. Has a fear of rejection stopped me from having relationships, too?

I take a breath. This moment isn’t about me. “Rubes, why are you making macarons? They’re bloody difficult and will be impossible to fit in with timing when it comes to the dessert you have planned for the competition.”

Ruby rounds on me, and I swallow loudly. Her eyes blaze, and tears slip down her face. “Because I want to win. Amber mentioned money to Kalen when I popped in this morning. I was preparing to tell them I was still happy at Flora’s when I overheard her say something about ‘raising enough with all these new things happening.’ I need to win for them.”

I open my arms, and the fear of rejection grips my heart. “Then we’re going to win. But you’re not in any state to try something new. You’re hyper-focused, and it’s destroying your creativity.”

When she sighs, all the air goes out of her, and she presses herself against my chest. I hold her against me as she breathes slowly. “Cinnamon, something like fennel, and another scent.”

How did she get fennel? She guessed two of the secret ingredients from my pasta dish that won Clive the best restaurant competition. He couldn’t get one of them. I made her bread with them this morning. She shouldn’t be able to smell it after all our Christmas cooking today, though. She’s fucking incredible.

“You can’t call macarons floury dickheads because they haven’t got flour in them,” I whisper as I brush kisses against her hair.

“I know that. Are you trying to make it worse? I’m so wound up that I can’t even give them good angry nicknames.”

I hold back my laughter. “Let’s go for a walk while we devise other nicknames for them. I was considering bourgeois bastards.” She chuckles against my chest. “Or baked bitches?”

“What about eggy twats?” she says before lifting her face to mine. I kiss her briefly on her lips, which are salty from her tears.

“Agreed,” I reply before shouting at the macarons, “Now go cook yourself, you eggy twats. We’re heading out.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Garett

Ruby has a twinkle in her eye as we sneak out of the cookery school. In the bitter cold of December, I’m shivering instantly. Maybe this walk was a bad idea, but that twinkle and beaming face could lead me to death, and I’d go willingly.

“Where are we going?” I ask as Ruby grips my hand and drags me to the road.

“Trust me.” Frost is already on the ground. A car zooms past with Noddy Holder’s voice screaming from the stereo. There’s no denying Christmas is coming. In four days, it’ll be Christmas Eve. I’ll make my decision, and Ruby will be crowned Best Cotswolds Baker and earn a job at Clive’s restaurant.

I don’t think of it as my restaurant anymore. The cookery school healed me.

I follow her as she drags me through the pub car park. We pass the For Sale sign, which hasn’t changed to sold since I joined the cookery school. I try not to linger on how soon I will leave the only family who’s been there for me, but melancholy still fills my bones.

I haven’t given Ciara a yes yet, but that’s probably down to a ludicrous hope that Ruby wants to be my girlfriend.

Ruby pushes a side door open and winks at me.

“You can’t go in there. It’s trespassing.”

“Don’t be such a scaredy cat,” she replies with a cheeky smile.

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