Page 21 of Go Cook Yourself

She giggles. “No, and I certainly didn’t have your poster on my wall or kiss it the night before I went to sleep.”

“I’ve never been famous enough to have posters.”

“And I’ve never been creepy enough to print my own,” she says with a laugh and a wink.

A weird flush of something grows in my belly. She’s fucking funny, and although I should be going home, I just want to stand like this with her all night. I haven’t laughed like this for months.

“Back to what I was saying before—”

“About things in your mouth?” She shoves me with her shoulder. “All I meant was your lasagne was tasty.”

“Tasty like a chef’s forearms or tasty like…”

Her laugh is like a squeal, and she quickly covers her mouth.

“What the hell was that?”

“Nothing.Anyway, I’d really like to get your expertise,” Ruby adds with fluttering eyelashes.

I can’t help that my mouth drops open at this point. I’m really without control of anything around her. “My expertise?”Please mean my expertise with my hands.

“Yes, but before I tell you with what, I want to thank you for the lasagne and flowers with some of my cupcakes.”

“Do these have your boobs on?” Her brow furrows, and I have to backtrack. “Remember when you said that you made boob-shaped cookies the other week? I didn’t mean your boobs.” I close my eyes. I can’t look at her chest right now. I’m not that guy. “I meant boobs you’d made…” I trail off before digging a bigger hole.

She throws her head back and laughs. “I do now. You know, you’re blushing as pink as the beautiful lilies you left me. No, these are just normal cupcakes. I want to butter you up before I ask for your expertise properly. Once you’ve eaten them, I shall make my request.”

She hands me the bag. Her fingers brush mine accidentally, but I still get a little jolt in my belly. Does she feel it, too?

“Catch you next time, Garett.” She waves and walks off. I guess she didn’t.

I’m left staring at her as she gets in her crappy car with the broken light and drives out of the car park.

“She’s a whirlwind of joy, isn’t she?” Kath calls out, catching me frozen in wonder. “At this rate, you’ll be known as Garett, the formerly grumpy chef, by Christmas.”

I nod, although it’s more likely that I’ll be known as Garett, the permanent blushing awkward chef.

Chapter Twelve

Garett

Another week has passed at the cookery school. We’ve had a couple of sessions, but they’re not enough for me to raise funds to get Cookie back. I’ve swallowed my pride and emailed a college about teaching classes. I can do it around working at the cookery school, but it grates that I—an expert in my field—must work at a college rather than run a restaurant. It’s another reminder that I have to leave this area. All I need is my boy, and I’ll be gone.

Although I’ve seen Ruby at the school this week, I haven’t learnt what expertise she needs me for, although I’ve imagined it most nights. She’s a welcome distraction from my life. And those cupcakes were like spongey heaven. If my expertise means I get more of those, then I’m all in.

Today was another successful children’s party, but now the kitchen is child-free. Everyone left smiling, and several parents signed up for next week’s Halloween cookery class. We’re full. Ruby is remarkable.

“What are you still doing here?” she asks, popping her head into the kitchen and catching me licking buttercream from my demonstration bowl.

My face burns, and I throw the bowl into the sink. Only Kath knows I do this, and she’s sworn to secrecy. We’ve flirted during every session over the last week. Well, I’m flirting. She’sconstant sunshine, so she’s probably like this with everyone. It’s become my favourite part about working here.

Ruby smirks. “Chill out, Garett. We all do it.” She picks up the bowl and rubs her finger around the rim before popping it into her mouth.

Time slows as her cheeks hollow and she sucks that finger so damn hard. Her eyes flutter closed, and she moans in a way that would make me snap a mouth guard if I were grinding my teeth against one.

She shoves the bowl back at me, and I nearly drop it, so distracted by the pleasure I just witnessed.

“I thought you’d gone home,” I stutter. I’ve forgotten how words work.

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