Page 31 of Go Cook Yourself

“But it was your fault. You worked too hard on your business. You were never there for me. And don’t get me started on the lack of sex.”

I don’t know why I’m not ending the message from the guy who was lazy, selfish, and shit in bed. Maybe I need to hurt myself for pushing my family away for this mistake of a man.

His voice cuts through the air con, the only noise in the kitchen. “You’re not frigid. I remember the start of our relationship when you were a frisky madam.” Neil pauses.

“And I remember that, even then, I rarely came because you weren’t that bothered if I did,” I rant at the message.

The clang of a metal water bottle hitting the floor above me echoes loudly, and I glance up at the mezzanine floor as Neil’s message says, “But you changed. Like, you weren’t sexy anymore, and to be honest, Viv took time to make me happy. Like really—” I switch the phone off, but it’s too late. My number one chef, who’s wearing more clothes than the last time I saw him, heard everything.

“Sorry. I wasn’t listening.” His gaze travels around the room as if he can’t bear to look at me, but he suddenly meets my stare. My body flares with humiliation as sweat beads my forehead. “I returned from my run about ten minutes ago and needed somewhere to change. I didn’t really hear.”

“It doesn’t matter.” But it does. I pull my arms to my body in an attempt to hug myself and fist my hands, digging my nails into my palms.

“But–”

“Seriously, Garett,” I snap at him, my stare boring into his soft brown eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Just pretend you didn’t hear about the frigid bitch who worked too hard at her failing business and whose boyfriend preferred to screw her best friend. Okay?”

He presses his lips tightly, winces, and nods.

“Great. Kath isn’t in today, so I’m setting up. You’d best stay out of my way. In fact, everyone should stay out of my way today.” I storm off without waiting for a reply.

???

The cookery class carries on in the same way, me in a foul mood and Garett avoiding me because that’s what I told him to do. It’s a successful pasta-making class despite my mood. To make it worse, my normal sunshine bug has bitten Garett. He’s laughed with the clients, bent over backwards to give them a great day, and gone above and beyond with every request. It’s paid off, too. We’ve had so much interest in Christmas cooking that we’ll need to add midweek classes in December and work until Christmas Eve. Amber will be ecstatic, and it’s all because of him.

“We don’t have to cook tonight if you don’t want to. I can help you with the competition another time,” he says, sidling up to me as I fill the dishwasher.

I’d forgotten about that. I can’t say no, even though I’m sweating at the idea of having to be kind to anyone when all I want to do is gorge myself on chocolate dick-shaped cookies and rewatch a true crime show where someone’s ex-boyfriend gets murdered.

But this incredible chef is giving up his time to help me even though, for whatever reason, he won’t tell me why he doesn’t want me to do the competition.

“No, it’s cool,” I reply. “I’ll finish tidying up, and then we’ll get on with it unless you don’t want to.”

I wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m grumpier than Gordon Ramsay mid-tantrum.

“No, I want to.” His smile is tentative as he sticks a strip of gum into his mouth and chews in that slow way that transfixes me. “I’ve worked on the techniques I’d like to show you. I’ll help you clean up, and we’ll be able to start sooner. I’ve got a cinnamon idea you’ll love.”

My lousy mood fades quickly. He’s willing to put all this effort into helping me.

Five minutes later, we meet at one of the counters.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He squeezes his lips together, his gaze attempting to penetrate my soul, before slipping another piece of gum into his mouth.

I shake my head. “No, but let’s get on. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nods but doesn’t push. I like that, but it also makes my shoulders sag a little. I don’t have anyone else to speak to. I still haven’t built the courage to visit my parents, and I’ve avoided Amber’s house when I know they’re visiting. The pregnancy and absent husband are continuing to take their toll on Amber. She was green and asleep when I left this morning. My parents are caring for her, though. But I’m not pouring my heart out to Garett, either. I have to work with him, and I’ve already had enough humiliation to last a lifetime over the last month.

“Okay, let’s begin. I want you to show me how you make cookies, and as you do this, I’ll give you feedback and ways to improve, such as ideas on finesse or making things quicker.”

“Quicker?”

“Speed means you have more time to add something to your creation at the end or perfect it. The key for these competitions isn’t just making something the judges like; it’s wowing them. You can do that with taste, decoration, finish, or something unique. What we want to do is to perfect all four. That’s how you impress them.”

I could listen to him talk in teacher mode all day. It’s like he’s doing one of his classes, and it’s only for me.

I smile despite the day I’ve had.

“Can I have music on?” He raises his eyebrow at my request. “I’m used to cooking with music in the background.”

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