Page 53 of Go Cook Yourself

“And we’re less than a week away from December,” Wicksy adds as he walks in the door. “We’ve been known to get a flurry every so often, and based on how my chickens are acting, it’s going to be more than a flurry.”

Ruby yawns as she side-eyes Wicksy.

“Your chickens?” Ruby asks.

“Yes, Princess Pickle Pants and Lord Fairmont of Londinium.”

“Fucking hell,” I reply.

Wicksy pushes his waves out of his face and throws aprons at us.

“There’s no one like you, Wicksy.” Kath shakes her head with smile.

“Thank fuck for that,” I add as Ruby yawns again. I’m returning to who I used to be because of one little rejection. I shake my head. I need to get it together. I walk towards my demonstration counter. Maybe if I prep, I can reset and bringback the version of myself I was starting to like, and then maybe I can talk to Ruby like a friend. She understands me better than anyone else. Maybe if I apologise and—

“Oh great. Garett is being his grumpy bastard self. It’s going to be a long day,” Ruby snaps.

I stare at her, my mouth wide as she puts her apron over her head. It hurts more coming from her. “Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up doing whatever you were doing. Was it fun?”

“More fun than you can imagine.” She sucks her lower lip into her mouth in the way that she does when she’s turned on. She must be remembering a date.

I chew my gum harder. I should walk away and get on with the day, but my voice lowers as I reply, “I’ve imagined you can have a lot of fun. I’ve imagined it all week.”

The desperation to have the last word and to get a reaction out of her is like chilli flakes under my skin.

“Shame,” she replies. I tip my head as she sidles past me. The scent of passion fruit causes my body to respond instantly. “Because you’ll never have more than imagination when it comes to me.”

And then she walks away, leaving me huffing as I push up my sleeves.

???

The day continues like that. We push each other’s buttons or back-chat whenever people are out of earshot.

When I was bent over checking the oven, she leaned in and whispered, “Shame that your personality is ninety-five per cent arsehole and five per cent chef.” And then she hit me on the bum.

I took my opportunity for payback when I caught her sorting ingredients in the pantry. “At least my arse isn’t the most interesting thing about me,” I grunted in her ear before tapping her butt. The whoosh of air out of her mouth was satisfying as hell as I swaggered away.

She got me later, though, as I led a section on how to season focaccia. “Your shirt isn’t tucked right. Let me get that for you.” She yanked the shirt so tight that I braced myself against the countertop. Her nails scraped the hint of my naked back when she tucked the shirt in. Arousal zipped through my body. I gripped that countertop so hard my hands hurt.

What started as trying to piss each other off was quickly becoming ways to turn each other on. She would prowl around the kitchen, sliding between me and the counter, her bum across my groin. I’d stroke her neck with the tip of my finger every time I was close when she retied her hair.

But later, when we were alone in the dining area, I stood close to her. “Your apron isn’t tied. Let me get that for you.”

I flipped her around quickly and held her hands up against the wall. I slowly tied a bow in the strings of her apron as she pushed her butt against me. My hands paused at her hips as she moved against me. Goodness knows where it would have gone next if I hadn’t heard Wicksy telling one of the students about his chickensoutside the room.

The whole day was unprofessional. As I was teaching the class, she stood at the back and slowly began to undo the buttons on her blouse. Sweat dripped down my back as she bit her lips and gradually revealed the pink flowers edging the top of her black bra. Maybe she didn’t like that I shrugged and continued explaining pasta preparation, because then she stood in my eyeline and slowly lifted her skirt. Inch by inch, she pulled the hem higher until I was gifted the image that had played in aloop since the moment Cookie floored her. Lace black hold ups highlighted the white skin of her upper thigh.

Suddenly, I was choking on my words. The class rushed to check on me and get me water. Ruby dropped her hem, winked, and then sashayed past me with a smirk.

???

As the class finishes for the day, we wave the happy and oblivious clients goodbye. I growl in her ear, “I’m going to get you back for earlier.”

The sky is darker now, but it doesn’t have that glowing grey look that it often has before a heavy snowfall. Besides, it’s November. Snow is rare at this time of year, especially in the Cotswolds. It’s Kath’s old wives’ tales.

“Of course you are,” she replies with a teasing smile. “It’s a shame you must get home for your fun night of activities.”

I glare at her. She shivers in time with me as a gust of cold wind lifts the hem of her skirt. “Nice hold ups, by the way.”

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