Page 13 of Take the Bait

He held eye contact with her. “Nobody knows this story.”

“Until now.”

He grinned. “Until now.” He removed his hand from her chin, and continued wiping off her face. “One time, in culinary school, I was working with the vegan cohort. I’m not vegan, but I like to be able to make vegan dishes so I can cater to people with different dietary needs and preferences.”

He took a deep breath. What compelled him to tell her this story? It was damning, and surely shitting his pants at Uncle Bob’s funeral was enough.

“Go on,” she said, the anticipation clear in her voice.

“The vegan chefs at culinary school were amazing. They taught me a lot, and I liked testing recipes on them to make sure I was getting the best feedback possible. So on this particular day, I wanted to try a recipe for spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Oh, no,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand, then biting her lip and looking up at him.

“Oh, yes,” Tucker felt his cheeks reddening. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He sighed, his embarrassment just barely taking his mind off of how he felt a zap of energy radiate through him every time he touched her.

“I’m sworn to secrecy. Please finish the story. Please?”

She was really fucking cute when she begged. He might do anything those green eyes asked him to.

“I was going to make the meatballs with Beyond Meat. So I grabbed it out of the fridge, and started seasoning it. Made the sauce from scratch, using an old recipe I’d learned growing up.”

“Another one from Granny?” She asked with a cheeky smile.

“Exactly,” he said. He loved that she remembered that from the first night they met a couple weeks back. “I wanted to make sure I was extra careful about how I seasoned the meatballs, so I added a few new ingredients. Meanwhile, I cooked the sauce on autopilot. I'd made it a million times, and it’s vegan already. Tomato sauce, ya know?”

She nodded.

“I’m all done, by the way,” he said, tossing the paper towel in the trash can. “But I’ll finish the story.”

She grinned, then leaned against one of the tables nearby, crossing her arms.

“So I cooked the meatballs, then tossed them in the sauce. I prepared the plates for my classmates, and they immediately started praising my recipe. They loved it. And they wanted tolearn how to make it like I did. So I started walking them through the general ingredients for Granny’s tomato sauce. And about halfway through, I realized that the secret ingredient is not vegan.”

She gasped. “What’s the secret ingredient?”

“Sardines.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Tucker sighed. “So I didn’t tell them that. I kept it to myself.”

“Did they get sick?” She bit her lip in anticipation, and he felt his eyes linger on her mouth.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He pressed his lips together. “But they’ve all tried to recreate Granny’s sauce, and they can’t get it quite right. To this day, I’ll get the occasional call from a former classmate to walk them through the recipe, and they’ll inevitably text me that it didn’t turn out the same way as mine.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I’m not proud of it,” Tucker said, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s not even an embarrassing story. It just makes me look like a shitty chef. A shitty person.”

“Well, it still makes me feel better. So thank you.” She grinned. “And based on what I’ve seen, you’re not a shitty chef and definitely not a shitty person.”

“I should’ve told them, but it’s been so many years now,” he sighed. “I learned my lesson, though. I’m borderline neurotic when it comes to making dishes for people with dietary restrictions or preferences.”

“So maybe some good came out of it, then.”

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