Page 14 of Can't Kiss the Chef

A bright orange scrunchie grabs my attention. New year, new me. I guess.

It’s funny how a day of grueling classes can be enjoyable when you actually like what you’re studying. Not being tied to a desk in the biology building– figuratively speaking, of course– has been so freeing. I love my entrepreneurship capstone class. We have to draw up a business plan and spend the semester building our opening day event. I decided to write a plan to open my own private chef business. Ivy said that a bunch of Jalen’s teammates have them and thinks I would love doing something like that.

There was a three hour break between my second class of the day, digital marketing, and my last class. I’m taking two culinary-based classes this semester but this is the one that I’m really excited for. It’s a semester-long project where we work with a partner to create a seven-course menu. All the groups are going to be assigned a country they have to use as inspiration. We have to come up with a printed menu, table settings, the whole nine yards.

I spent the three hours in between classes at Expresso Yourself, the coffee shop next to Lucky’s, for my third cup of the day. I scribble down a bunch of ideas for different restaurants. I sketch out different interior vibes. I’m a halfway decent artist, so I have sketches of both plating and table ideas.

I flick the lights on in the empty classroom, settling at a table in the second row. We won’t be spending too much time at seminars since the class acts like a test kitchen when we aren’t learning how to run a restaurant.

The loud thud of a textbook-filled backpack shocks me out of my Instagram death scroll. I look up into a pair of angelic blue eyes.

I’m not sure when it happened but the classroom is full. The only open seat is next to me. Byron Andrews happily sits two feet away from me. His signature goofy grin on display.

“Hey, Pipsqueak. I forgot we both signed up for this class.”

I forgot about that stupid nickname he gave me last semester. Being five-foot-three with a plethora of athlete friends, you kind of set yourself up for jokes about your height.

“Same,” I say flatly.

He flicks the bright orange scrunchie. Half of my short black hair– the same color as my jeans and cropped t-shirt– is piled up in a bun on top of my head. Byron’s hands run down the back of my head before he plays with the pieces that are too short to fit in the bun.

“Trying something new?”

“It’s not mine. I haven’t fully unpacked yet–”

“Shocker,” Byron says through a fake cough.

“So I grabbed some from Margo, and she had nothing darker than a kelly green.”

“That sounds like Margo.”

Yes, I wear a good amount of black, and some would say my soul is black–hi, Mom– but I know it’s not because Byron taught me last year that with the right people around me, I could actually be considered a sunny person. That was until his messages ceased, and I remembered that if my parents don’t like me, how could I expect this golden retriever of a man to?

It’s not until Byron places his hand over mine that I realize I am nervously fidgeting with the corner of my sketchbook.

“What’s this?” Byron asks me, eyes laced with curiosity.

“Oh, just some sketches for this class. Just wanted to get some ideas down so I don’t forget them.”

His voice is soft, almost shy, when he asks, “Do you mind if I take a look?”

I shake my head and hand him the book. Nerves erupt in my stomach. I always get this nasty sense of vulnerability when someone looks at my work.

Byron’s eyes latch onto mine. His expression is unreadable.

“These are incredible Lola. I didn’t know you could draw like that.”

Thank you, comes in the version of a shrug as my cheeks grow more flush. I have never learned how to take a compliment, coming from an overly critical family will do that to you.

“I guess there is a lot we don’t know about each other.”

“I guess not,” he agrees as he runs his hands over my drawings. If I didn’t know he spent his summer with another girl I’d think he almost sounded sad.

“I just doodle, or if I have an idea for a logo or something like that, I just do a quick sketch. I’ve never taken a formal class or anything.”

Our eyes lock. I forgot how hypnotizing his eyes are.

“You amaze me, Pips. I’ve never met anyone as talented as you.”

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