Page 24 of Can't Kiss the Chef

I take a brownie off of the plate.

“Here, that earned you an extra brownie.”

I race to class before Lola. I’m panting as I set the plate of brownies in front of her seat. You know how when you are waiting for someone time ticks by in slow motion? I finish going through my emails and checking my Instagram notifications then survey the room. It is nearly full, and the professor is sitting at the front of the room waiting for class to begin. But still, no Lola.

I double check my texts. No message from Lola saying she won’t be in class today.

Chef Stroll clears her throat, and we all stuff our phones into our bags and turn our attention to the front of the room.

“Today we are going to meet with our partners and—” She is cut off by the sound of a door slamming. All eyes gravitate towards it. A bashful Lola holts in her tracks.

Chef Stroll eyes pin Lola to the door. She distributes her weight rocking back and forth.

Chef starts running through what we can expect from class today, gaining the full attention of my classmates. Mine focus stays glued to Lola.

She navigates the classroom with her eyes glued to the floor. When she settles into the seat next to me she flashes me a meek smile.

Her khaki riding pants and a Blissful Stables t-shirt leave little doubt to where she was before class.

“Did I miss anything important?”

“You’re fine. You interrupted her first sentence.”

She looks distraught like she needs to hire a defense attorney for being three minutes late to class.

My hand has a mind of its own, moving to run over her thigh. I pull it away when she tenses. I give her a big smile that I know she loves.

“Oh, come on, I’ve had my hand in kinkier places.”

Her cheeks go from an embarrassed pink to a flustered red. She takes a deep breath before resting her forehead to the table. Lola interrupts the class for a second time when she lets out a high-pitched squeal after she goes face-first into the plate of brownies.

Chef Stroll doesn’t miss a beat this time and continues talking about how to decide on a menu.

“What are these?” She asks loud enough for only me to hear.

“I had a lot of free time this morning and felt like baking.”

She peels back the tinfoil. Her eyes flick from the plate set before her, to me, then back to the plate.

“Brownies,” she picks a little piece off the plate and pops it in her mouth. “With peanut butter chips. These are my favorite.”

“I know Pipsqueak.” I make sure to look her in the eye.

“Okay, now break up into your pairs and start planning.”

“Planning what?” Lola asks.

“How should I know? You’ve been distracting me ever since you got here.”

She rolls her eyes before she looks behind her and asks the group sitting there what we’re supposed to be doing.

Lola was adamant that she needed to apologize for being late. She told me I didn’t have to wait for her. It was at that moment that I decided that I’m going to show Lola that she can rely on me.

She pops out the door a few minutes later, looking lighter. I’m happy she didn’t listen to me. It looks like that conversation was precisely what she needed.

“Hey.” She jumps at my greeting, before bending over, clutching her heart.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”

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