Page 45 of Can't Kiss the Chef

Chef Stroll’s booming voice is the only reason I take my eyes away from Lola’s perfect lips.

“Today I want you to work on finalizing your menu. By the next class, I expect there to be three finalized recipes.”

We have two recipes locked in. Lola’s Nonna’s tiramisu recipe and Jalen’s family recipe for savory tarts. We are having issues deciding which pasta and sauce recipe we want to use.

It’s been a knockout, drag on fight, but neither of us will budge.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Lola’s tone is very diplomatic, unlike the hundred other times we’ve approached this pasta sauce conversation. “I think we should do a blind taste test.”

It’s actually not a bad idea.

“Okay, we can do it this weekend. I know most other students will be gone, but I have practice, and we can go to Fall Fest to make your stay worth it.”

There’s a slight pause before she agrees to rearrange her plans for the weekend.

She extends her hand and I grip it firmly before shaking it.

“You got a deal.”

17

Lola

Something is missing. Basil, crushed tomatoes and garlic all lay on the counter surrounded by everything else I am going to need for Nonna’s recipe. I can’t for the life of me figure out what I am missing.

Tonight is the night. Me versus Byron in a knock-down, drag-out cooking competition. Byron suggested we do it before Fall Fest so we could all carb load before a day of marathon drinking.

“Ah fuck it.” I pick up my phone and dial my grandparents’ phone number. It rings once, then twice and on the fifth ring, panic races through my veins. It never takes them this long to answer.

“Oh, Lola dear, how are you?”

Pure relief floods my body when I hear her thick Italian accent. “Nonno and I were just playing a game of Scrabble.”

It all makes sense. The only time I’ve ever seen my grandparents fight is when they are playing board games. You wouldn’t be wrong if you argued the Adam family’s competitiveness originated with these two.

“You had me worried for a second.”

“Don’t spend time worrying about us,” the chair on the other end of the phone screeches against their old tile floor. “Do you need something sweety?”

“I have that sauce-making competition today. I know I’m missing something but can’t figure it out. ”

You would have thought I was telling her that I wrecked her car by the way her voice pierces through the phone. She’s switched to Italian–a tell tale sign she is pissed off.

I list what I have lying in front of me in her native tongue.

“Peperoncino rosso tritato,” We say in unison. How could I forget the crushed red pepper? We both break into a fit of laughter. When we both are done wheezing, I transition us back into English.

“How could I forget that Nonna?” I pause, trying to frame this next part in a way that won’t have her telling all my business to my parents. “I have kinda been seeing someone, and we went out last night.”

“Oh, that’s nice. But what about Byron? I was hoping you’d get back together when you settled back in this semester.” She says honestly, never one to mince her words.

That right there is the issue with being best friends with your grandparents. They’re old and don’t care who they offend when being honest and I can’t say a thing back because, let me tell you, the last thing I want to do is disrespect my grandparents. They may be small, but they are scary.

Byron and I have got our groove back when it comes to being friends. It’s easy, it always has been easy between us. I missed the way we always fell into step with each other. We’re friends, good friends. There is this spark with Dalton that I’m being pulled to explore. It’s been difficult to do that since his season started. The thirty-minute drive between our two campuses doesn’t help things. When we find time it’s been great. I’ve even cooked for him and his housemates.

It’s like I’m writing my own slow-burn romance and I think we can make it across the finish line.

“We are still good friends, Nonna. I’m just sick of being the only single friend.”

---