Page 15 of Chef's Kiss

At least I got today. Tomorrow’s a new day and that means what it’s always meant. The fight resumes.

I feel myself drifting off, thankful for all the fun conversations we had today, knowing this time tomorrow I’ll be in my tiny twin sized bed wishing the springs of the twenty-plus-year-old mattress would stop jabbing me in the side.

But it’s that poke of reality that I need to remind me that this life isn’t for me.

Never was, never will be.

C’est la vie.

CHAPTER 10

Christian

“We’re on in thirty,” my showrunner says.

There’s been some weird anxiety just floating under the surface all day, coming from Charlotte. She’s having fun. I can see it in her eyes and the way she’s reacting, but it’s like things are just a bit off, and I need to do everything I can to change that, show her I’m the one for her because she is absolutely the one for me.

“In twenty Christian.”

It started this morning at Starbucks. She was in heaven when she had a coffee, and blown away when we had time for two. I could have sat there all day, just staring at her make-up free perfect face, and her wet hair from the shower she took. Just watch her hair dry and listen to the sound of her soft, feminine voice as she shared the story of her father, that damn near broke my heart. Her honesty opened me up completely, and I told her a similar story of how my mother died my last year of high school, after I’d spent my entire high school time watching over her. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, it’s not even a question. She was my mother, my heart and soul. She was there when dad walked out on us before I was born and she’ll always be with me, even if not in the physical anymore.

But now there’s a new woman in my life, and I know my mom would be proud and so happy for me.

She always told me to find a woman who’s true to herself, not trying to be anything she’s not, because if she’s not true to herself how can she be true to you? Truer words were never spoken, and there are definitely some words I want to hear Charlotte speaking later tonight. Screaming as a matter of fact, and that starts with my name.

“Five seconds, CC.”

I give her a nudge. “You ready for this?”

She smiles and I can see the excitement in her eyes as we’re about to broadcast live to millions of homes across the country. The final lights flash to life, the heat of them nearly knocking her back. It still blows me away how much heat those things put off.

“In three…two…one…and…”

“Good afternoon, everybody. This is Christian Cherry coming to you live from Los Angeles. And today we have a special guest Charlotte Chapman in the kitchen and together we’re going to whip up some,” I pause, whipping out my best Southern accent, “Eastern North Carolina Vinegar Sauce for y’all. Now, let’s begin!”

I’m supposed to lead with an advertiser spot, but I just skip it, not really sure what in the heck is going on. I’m just flying today and the teleprompter is flashing “SLOW DOWN” in red letters.

My tongue’s moving a mile a minute, but there’s just something about having her here by my side that energizes me, makes me feel like it’s my first day on TV all over again. It’s like I get to relive that high anew, and when I look at her I can see she’s feeling it too.

Her pupils are dilated, her hands are damn near shaking, and she’s got an ear to ear smile spread across her face.

“The first things we need to pull this off are cider vinegar, crushed red pepper, ground black pepper, and salt,” I say, and Charlotte fans her hands over the top of the condiments in a way that would make letter-turner Vanna White jealous.

She carefully hands me each of the ingredients, kind of rolling the salt and pepper shaker over the back of her hand like the cool kids used to do with their pencils back in high school.

“Where’d ya learn to do that,” I ask Charlotte, playing to what the crowd surely didn’t miss.

“My favorite place in the house. The kitchen.”

The crowd claps and laughs before the applause sign even lights up. They can relate, and that usually means the viewers at home can too.

“Now I’m just going to sprinkle a little bit of these in here,” I say. “And then we can measure out the vinegar.”

“How much vinegar do we need,” Charlotte pipes up, as if we’re back at Starbucks just free flowing away with our conversation.

I squint at the teleprompter, as Charlotte is taking us off script a bit. I open my mouth to reply, but she doesn’t even let me get the words out.

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