Chapter Eleven
Bethany
I’m falling in love with Nick. Falling hard. Falling fast. As much as I hate to admit it, I never felt this way about Zach after dating him for years. How did these feelings for the sexy chef develop so quickly?
One of my students lets out an ear-splitting squeal, pulling me away from my daydream about Chef McHottie. Tiny Riley Anderson scrunches up her face, crying at the top of her lungs. A much larger Amelia Jones clutches Riley’s stuffed pink elephant to her chest, ignoring the wails, and toddles off to the cozy play area on the other side of the room. Kindergarteners are so much fun.
Intervening like the glorified babysitter I am, I take Amelia gently by her arm and turn her back towards Riley.
“Isn’t that Riley’s elephant?” I say firmly, as she stares up at me with puppy dog sad eyes.
Blinking rapidly, Amelia replies, “But she wouldn’t share Miss Hunt.”
Her impassioned explanation has no impact on me, as I simply stare back at her, giving her time to think this through and correct the situation.
She stomps her little foot, runs over to Riley, tosses the elephant at her feet, then scampers off to the play area. When the pink elephant hits the floor, Riley utters another loud cry. I calmly retrieve the stuffed animal and hand it to the upset youngster. She grabs the elephant and follows Amelia to the play area. They reunite as if they are long-lost friends, quickly forgetting all about the altercation.
I shrug. My five-year-old students have the attention span of a gnat. Crying one minute and laughing the next.
Principal Rodriguez pokes her head in the door, smiling like a Cheshire cat. She waltzes in with a self-assured-looking Nick trailing behind her. My date has arrived.
“Miss Hunt! Mr. DeLuca asked at the front desk to see you, so of course, I had to accompany him. I wouldn’t want him to get lost in our maze of hallways.”
She does speak the truth. This old building was remodeled from a bank into a school, resulting in a non-traditional layout that often baffles students, parents, and teachers.
“How nice of you,” I say sweetly as the sexy chef and I exchange a heated look. Every time he looks at me, I feel it in my stomach.
Nick turns, gallantly and shakes Mrs. Rodriguez hand. I wait for him to bow or kiss her hand, but he restrains himself. “Thank you for showing me the way.”
The usually unflappable head administrator turns a dark shade of red, smiling and waving as she exits the room.
Grinning, Nick nods his head towards the class. I swivel around to see twenty-six pairs of eyes locked on Nick and me. One of the boys is making kissing noises behind our backs, which he stops doing when I glare at him. The only other adult in the room snickers beside me.
“Class, this is Chef Nicholas DeLuca. He’s going to visit for a few minutes while we clean up the room and get ready for your parents to arrive.” As if I’ve turned them loose, the kids rush at Nick, surrounding him and asking all kinds of questions.
“Have I seen you on TV?”
“What do you cook?”
“You don’t look like a chef. Where’s your funny hat?”
Nick’s grin gets bigger and bigger with every question. He bends down to their level, patiently answering the questions and talking about being a chef. He’s mesmerizing even with little people. The girls giggle at his responses. Apparently, my guy can charm women of all ages, even five-year-olds.
A burst of energy starts in my toes, then surrounds my heart. If I stop to think about what the sensation is, I’d say it’s the feeling of being in love. How is my heart supposed to withstand the sight of him captivating a bunch of kindergarteners?
Clap! Clap!
The loud noise distracts the kids from their Nick lovefest.
“Time to clean the room. Please put everything away before your parents get here.”
The previously inconsolable Riley hugs Nick around his legs, staring up at him with an adoring smile. “Mr. Nick can you help me put away my Lego blocks?” She points to a heaping pile of brightly colored blocks across the room. He nods, takes her tiny hand and walks with her to the table. Several other girls follow, not wanting to be left out. Nick and the herd of tiny girls put the blocks away while chatting about favorite foods.
I fan my face.
Parents start arriving as we finish cleaning up the room. Amelia’s mom spots Nick and does a double take. Brody Clark’s mom, being much more brazen, walks up to Nick in the play area.
“Are you Nick DeLuca from Cooking with Passion ?” she says breathlessly.
He smiles his mega-watt smile at her, melting every mom’s heart in the room. “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.”
Other parents gather around Nick much like their offspring just did. Papers rustle from backpacks, as everyone tries to find something for Nick to sign. I calmly hand him a black Sharpie when the throng starts thrusting papers at him.
When one parent hands him their kid’s egg carton art project to sign, Nick arches an eyebrow and juts his chin towards the creation. I nod and he grins, then signs the brightly painted object.
It takes over twenty minutes for the parents to interact with Nick, then clear the room with their autographs and children in tow.
“Sorry about the parents fawning over you.”
Nick chuckles. “I can’t go anywhere without drawing a crowd.”
We both laugh.
“Are they supposed to be caterpillars?” Nick asks while I scramble to collect all my things.
“Are what caterpillars?”
“The egg carton art project.”
“Good guess, Sherlock. What gave it away?”
He gives me a flirty grin. “The green paint and pipe cleaner antennas. Plus, the few I signed also had faces,” he says with a chuckle. “How many eggs did you have to eat to get enough cartons?”
A belly laugh escapes. “That’s your only question? Don’t you wonder about who was up all night bending those pipe cleaners into antenna shapes?”
“Not really. As a chef, the volume of eggs has me concerned.”
He looks genuinely worried about the eggs, making me giggle. “The school cafeteria saved those eggs cartons for me, so no eggs were wasted.”
He laughs, looking relieved.
Remembering the time, I ask, “Aren’t we going to be late?”
He helps me with my coat and gives me a quick hug. “My friend runs the restaurant we’re going to, so he won’t hold us to a specific arrival time.”
“What kind of food do they serve?”
Nick murmurs his reply in a rich voice that makes my stomach flip in response. “You’ll find out when we get there, Miss Hunt.”