How to Ruin a Recipe

Chapter 1

Chapter One

EVIE

“Evie?”

My head snaps up. “Hm?”

“You weren’t listening, were you?” My coworker crosses his arms over his broad chest and lifts a sculpted brow. “It’s almost like you don’t care about my date with Austin.”

He’s right. I stopped listening to him five minutes ago. It’s not his fault, but as I push my weight onto the dough, he is the last thing on my mind. This bread needs to develop the gluten, and I have to help it out.

Not to mention that it’s four in the morning.

I’m always here at four in the morning. New employees get the worst shifts, and I’ve only been here for three months, so I’m stuck waking up when the sun does.

I used to hate working these hours, but it’s peaceful now…

or it would be if not for my chattering coworker, Dean.

I’m being a bad friend, aren’t I?

I smile through the exhaustion. “You know that’s not it.”

“You could have fooled me. You’re in your own little world over there. It’s almost enough to make me think that you’re seeing someone.”

“Stop! I’m not. Like, I’m really not.” I laugh and shake my head, returning my attention to the dough. My love life is the last thing I want to talk about. I need to distract him. “It’s still going good with that guy, I hope.”

“It’s going better than good. You would know that if you were listening to me.” He pours flour into the stand mixer, humming to himself. “I think this one is getting a third date.”

I gasp, my eyes widening. “A third? No way!”

“Way.” He lifts a shoulder. “Let me guess—you’re thinking about Declan?”

So much for distracting him.

I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. No.”

“What?” He laughs aloud. “What happened? I thought he was going to be the perfect boyfriend!”

“They always are, but”—I hesitate—"It’s nothing. It’s silly.”

“No. You have to tell me.”

My expression drops, and I stand upright, wiping my hands on my apron. “He doesn’t know how to do laundry.”

Dean clutches his chest as if he’s about to have a heart attack. “I beg your finest pardon. At the ripe old age of…?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Jesus Christ, Evie.”

“I know—trust me, I know. Obviously, I had to end it before it got serious.”

He laughs loud enough for me to easily hear it over the whirring of the stand mixer. “You didn’t want to, I don’t know, teach him how to do it?”

I turn off the machine and glare at him. “No. I’m not his mother. She should have taught him how to wash his smelly clothes.”

“Guess I can’t blame you. A pretty face doesn’t always make for a good partner.”

“We both know all about that.”

I have bigger things to worry about—bigger than Dean’s scrutinizing look and certainly more important than dating a man who never trims his toenails. Dean and I usually spend these shifts discussing life, dating, and culinary school.

What I’m going through right now isn’t idle gossip. It’s more embarrassing.

“Forget it,” I say. “Tell me more about Austin. What did he do to make him worthy of a third date?”

Dean launches into a story, and the rest of my worries fade as I pound them into the dough.

NOTICE OF EVICTION

This notice is sent to Evie Clements…

It’s not like I’m surprised. My rent is two weeks late, and I’ve been waiting for this evil piece of paper to appear on my front door. I hoped it wouldn’t come on time, but for once in my life, I’m the tardy one.

Nothing makes me more anxious than running late—whether to work, class, or a date. But that is nothing compared to being behind on my bills.

You know what wasn’t so timely? When my car broke down three weeks ago. I had a decision to make: fix the thing that gets me to work or pay my rent. Maybe I made the wrong choice, but I hoped for a miracle.

Miracles don’t happen for people like me. We have to work our asses off. I fought to get where I am today, and I’m still not where I want to be.

I only have thirty days to move out.

Ripping the paper from my front door, I clutch it to my chest.

This 400-square-foot apartment is my home. I’ve lived here since my sophomore year of college. Everything, from the matching pink pastel appliances to the secondhand TV, is mine. And the stand mixer! It’s such a lovely stand mixer.

Perhaps the appliance is overpriced, but I worked hard for it. Don’t I deserve nice things? I run my finger along the metal bowl.

This is one thing I can sell, I suppose.

I leave my shoes near the door and pad through the apartment, my feet cushioned by cream-colored carpet. My fingers weave into my blonde hair, pulling at my scrunchie until my curled mane flows down my shoulders.

That’s better. The last thing I need right now is scalp tension.

I plop onto my pink couch and stare at my outdated phone, waiting for it to give me a miraculous answer. A job offer would be nice, or a wealthy friend to take care of my situation.

But it’s not like I told anyone about the eviction. Maybe one of my friends is a secret mind reader. Or perhaps I can win the lottery! Not that I’ve ever played the lottery.

Then, there’s my parents…

Well, they can’t do much; they’re retired. That’s the downside to being the youngest of five. They only planned to have four children, and I was the biggest surprise. That means I have no college fund, but it also means I was raised with no rules—or at least fewer than my envious siblings had.

My parents were practically grandparents by the time I was born, and now they’re traveling the world, cruise after cruise. It’s hard to get in touch with them, unless it’s the holidays.

No one is going to dig me out of this hole.

I don’t have anyone wealthy enough to pay my rent, and even if I did, I wouldn’t swallow my pride to ask.

A few months ago, I was telling my brothers about my new job.

It was supposed to pay me better than the last, but it still isn’t enough.

I’m barely scraping by, and my credit cards are maxed out.

That’s the problem—I’m the problem. I need to swallow a little of my pride, or I’ll be stuck living in my shabby Subaru.

My heart pounds in my ears as I scroll through my contact list. It’s a long list, but it’s full of acquaintances—not friends.

Not really. They’re people I know through school, my jobs, or the dance classes I took for fun.

Best friends? I don’t have any. Dean is the closest I have these days, and I’ve only known him for a few months.

No one cares enough to help me. The realization is gutting, but there may be a way out.

There are exactly four people in the world who may care enough to take care of me—my siblings. Just because they want to help me doesn’t mean they can, and it doesn’t mean I want their help.

Too bad. I’m out of options.

My finger hovers over a name: Everett.

I close my eyes and hold my phone to my ear, waiting for the comfort of his familiar voice.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally found time for her older brother.” His voice is lilted and vibrant. I won’t be able to match his energy today. “What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

This may be my last time sitting in this little apartment. I dig my toes into the carpet, grounding myself. It doesn’t work. A tear rolls down my cheek, and when I finally speak, my voice shakes. “Everett. I’m in trouble.”

“What?” Urgency replaces his upbeat tone. “What are you talking about? What kind of trouble could you possibly be in?”

“Can I stay with you?” My voice shakes. “Please?”

He hesitates. “Of course. You’re always welcome at my place. You know that.”

“I know.”

And if not, there are three more brothers on the list—it doesn’t matter. I can always count on Everett.

THEO

“Hey…” I fiddle with the pen between my fingers. My jaw is tight, my mind wrapping around the words I’ve been rehearsing for the last few hours. “I can’t make it. Can you let her know?”

My office is the biggest on the floor, but I feel like the smallest man in the world. Everything is out of my control. That’s how life goes, and I have to accept it, but it doesn’t get any easier.

I swivel in my leather chair, an attempt at distracting myself from the storm brewing around me. This call is only one tiny issue, barely a speck on my radar compared to everything else. I wouldn’t be calling if it were up to me.

Everett knows I don’t have time for this, but he pushed me out of my comfort zone anyway.

“Theo.” My friend stares at me through the phone. “You have got to be shitting me.”

Everett embodies sunshine with his light hair, sun-kissed skin, and baby-blue eyes. A smile is usually plastered on his face, but it’s nowhere to be seen as he sits in a dimly lit room and prepares to lecture me. He doesn’t have to voice his thoughts—he’s disappointed.

Join the club.

“I know, I know.” I run my fingers through my dark curls, quivering under his frustrated glare. “This is a bad look.”

“No shit. The least you can do is let her know yourself, man. Come on. We’re too old for this.”

He’s right—of course, he is. Everett is my best friend and the one person who can make me feel guilty for prioritizing my work over everything else. My job is important. No one else seems interested in doing anything to save the planet, and I’m just one man, but I’m doing my best.

Some people say I’m doing too much, and my private life suffers for it.

Everett set me up on my first date in months. Awfully nice of him, until I’m stuck turning it down in favor of work—after I accepted it. Most people would call that standing someone up, I guess.

God, I’m an asshole. I wouldn’t want to date myself.

“There’s nothing I can do about it,” I say. “I mean, I guess we can reschedule…”

“You don’t sound thrilled at the idea. What? You don’t like her?”

“I do! You know I do.”

“You’re a liar. You didn’t want to go on this date in the first place. Admit it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” I hesitate. “I mean, how can I know if I want to go out with her? I barely know her.”

“I knew it.” He chuckles, his hair shaking as his head moves back and forth. “I fucking knew it.”

“What? We only talked for a second. It’s not like I could emotionally attach to her that fast.”

“What about attraction?” He lifts a blond brow. “She’s hot.”

I roll my eyes. “Not everyone experiences instant attraction. We can’t all be like you.”

“Meaning that you don’t stick your dick in anything that moves?” He rests a hand on his chest. “Well, neither do I. I’m offended.”

I have half a mind to end the call. “That’s not what I said at all,” I snap. “Stop it. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“I know what you mean—and I respect it—but how are you supposed to build a connection if you won’t hang out with her? How are you supposed to build a connection with anyone?”

Great question. The short answer is… I’m not.

“Trust me,” I say. “If I had another option, I would be there.”

“What happened, man?” He sets the phone down and shuffles away. All I can see in the dimly lit room is his back. “I had a good feeling about you two. You both like Broadway.”

“I don’t like Broadway. I went to one show—years ago.”

“And you liked it!”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t go tonight. My assistant quit. No two-week notice. She’s gone.” I lift my hands, letting my phone clatter to the desk. “Now I’m stuck doing her job and mine.”

“Seriously? But she was the best.”

“She was. Don’t remind me.” I stand up and pace the room, unsure whether he can still see me on the call. “On top of that, I’m stuck looking for someone to replace her.”

“Can’t you delegate that job to someone else?”

“No. No way. I’m looking for a personal assistant. No one else knows what I need.” I pick up my phone and meet my friend’s gaze through the camera.

He’s holding the phone again, and I still have no clue where he is. All I can see are boxes behind him.

“You seem to have no issue delegating tasks to me,” he says.

“Ev…”

“No. I’m not doing it.” He isn’t a stubborn man, but the steely sound of his voice tells me the argument is almost over—and I’m certainly not the winner. “You have to tell her yourself.”

“Everett!”

“I’m going. I have other shit to deal with today—like clearing out this fucking room. Fucking junk room…”

I guess that answers my question about where he is, but… what room?

My brows furrow. “I hope everything is all right.”

“It’s fine. You’d better call her, Theo!”

“I will—"

The call ends, and his usually smiling face disappears. I guess I’ll never know what he’s so busy with.

9:45 a.m.

My next meeting is in ten minutes. Usually, my assistant would be here to remind me, and she would do all the prep work beforehand, but today that’s on me. Everything is on me.

I owe the woman—Joy—a call. Hell, I owe her dinner, but I don’t have more time to waste.

“You’re a terrible person,” I mutter, opening up our text threads.

Our conversations have been short, and I reasoned that we were saving the date to talk about ourselves, but now I’m stuck feeling like I don’t know how to speak to her. I genuinely do not know this woman at all. That’s my fault. I should try harder.

It’s too late.

Theo

Hey. Sorry for doing this at the last minute, but work is crazy today. Can we reschedule?

I’m only offering to reschedule because I’m at a loss for how to reject her.

If it weren’t for Everett, I never would have agreed to go out in the first place.

I would never say it to her face, but it’s not her—it’s me.

It’s a cliché. No one wants to hear that, even when it’s true.

I work too much, and that won’t change any time soon. Joy deserves better than my excuses.