12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Addie
S ometimes, you make the day your bitch. Carpe diem, or whatever. Other times, life is a real asshole. Today is the latter. Like, one of those days when you wake up and the day goes wrong. My alarm didn't go off, I dropped and broke my favorite foundation, got a speeding ticket, and the real kicker, spilled coffee on my boss’s super expensive designer suit. I even called my mom crying from the bathroom after. She did her best, but not even a mom pep talk can pull me out of this shithole.
I hate my life.
Luckily, Mr. Becker and I have been on better terms. He might have lost his shit over the suit thing, but me hysterically crying killed that for him pretty quickly. He actually apologized to me? This is my life now. Every time we are on the up and up, something comes around and gives me a punch to the cooter.
As I try to hurry and pack my desk, Mr. Becker stops in front of it.
“Addie, I know it was a rough day, but I wanted to let you know that you are doing a great job. Don’t let a bad day get you down. I will see you tomorrow morning. Try to keep the coffee in the cup next time, eh?"
“Ha-ha. Very funny. Thank you, I appreciate that. Tomorrow will be a better day.” Though, we got off on the wrong foot, I have decided I do like working for him. Since it’ll be a while before I have the chance to climb the ladder and get a promotion here, the way he challenges me will fill the void of needing to fix the chaos. Because all his cases are shit shows. Although, those are the best kinds.
“You got that right, kiddo. We start a big case tomorrow, so bring your A game.”
“You can expect nothing less.”
He smiles and nods, before sauntering down the empty hallway. Everyone else left thirty minutes ago. And if I don't hustle, I will be late to Prince Charming’s class. Again. And I really don’t need a third bad thing to add to my day.
Walking into the room, I go front and center and realize there is no Isla. Maybe she got off work late? I was so busy hustling over here that I didn't even check my texts to see if she was running late.
I pull my phone out of my purse. Oh, goody. She's not just late, she isn’t coming. She had a crisis at work and is now having to stay late to fix it. She sends me her love and a million ‘ I’m sorry ’s'.
This day is honestly just the freaking worst. I don’t know who has my voodoo doll, but if they could just cut the shit, that would be great.
Sam stands at the front of the classroom, his jeans and T-shirt hidden beneath his green apron. He cracks a smile and starts class off.
“Welcome back, everyone. We’ve only got a couple classes left, and I hope you’ve had as much fun as I have. You all crushed the chicken parm last week.” He moves to stand in between my station and our neighbors’, Marcie and her husband, whose name I have yet to remember. To me he is Bob.
“Today, we are putting together what you’ve learned, and you will be creating your own dinner. Hopefully, if you nail it, you’ll be able to bring home a full meal tonight.”
The class laughs at his joke, which makes his smile broaden. He really has the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. He should do it more often. My eyes stay stuck on him for longer than I want to admit. He’s actually annoyingly attractive. It should be illegal to look that good in an apron.
He goes into a spiel about food safety, which I kind of zone out for. My mind is rolling over my day today and all the things I will need to do tomorrow.
“There are coolers for meat, produce, dairy, and some dry goods at the table.” He nods to the separate coolers, and then to the dry ingredients. “Good luck. Raise your hand if you have any questions, and pay attention to what you struggle with. We will cover your final questions during the last class.”
Everyone rushes forward. Literally, I have no idea what I want to make, and if I’m being honest, I don’t even want to make anything. Maybe I will get lucky and a box of Kraft mac and cheese will be at the front. That sounds about like the effort I’m willing to put into dinner. McDonald’s drive-through would be better, but I don’t think that goes along with cooking class.
“Where’s your partner?” Sam asks, propping his hip against my station.
“She isn’t able to make it. So, I’m a one-woman show tonight.” My usual sparkle is missing from my voice, and my smile feels forced.
Sam must sense something is off, because his brows furrow as he asks, “Rough day?”
“Literally, the worst. In fact, if you have some wine for reduction up front, I think I will use that as my dinner and take my leave.” Peeking over his shoulder, I try to look at the table.
“Unfortunately, no wine. That requires more papers than I was given. Sorry to disappoint.”
I fake a sigh. “Well then, off to go shopping for tonight’s dinner.”
He lingers for a second, before nodding and walking off in the other direction.
Getting all the stuff for an easy sheet pan dinner, I make my way back to the station and get to chopping. First, I cut the green beans and asparagus and pop them on the tray. Then, I chop the small golden potatoes, making them the perfect bite-size. Grabbing a new board, I chop up some chicken. Do I need the new board? Eh, not sure. Probably should have paid more attention, but I am not about to poison myself today.
Once everything is on the pan, I season it with salt, pepper, and an Italian blend, and then coat the whole thing with a drizzle of olive oil and shove it in the oven. Easy peasy.
The timer goes off, interrupting my people-watching, which had made my day a whole lot better. Marcie scolded her husband about seven times, and the ladies behind me caught their pan on fire while trying to fry something. It turns out that Sam can run pretty fast when he sees flames almost touch the ceiling. Watching him about shit his pants was good for my morale.
Sam’s voice says in the background, “All right, class, we’re about out of time. If you haven’t yet, start wrapping up what you’re doing. And if you need help, just holler.”
I make the mistake of looking up while pulling the cooking sheet out of the oven. My knee bumps the open oven door, which bumps my arm holding the pan, which then makes me spill all my dinner on the floor. The only positive is that I didn’t get a burn.
Screw today. With the pan smacking the oven, it makes such a commotion, that the whole class is looking at me. And that makes this worse. All of today’s shitty events start to weigh on me, and I feel tears spring to my eyes.
NO. I absolutely will not cry in front of all these people. Leaning down, I start to pick up my mess, and it also hides my face.
“Got some butterfingers today, huh, shortcake?” His jests are nothing new, but right now, I don’t have it in me to match his wit.
“Something like that.” My voice betrays me and lets out a crack.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a spill. I’ll help you clean it up.”
A traitorous tear falls down my cheek and Sam notices. He reaches for my cheek and his thumb gently swipes the tear away. Blinking up at him, I find myself suddenly feeling warm as blood rushes to my cheeks. This is getting too intense for a cooking class. And for dropped chicken.
“Who the hell puts carpet in cooking stations?” I ask as we clean up the disaster at my station.
“Idiots,” Sam answers, and I let out a chuckle because, yes, that is the only answer.
Sam stands and dismisses the class as I continue cleaning and trying to ignore the background behind me. Chopped everything is fine, until there’s a hundred pieces of your chopped-up dinner scattered around.
“You hungry?” Sam asks. He crouches down and helps me collect my explosion.
“Actually, yes. I was really looking forward to my little dinner here.”
He nods, as if in thought. “How about we go pick up dinner? I didn’t eat anything either, and I’m starving.”
This is probably a terrible idea. So, of course, I smile and say, “Yeah, that sounds better than floor chicken.”