Chapter 1 #3
The women wearing Gilded Fig shirts give me a warm hug. “Thanks for teaching us everything we need to know to make a really good ribeye. We’ve already signed up for your cheesecake class next month.”
I give them a conspiratorial smile. “Tell me your favorite flavor and I’ll work it into the class.”
One whispers, “Strawberry. Definitely strawberry.” They both leave delighted and whispering to one another.
Station five shakes my hand and admits, “Sorry I burned my shallots. I was looking for a new filter and time got away from me there for a second.”
“It’s alright. Things like that happen when you’re a content creator.”
“Yeah, the videos I watched left some things out.”
“I don’t know for sure,” I tell him, “but that smells like opportunity to me. You know, for you to do one better.”
A gigantic smile jumps onto his face. “You’re right. You have a real knack for marketing.”
“Everyone who does anything these days needs to have some marketing skills.” I give him one of my cards and he leaves, already thinking up new ideas for his channel.
I’m satisfied and tired in the best way. A full class that goes well reminds me why I do this on top of fifty-hour weeks.
Soon, it’s just me and the big biker. He’s cleaning up, not only his station, but all of them, one at a time. I lock the door and walk over to him.
“You don’t have to clean up. This is a cooking class, not a party.”
He chuckles, “No, ma’am. This certainly wasn’t any kind of party that I recognize.”
I gather up the rest of the wine glasses and bring them over, while he washes the knives, and dries them one at a time.
He slides his knives into his roll, closes it, and ties it up before helping me wash the wine glasses.
We clean all the cutting boards and oil them down.
By the time he shoulders the knife roll and his bundled-up apron and chef’s whites, the stations look like nobody was ever there.
“Thank you,” I say, walking him to the door. “For coming and for helping me clean up. You’re a good egg.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m probably signin’ up for the next one, especially if you have one on new ways to make eggs.”
His sense of humor is a little corny and for me, it hits just the right way. I have a weakness for dad jokes.
“You liked the class enough to come back for more?”
“Yeah, I like the whole vibe here, picked up a new knife technique and learned to make that sauce. And to be honest, I liked the teacher. She’s smart and easy to talk to.”
He says it plainly, sounding sincere. I wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that.
“The next one is seafood,” I tell him, knowing he already said he fishes a lot. “The focus will be on knife work, filleting, skinning, and pan-searing.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Not to sound like station five, but that’s one I might be able to help teach.”
“Students don’t usually help,” I tell him, gently.
“In that case, I’ll just have to continue bein’ your student.”
“I look forward to seeing that filleting knife of yours in action.”
“I’ll be sure to bring it.” He taps the knife roll under his arm once, like a promise. “I’ll pay attention to every word you say and by the end of the night, you might even start gettin’ attached to my charmin’ personality.”
“Behave, Sabre. I know that’s probably pretty hard for a man like you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responds with a smile. “It’s a damn sight harder than you think it is.”
I unlock the door and he pushes it open with his shoulder. Just when I think he’s going to step out, he pauses. “Goodnight, Chef. You did a real good job.”
Before I can respond, he takes off, walking quickly down the sidewalk.
I can see a bike in the distance. It’s probably his.
I stand there watching him walk away, feeling mixed emotions churning in my chest. Sure enough, he stows his stuff in the back storage compartment, jumps on the bike and rides away without a backward glance.
I stand there longer than I should, thinking about him.
I realize that I’ve never met a man I had so much in common with or one I clicked so well with right off the bat.
This man is nothing like what one might expect from looking at him.
He’s the man who made space at the board the second I asked, who made me feel something when our hands touched, and who had my back when station five minimized my skills.
He might be trouble, wrapped in an amazing package.
I’m smart enough to know that. I had to fight for my freedom once already.
I don’t want to take a liking to the wrong kind of man again.
I don’t think I could survive it twice and now I have a son to look out for and protect.
I can’t have him role modeling off a one-percent biker.
Yeah, I saw his one percent patch and I’m not about to let an outlaw into our lives, no matter how nice he seems.
I flip off the lights and tell myself he’s just a student, an outlaw who likes to cook. He’ll come to one more class, maybe two, and then drift off like they always do. He’s not the kind of man who sticks around. He’s not what Noah and I need in our lives right now.