13. Macey/Noah #2
A muscle in his jaw twitched. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to respond. Then, slowly, he turned toward me. “It’s fine.” Noah exhaled through his nose. “Let’s just get through this class.”
He turned and walked inside.
Noah
The moment I stepped inside the hut, the thick scent of spices hit me—garlic, ginger, something citrusy that I couldn’t place.
The space was rustic but polished, with wide windows that let in golden light, wooden beams arching over the ceiling, and woven pendant lamps casting a soft glow over the long cooking stations.
Each station had a cutting board, bowls of fresh ingredients, and neatly folded aprons with the resort’s logo embroidered on the chest. A row of gleaming pans hung on the far wall, and in the center of the room stood a broad-shouldered man with a chef’s jacket and an easy smile.
Others filtered in, chatting excitedly as they claimed spots. A photographer hovered near the entrance, snapping pictures of the setup, the happy couples, the overall ambiance.
I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Great. Just what I needed—photo evidence of me playing house with Macey after our argument this morning.
She stepped in behind me, hesitating for a fraction of a second before following me to an open station near the middle. I could feel her eyes on me, like she was waiting for some sign that things were normal again.
What was normal between us anyways? Over the course of the last two days, we’d played multiple rounds of push-pull, and at this point, I wasn’t sure where we stood.
I pulled on the apron without a word, tying the strings tightly at my back. The sooner we got through this, the better.
The instructor clapped his hands together, his voice warm and welcoming.
“Good morning, everyone! I’m Chef Luca, and today, I’ll be guiding you through a hands-on experience of traditional island cuisine.
We’re going to have fun, get a little messy, and by the end of this, you’ll have a dish that will impress anyone.
” His gaze swept over the room, stopping on me and Macey. “Even your special someone.”
I stiffened. Macey let out a short, nervous laugh, shifting beside me.
Chef Luca grinned. “Now I assume you all came hungry?”
There was a collective murmur of agreement, some of the other pairs exchanging excited glances.
“Great!” He gestured toward the tables. “Grab the prepared ingredient baskets, and we’ll get started.”
Macey adjusted her apron, glancing at me, opening her mouth like she wanted to say something .
I beat her to it.
“There’s a photographer in here, so let’s keep up the pretending.” My voice came out clipped.
Her lips pressed together, but she nodded. “Fine. I know you’re still upset with me but just know I really do respect you.”
Chef Luca clapped his hands together. “All right! We’re starting with a simple appetizer—fried plantains with a spicy mango dipping sauce. Should be easy enough, right?”
Macey and I exchanged a glance.
I wasn’t sure what her cooking skills were like, but I had a sinking suspicion they weren’t much better than mine.
“The plantains need to be sliced thin,” Luca continued, demonstrating with a swift, effortless motion. “Then we’ll fry them until golden. Meanwhile, we’ll prepare the mango sauce. Now let’s get to it!”
I grabbed a plantain and the knife, lining it up on the cutting board. Macey did the same, looking far too focused for a task this basic.
“Ever cut one of these before?” I asked.
She lifted her chin. “It’s a banana’s cousin. How hard can it be?”
Macey pressed down with the knife and squished the plantain instead of slicing it.
I snorted. “Impressive technique.”
She shot me a glare. “Let’s see you do it, then.”
“Okay.” I took my turn, slicing through mine, albeit unevenly. Some pieces were paper-thin, others way too thick.
Macey started on the mango, attempting to scoop the flesh into a bowl. Instead, a chunk of it slipped from her fingers, bounced off the counter, and plopped onto the floor with an unceremonious thud .
She bent down and picked it up with an exasperated sigh. “Five-second rule? ”
I arched a brow. “Go ahead. You eat it.”
She huffed and threw it into the trash.
A few minutes later, we had all the ingredients in a bowl, attempting to mix the mango sauce. Macey reached for a spoon and gave it a determined stir?—
And somehow, defying all logic, a thick glob of sauce catapulted out of the bowl, landing on her white dress. Conveniently, the one bit of dress her apron didn’t cover.
Her jaw dropped as she stared down at the bright orange stain spreading across the fabric. A snort escaped me.
“Don’t laugh!” she said, dabbing at the area with a paper towel. An orange mark was left behind. “Britney is going to kill me.”
I couldn’t stop the laughter now. When it appeared the stain wasn’t going away anytime soon, she crumpled the paper towel and threw it at my head. “Noah!”
“I can’t be blamed for this,” I said, taking the bowl out of her reach.
The glare slid off her face as she chuckled too.
Despite our shortcomings, our appetizer came out pretty tasty. It may not look aesthetic by today’s standards, but it tasted great.
Chef Luca clapped his hands again, drawing our attention back to him. “Now that you’ve mastered the appetizer,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “it’s time for the main course. A traditional island seafood dish: coconut-crusted mahi-mahi with a citrus salsa.”
Macey and I exchanged a look. She still had a mango stain on her dress, and I was pretty sure one of my plantains had been charcoal by the time I got it out of the pan.
“Not another sauce,” she muttered.
“Try not to spill this one on yourself,” I said, grabbing a fillet of mahi-mahi and inspecting it like I actually knew what I was doing.
Macey mimicked me, holding hers up between her fingers. “Looks…fishy.”
“Excellent observation.”
“Shut up.”
Luca continued explaining the steps, demonstrating how to coat the fish in a coconut and panko mixture before pan-frying it to crispy perfection. Seemed simple enough.
I dunked my fish into the beaten eggs and transferred it to the coconut mixture, making sure to coat it thoroughly. Macey, meanwhile, hesitated.
“You just gonna stare at it?” I asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s slimy.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s supposed to be.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“It’s a fish, Macey, not a criminal.”
She sighed dramatically, then finally dropped her fillet into the egg wash. But when she pulled it out, she forgot to let the excess drip off. By the time she tossed it into the coconut mixture, the crumbs turned into a sticky, glue-like mess.
“I can’t believe that between the two of us, you’re the better cook,” she said as she tried to repair the fish.
“Well”—I dropped my fish into the hot pan—“the bar is pretty low in this instance, but I do have some cooking experience. I used to do a lot of the cooking for me and Daphne.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “After Mom died, I tried to recreate her signature lasagna and nearly set the house on fire. I figured I should learn the basics, at least. We probably rotated between the same seven meals, but at least I mastered those.”
Macey chewed her bottom lip and started to fry her fish. “That’s sweet. What was your favorite thing to cook? ”
“Grilled cheese, definitely. I—” I’ll make it for you sometime , was what I wanted to say. Instead, what came out was, “I’m a fan of cheese.”
“Me too,” she said. “My roommate, Kira, is a better cook than me. She bakes a lot, so every weekend I get to indulge in all the chocolate I want.”
“Sounds like a dream.” Using the tongs, I flipped the fish. “Who’s Britney, then?”
Macey squinted and looked at me. “Huh?”
“Earlier, you said Britney’s going to kill me .”
“Oh, right. Britney is one of my best friends, too. She’s a barista in The Burrow Café, which is in the same building as my office, but she’s also in law school. And then there’s Ariadne. She’s a computer genius and one of the most selfless people you’ll ever meet.”
A tiny pang of jealousy hit me. Not about any of those girls specifically but because I didn’t have a group like that. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I lacked a steady, stable crew of people to rely on. It’d just been me, Daphne, and occasionally Nathan for so long.
“They sound like great friends.”
We finished preparing the rest of the meal, and to my surprise, it turned out half decent. Flavor, texture, all there. Luca gave us all a few minutes to sit and eat.
I took a break after inhaling my fish, leaning back in my chair with a satisfied sigh. What started off as a tense cooking experience had somehow morphed into a good time. Macey had a way of doing that—making things better, even when they didn’t seem like they could be.
“I forgive you, you know.”
The fork paused halfway to her lips. “You do?”
“What you said…it’s true. I’ve separated myself so much from other people that I do forget how they feel.
” I ran my hand over th e back of my neck.
“I didn’t realize not responding to your messages last year would be so hurtful.
Sometimes I get overwhelmed by DMs and stop responding.
Not that it’s an excuse. Is that why you hated me for so long? ”
Macey twirled her fork against her plate, her gaze dropping for a moment.
“It’s one reason. You exemplified the things I hate about influencer culture: free press for little work, ignoring writers and bloggers who work hard, and just generally belittling others.
” She sighed. “But now I realize I was wrong about some of that.”
“I’m sorry for my past actions. I never intended to hurt or offend you.”
She studied me for a second before setting her fork down. “You don’t have to apologize.”
I exhaled, mustering a little courage. “Maybe I can buy you dinner tonight to make up for it.”
“Noah, we’re at an all-inclusive resort.”
“Right.” I dragged a hand down my face, feeling like an idiot. “Maybe a walk on the beach instead.”
Her lips quirked. “That would be nice.”