11. 1st Cooking Class
11
1ST COOKING CLASS
Ford
Los Angeles had drained me, but at least I’d managed to get a haircut. McCormick had summoned me to meet him on location, and upon my arrival, a hair stylist took one look at me and dragged me into a chair, insisting on a trim before I even had a chance to find McCormick.
In my downtime, I’d researched my dad’s medication. It seemed pretty standard for someone who had experienced a heart attack: blood thinners, blood pressure, and cholesterol-lowering drugs. Nothing alarming, but it didn’t stop the worry from gnawing at me.
I wasn’t really in the mood to attend Dante’s first cooking class tonight. I knew it would drain the rest of my reserves, but a promise was a promise. Besides, it would give me a chance to catch up with Max, and we really needed to talk.
When we arrived at Not a Yacht Club, we found the door unlocked, just as Dante had said. The bar was empty, but the restaurant’s sweeping view of the Ohio River glittered in the evening sunlight.
Conner was at the bar, bracing his hands against the counter, glaring down at it like it had personally offended him. When he spotted us, some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “Glad you’re both here,” he said, ambling over. “I was afraid I’d be the only one. Tried to talk my way out of taking this class, but Dante wasn’t having it.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I told him only one of us needs to know how to cook. He didn’t buy it.”
“Not surprised,” I said, forcing a smile. The truth was, I was relieved we wouldn’t be stuck alone with each other. Max and I had drifted so far apart that I didn’t even know where to begin repairing things.
“You remember my brother, Max?” I said, introducing them.
“Sure, I do. He’s a regular here.” Conner shook his hand. “Thanks for coming, man.”
Max smiled easily. “Happy to be here. I like to cook. It’ll be fun to pick up a few tips from a real chef. Plus, it gives me an excuse to hang out with Ford before he heads back to California.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. The weight of unspoken words between Max and me lingered. As we followed Conner to the kitchen, unease crept in. Five years of silence between us felt like a chasm I didn’t know how to bridge.
“Do you ever think about moving here? To Sewickley?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere personal.
Max shook his head. “Nah. It’s not that long of a drive—about twenty-five minutes. Maybe someday, but for now, I like the convenience of being close to work in Pittsburgh. Plus, Sewickley’s for families. They roll up the sidewalks at ten. I like a bit more nightlife.”
I hadn’t even noticed the lack of nightlife since I arrived. I’d been so focused on my dad, this movie decision, and figuring out Mara that going out had barely crossed my mind. But the Not a Yacht Club was lively enough for me.
It struck me that I hadn’t been out with friends in a long time. Who would I even call in L.A.? Sheila, maybe, but she wasn’t the type to help move a sofa or be there after a breakup. I realized that Max, Conner, and Dante were the kind of people I could count on.
When I left home, I thought I was running away from this small-town life. But maybe I’d been running from the loss of my mom—escaping the grief that lingered long after she died. Sure, we’d known she had cancer, but she’d been fighting it. If she hadn’t caught pneumonia, she’d probably have beaten it. It had taken years to find my footing again.
As I looked at Max, I felt a pang of nostalgia for the bond we once shared. It reminded me of my relationship with Mom, and how much I still missed her.
When I’d left for college, I’d found a new tribe—the creative types who made music and art and movies. I’d met my ex-wife Chelsea back then, too. She was different from my other friends since she was studying marketing instead of something in the creative arts. We’d fallen in love. Taken a chance.
When she left me, it was devastating. I had counted on her to be my partner through thick and thin, but she chose to prioritize her own career over our relationship. I’d lost someone important all over again. She’d bailed on me the moment I put my career over hers—not over her—by not attending that party. That distinction didn’t matter to her.
The consequence was that someone I depended on left me again. When I hadn’t attended that office party with her, she’d taken it as a betrayal. I’d pointed out that by leaving, she was choosing to betray me. She’d cried a little at that, and then finally admitted that she’d thought I’d give up on becoming a director and settle down—whatever that meant. She’d said she didn’t want the kind of life I’d offer her if I was constantly on location directing movies. She wanted to be with someone totally devoted to her in every way.
Devoted and in love—that I could handle as long as it was reciprocal. But being taken for granted? That wasn’t me, and it never could be.
Looking back, I see now how needy Chelsea had always been, always testing me with little demands to prove my love. Like filling her car with gas after she drove home with it on fumes, or blaming me for running out of shampoo, even though we didn’t use the same brand. They were all signs of her underlying lack of self-confidence, and it was exhausting to constantly prove my devotion to her.
And then came her final confession. She wanted me to put her job ahead of my mine. It put our entire relationship in a new light. All the subtle ways she’d undermined my career by steering me away from big opportunities, all because she felt threatened. I couldn’t believe how manipulative she’d been. It was like I was finally seeing the real her, and it wasn’t pretty.
I glanced at Max again. The same guilt I’d felt when Chelsea left flared up, only this time it was about my family. I hadn’t been there when Max and Hailey needed me, and now I had to make it right.
“You can go on back to the kitchen,” Conner said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Dante’s waiting.”
We entered the kitchen, which was pristine, from the gleaming countertops to the perfectly organized pantry shelves. Dante emerged from the walk-in freezer, grinning.
“Welcome, Padawans,” he intoned solemnly, giving us a mock bow.
I grinned back and bowed. “Thank you, Master Jedi.”
“ Star Wars ?” Max shook his head in mock dismay. “Closet nerds.”
Dante laughed. “Tonight, we’re making chili—my version. Rich and robust, thanks to a few secret ingredients.” He winked. “I use coffee and dark chocolate.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Dark chocolate?”
I nodded in agreement, though I had no idea how the hell coffee or chocolate could make chili great.
Dante ladled chili into bowls. “Taste this, and you’ll see.”
As I took a bite, the complex flavors hit me, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Okay, that’s amazing.”
Dante beamed. “Glad you like it. Once everyone gets settled, we’ll get started.”
I turned to Max and, in a low voice, asked, “I tried to get Dad to come, but he said no. What about Baris? Couldn’t he use a few cooking lessons?”
Max snorted. “Hailey wouldn’t let him near the kitchen. She loves to cook, but she can’t share. It’s a fight Baris won’t bother picking.”
After a few minutes, Dante gathered us around. As I sliced onions, Max turned to me, his tone casual. “How was L.A.? Did you meet with McCormick?”
“Yeah. He wants me to direct that Superman film. I’m not convinced I’m the right fit, but we’ll see.”
Max paused, then carefully asked, “Would you consider working with us? With Ross Film Productions?”
His question hung between us, heavy with meaning.
I leaned back in my chair, the gravity of his words sinking in. “Maybe,” I said cautiously.
Max’s tone was flat as he continued, “Working with family can be challenging, but you’d have complete creative control. That best-director win of yours would make my job easy. Finding investors would be a breeze—as long as you don’t try to make something that’s too offbeat. This could really help us.”
I could feel the weight of the unspoken tension between us, the guilt of having abandoned my family five years ago creeping in. But I pushed it away and tried to keep the conversation light. “I didn’t realize you were so involved in running the company.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “I keep a low profile, but yeah. Ever since Dad’s heart attack, I’ve had to step in more.”
The mention of Dad brought up old memories and emotions I’d been trying to bury. The tension between us was rising, and I knew I couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer. I took a deep breath. “Max, you know I was out of the country when Dad had his heart attack…”
“Don’t.” Max’s voice was sharp, cutting me off, his eyes cold. “Don’t even try to apologize. You left us on our own when we needed you the most. You had your own dreams and ambitions, and you didn’t give a damn about anyone else but yourself.”
His anger hit me hard. I could feel the weight of the unspoken pain between us. “Max, at the time, I didn’t realize things had gotten that bad.” Even as I said it, the excuse felt hollow. I should have known. I should have been there for my family.
Max’s expression hardened further. “You didn’t know? You didn’t know we were trying to keep the company from folding? That I’d just graduated and was struggling to keep it afloat? That’s a crock, Ford.”
His words stung because they were true. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was a selfish ass. I should’ve been here. But for what it’s worth, I’m here now. I want to help. Maybe we can make this movie thing work. Let me think it over.”
Max watched me for a moment, his face unreadable as he finished his chili. Finally, he said, “Better late than never. At least this time, when we asked you to come, you showed up. But something’s up with Dad. I can’t put my finger on it. I didn’t want to bias your opinion before you spent time with him, but you’ve probably noticed some things. Health-wise, he seems fine—though who knows with him? He doesn’t exactly share much. But he’s pulling away from everyone… everything. I think he might be dealing with depression.”
I nodded, slowly absorbing what Max said. “The same thing crossed my mind. But I’m also worried there might be more going on.” I told him about the way Dad had left me after moving that bookcase and how pale he’d looked.
Max’s worried gaze met mine. “Investors are noticing Dad’s pulling back. It’s getting harder to secure funding for our films.”
Shock hit me. “Dad’s company is everything to him. I didn’t realize things were this bad. What do we do?”
“ We ?” Max’s eyes lit with a flicker of hope. “Let’s figure it out together.”
Before he could say more, Dante swept his arm to gather us. “Let’s get started.”
“We’ll talk later,” I promised. “We’ll come up with a plan.”
Max’s relief was clear, but my mind was racing. I hadn’t realized how much Dad’s company had changed since I left. Now, it was on me to help fix it. I couldn’t rely on Max, Hailey, or Sean. The responsibility weighed on me. I had to prove I was here for them.
I glanced back at Max. He caught my expression, and I could see hope in his eyes. Ideas spun through my head: Maybe I could make the movie with McCormick and use the profits to support Ross Film Productions. Or, I could propose a partnership between McCormick’s studio and Dad’s company. Or I could even ditch McCormick altogether and collaborate with my family to create something new.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” Dante said, his grin wide. “I’ve been waiting to teach this class for a long time. Over the next few weeks, I’ll teach you some cooking basics you can build on.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s start with tonight’s chili recipe, and I’ll show you how to properly cut an onion.”
As Dante demonstrated, I couldn’t help but think about my situation. Maybe this career decision wasn’t as complicated as it seemed. Like peeling an onion, I just had to strip away the distractions and focus on what mattered.
Max’s idea of making a film with Dad’s company intrigued me, but turning down McCormick’s offer could risk my career. That kind of opportunity didn’t come around often. But staying here meant being with my family. Maybe the obvious career move wasn’t the right one after all.
“Time to cook,” Dante said. “Start chopping those onions.”
Max nudged me forward. “You chop. I’ve done enough onions for a lifetime.”
“No problem.” I mimicked Dante’s technique, slicing through the onion. “I didn’t realize how much you’d been covering for Dad. That changes things.” A moment later, my eyes started stinging.
I blinked and wiped my sleeve across my eyes, sniffling.
Max let out a laugh. “Don’t cry, Ford. It’ll be fine.”
Dante walked over. “Breathe through your mouth so the vapors don’t go into your eyes. And weren’t you listening? Lay a damp towel next to the onion—it pulls the vapor away.”
I felt like an idiot for missing that. I shot a glare at Max, who was clearly enjoying my misery. As I moved to wipe my cheek, the onion smell hit me again, so I stopped.
Max chuckled. “Still crying?”
I snapped. “Is this the kind of crap I can expect if we make a movie together? Not exactly a selling point.”
Max grinned. “Hey, if it’s a flop, that’s on you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the support.”
Max leaned in, his eyes twinkling. “But if it’s a hit, I’m taking all the credit—and a cut.”
I groaned. “You’re worse than a Hollywood agent.”
Max laughed. “Nah, I’m just your loving brother watching out for you.”
I headed to the sink, scrubbing my hands with lemon soap and splashing water on my face until the burning eased.
Back at the prep station, I eyed the bell peppers and tomatoes suspiciously. Had I missed some tip about those, too? I shoved the cutting board over to Max. “Your turn.”
Max pressed the knife into the tomato, and the pulp squirted out, covering the cutting board with a gelatinous mess.
“Amateur,” I said. “At least I can slice a tomato.”
Dante wandered over and winced at the tomato massacre. “Slide the knife across the tomato, don’t press straight down.”
Max tried again, this time with much better results.
“Bravo. Excellent.” Dante clapped Max on the back. “Time to start cooking. Brown the beef and onions first, then add the other ingredients.”
I lit the burner, feeling confident. Browning beef? Easy. Maybe if the chili turned out well, I could bring some to Mara’s shop—food was a gateway to the heart, right? Or maybe I shouldn’t push it. Coffee this weekend was enough. Was it even a date?
“Do you know Mara Stellar?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “She owns Ghost of a Chance.”
Max raised a brow. “Blue hair, right?” He glanced at the skillet and elbowed me. “Stir the meat or you’ll burn it.”
“Shit. Sorry. She distracts me.” I stirred. “What do you know about her?”
“She’s pretty, but not your type. You usually go for glitzy movie stars.”
I scowled. “How would you know?”
“You mean since you never brought any of them home?” Max’s casual tone masking something deeper. I could feel the lingering tension between us.
“Any of who?”
“The starlets you date.”
“Not you, too. Everyone relies on Here’s the Scoop for info, but that rag never gets it right.”
“Tons of bloggers and entertainment sites write about you too.”
I shrugged. “True, but Here’s the Scoop loves to jump to conclusions.”
“It’s not like you’re an open book,” Max pointed out. “It’s bad when your family only knows you have a new girlfriend when we read about it. You never talk about the women you date.”
“I haven’t seriously dated anyone for years,” I protested.
“Not since the blonde?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Was it that bad?”
I shrugged. “Her name was Cindy. Things fizzled. All we talked about was work. Dating in Hollywood is exhausting. Everyone’s playing a part, and getting past the pretense takes more energy than it’s worth. Energy I’d prefer putting into directing a movie or doing something productive. I hate wasting it in some pit of emotional quicksand.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Not that you’re jaded or anything.”
I chuckled. “You’re one to talk. You’re not dating anyone either.”
“Not after what Raven did to Essie. Her fans went rabid. I can’t risk that happening again.”
I stirred the meat, trying to push away the memories Max’s words had stirred up. It wasn’t just the mention of Raven and Essie that unsettled me—it was the reminder of everything Max, Hailey, and Sean had been through five years ago. I felt another pang of guilt for abandoning them, especially Max. I’d been so consumed with my own issues and ambitions that I wasn’t there for him when he needed me most. There was a lot I had to make up for, and it weighed heavier with each reminder.
“ Help !” Kincaid’s shout rang across the kitchen.
I turned to see smoke billowing from his skillet. Dante sprinted over, pulling the pan off the burner.
“Damn, dude,” Conner said, scowling at his brother. “You burned dinner.” He shoved Kincaid in the shoulder but barely budged him.
Resigned, Conner shook his head and joined us. “Should’ve known cooking with Kincaid would turn out like this. I’m starving.”
“Have more of Dante’s chili,” I suggested.
“Pay attention!” Dante yelled as he pointed at something behind me. “Your pan’s smoking!”
I caught a faint, acrid scent of burning meat and whirled to discover our food was ruined, too. Max grabbed the handle and yanked it off the burner, then yowled with pain. He’d grabbed the metal handle without a potholder.
I shook my head. “I can’t believe I let that happen. Why didn’t we smell it?”
“Those industrial vents really work,” Max muttered.
“Both meals ruined,” Dante said, shaking his head. “But hey, at least you didn’t set the place on fire.”