Page 8 of Go Cook Yourself
He blinks so slowly that I take a brief second to study his rosy lips. They’re as kissable as his handful of TikTok videos suggest. I run my tongue along my bottom lip, imagining that he tastes like he smells, as if cinnamon has been mixed with honey and drizzled on my skin. These fantasies are just memories. The man in front of me is nothing like the one I used to crush on.
“Could you maybe give me a clue?” I stutter as I attempt to tuck my tongue back where it belongs.
He raises an eyebrow and glares. “Here’s a clue—”
“Please, help me with the dough, lovely Chef Garett. I’d hate to have a soggy bottom,” Betty says with a laugh.
Instantly, he walks around me as if I’m a post dropped rudely in his path, muttering, “Here’s a clue. Knives are sharp. Don’t try to catch them.”
The scent of freshly baked bread is like an aura around him, but even as the smell fills my lungs, anger rips through my skin.
“There’s no chance you’d have a soggy bottom, Betty.”
His laughter rumbles through the room, and Betty joins in. I fight the temptation to stamp my feet. I want to do my job, makeAmber proud, and rebuild the broken bridges with my family. That I wanted to improve my skills from watching his sessions was a mistake. I’m sure he knows techniques I’ve struggled with, but he’d be too arrogant to show me.
“I’m here today as a ringer. I’m not as old as the rest of them. I’m five years younger,” Betty says with a click of her fingers.
He cocks an eyebrow, a smirk across his face. “So why are you here today?”
She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket. I busy myself clearing Garett’s bowls at his demonstration counter. Usually, Kath would do it, but I can spy on how Garett works and maybe decipher what he’s planning next.
Betty stretches a gold and blue printed flyer onto the worktop, smoothing the creases. “Chef Clive, a god among men, is running a competition on Christmas Eve. He’s looking for an amateur who can bake the ultimate Christmas goodies.”
Garett’s face freezes, but Betty continues. Out of the corner of my eye, I study how he fixes his jaw and scowls at the dough that he’s now pummelling like he’s in a boxing ring. He lifts and smacks it down before stretching it. He does this again and again while Betty tells him about the competition. Flour flies into the air with every slam. It collects in his hair and sticks to his beard as the sound echoes through the kitchen.
“The best part is that the winner will be invited to work in his restaurant. Applications close tomorrow, so I want to perfect my skills.”
Garett remains silent.
“You used to work for Clive,” Betty says, confirming my thoughts. His eyes blaze as he thumps the dough. “You must have learnt so much from him.”
He pulls and shoves at the dough. He doesn’t deserve my rescue, yet I’m walking towards him. I whisper to my feet to stay still and mind their own business, but they don’t listen. I’mdrawn to the moment like my younger brother was drawn to fresh out-of-the-oven pizza, though the tomato would burn his mouth.
Betty’s curls bounce. “And Clive has that special pasta recipe, too, right? His food is sublime. My friends treated me to a meal at his award-winning restaurant the other week. Sadly, they didn’t serve the special pasta, but I still felt like a queen. What was he like as a boss and teacher? Did you learn a lot of your skills from him?”
I put on my most sunshine voice as I scoot closer. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I speak with Garett briefly?”
“If you must,” Betty replies between pursed lips. Her beady eyes don’t leave us as Garett follows me to the corner of the kitchen area.
“So?” Garett snaps.
“So…” I elongate the word, unsure what to add. I’ve helped him out of a conversation he didn’t want to be in and stopped him from overworking Betty’s focaccia. Garett fists his hands as if he’s still working the dough. That’s what I do, but I do it when I’m anxious. He looks more like the Incredible Hulk trying to beat up the air. “So was that story true, about the British television actor? Who was it?” I press on the smile I used with Neil’s boring family.
His brown eyes pin me, and he grits his teeth. His dark beard highlights rather than hides his sharp jawline. I swallow loud enough to warn my sister to send reinforcements. I’m picking at my plaster again.
“The television actor?” I squeak. He presses his lips together and cocks his head to the side. “I was trying to help. Look, you’ll have to talk to me sooner or later. I’m managing this school until Christmas in Amber’s absence.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he seethes. “Maybe you should spend less time gossiping and ‘trying to help’ and moretime running this place. And you can start with the boxes of decorations in the foyer, which are a trip hazard. Are you trying to destroy the cookery school with accident after accident, or is that a happy coincidence?”
I cover my mouth, but a gasp still escapes. Garett’s rugged lips are more like a wrinkly bum as he aims his wrath at me.
“Wicksy told me to leave them there and that he’d sort them out.”
“Wicksy wants to get in your pants. He’ll say a lot but do nothing. Have you run a cookery school before?” I shake my head and attempt to explain the cooperative bakery, but he cuts me off before I can utter a syllable. “I should have known. Bloody ridiculous. I won’t continue to work here if you stay. Either you go, or I go. Now get out of my sight before you ruin this day any more.”
He spins on his heel, dismissing me, and I run from the room
Chapter Five