Chapter 20
I arrive at Bon Appetit Cooking School ten minutes before class is scheduled to start. Tonight is a Chicken 101 class, which the woman on the phone assured me is for beginners. I walk in and there are butcher block tables set with bowls, ingredients, and a recipe card. With a sinking feeling, I realize there are two seats at each table. This is a couples’ class. I debate about leaving when someone says, “Is this seat taken?” I look up into a pair of warm brown eyes. I shake my head no.
“I’m James,” he says, extending a hand.
“Lucy.”
“I should warn you. I’m a terrible cook.”
“Me too. It’s why I’m here.”
“Glad I’m not the only one.”
He smiles at me but I busy myself with reading the recipe card. After a few minutes the instructor says it’s time for class to begin. He goes over some basic instructions then puts us to work. Our first dish is Chicken Milanese.
“This is a good class to come to after work,” James says as we pound the chicken.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s a stress reliever,” he says as he whacks his chicken breast so hard it splits in two.
His face is priceless and I can’t help but laugh.
“I told you I was terrible.”
“Perhaps you should take up boxing instead to help with the stress,” I suggest. “What is it that you do?”
“Prison warden.”
“Oh. I can see why you’re heavy with the mallet.”
“Just kidding. I’m a high school history teacher and coach baseball and track ‘n field. I guess I shouldn’t complain. What about you?”
“I’m an event planner.”
“Now there’s a stressful job,” he says.
“Not to me. I love it.”
“Do you plan weddings?”
“Yes. But I do mainly corporate events.”
“That’s good. Not too many bridezillas then.”
We work in comfortable silence. He looks over at what I’m doing from time to time. It’s really not as bad as I thought. I like having a recipe to follow. There’s order and a logical flow. I’m not sure why I haven’t tried this sooner. Cooking is a good match with my methodical nature.
“Why does mine look nothing like yours?” he asks.
I look over at his chicken and it’s a sorry sight. “Aren’t you following the recipe?”
“I thought I was. Maybe I should pay better attention. You’re distracting me.”
“Oh, sure. Blame it on me.”
I’m not sure if he’s flirting with me or not. He is pretty cute, with his golden brown hair that’s cropped close on the sides but longer on top, and an open smile. I think it’s because of the dimple on his left cheek. It’s not that I’m staring, he just happens to smile a lot. And I like that he’s a teacher. I think it’s a noble profession. I’m about to ask him more about it when the instructor comes by and says, “What do we have here?”
“A real mess,” James says.
The instructor, whose name I can’t remember, attempts to help James salvage the unsalvageable. I stifle a laugh.
“Presentation is out, but maybe it will still taste OK,” I offer.
James shrugs. “As long as it’s cooked, I’ll try anything.”
Once we’re done preparing the chicken we’re supposed to put it in a baggie and cook it at home. James is very disappointed by this fact. He tells me he hasn’t eaten because he had to race over after practice. At least we’re able to sample the finished product the instructor was working on, but it’s by no means a meal.
He looks at his Fitbit to check the time. “Do you think they’ll allow me to eat a snack?”
“I don’t know. Depends on what it is.”
“I brought a piece of fruit.”
Please don’t tell me it’s an apple.
He pulls a banana out of his bag and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Considering this is a kitchen I would think it’s OK,” I tell him.
He eats his banana as we prep our last dish: a basic roasted chicken.
“Maybe you can help me this time?” James asks.
“I’ll try.”
So we work together, following the recipe card.
“Are you signed up for any more classes?” he asks.
I nod. “The next three.”
“You?”
“The next five. I got them as a gift.”
“That’s a generous gift.”
“It was. I was supposed to come with a friend of mine, but she bailed at the last minute. So I was able to convert the three classes into six.”
“That’s nice they were flexible.”
I wonder if he recently broke up with someone. If he did it seems it was by his choice, unless he puts up a good front.
“So I’ve got extra time to catch up to your mad skills,” he says.
“Mad skills, huh? I’m glad the bar is so low.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “No, definitely not low.”
I blush. We finish our preparation then clean up our station. I go over to the sink to wash my hands and wonder if James will wait for me. It turns out he does, a fact I’m surprisingly pleased about.
“See you next week,” he says as we gather our things.
“See you.”
We walk out together and he lingers in the doorway before we part ways. I wave goodbye then jog to my car to avoid the possibility of an awkward encounter. As I drive home I realize I’m looking forward to our next class.
The following week I arrive before James. I head to our same station and put my things away. A girl I hadn’t seen at our last class is about to take the seat next to me. “Sorry, I’m saving it for someone,” I tell her just as I spot James walking in.
“Thanks,” he says as he sets down his things next to mine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still want me as your partner.”
“Hmm?”
“You know, after the chicken debacle.”
“Oh, that. How’d it taste?”
“Not bad. But I couldn’t find the card with the baking instructions. So I might have left it in too long. It was very dry.”
“How long did you cook it for?”
“An hour.”
“An hour! It was a thin breast. The sheet said twenty-five minutes.”
“Well there you go. As I said, it was definitely on the dry side. At least it was well done.”
I have to laugh. I was nervous all week about seeing him again, but there’s an ease about him that makes me comfortable. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and is willing to make me laugh at his expense. The instructor walks in and everyone quiets down. I notice the girl who wanted to sit next to me is checking out James. It appears her green eyes are filled with envy.
“This week we’ll be working on our knife skills,” the instructor tells us. I find out his name is Will. He shows us how to chop vegetables and then has us each practice on an onion.
“I never knew there was a proper way to do it,” James says.
We chat while we work and he talks about his students. I tell him an acquaintance of mine, Liv, is also a high school teacher.
“Her husband proposed to her on a quiz,” I tell him. “He changed the questions to be about their relationship and slipped it into her grading pile.”
“That’s cool. You wouldn’t believe some of the Hoco proposals I’ve seen,” he tells me.
“Hoco?”
“Sorry. Homecoming. One of my baseball players decorated home plate. Then he wrote, ‘You’ve caught my attention. Let’s have a ball at Hoco.’ It was a bit tricky for us to practice until he was able to get her onto the field.”
“That’s cute. Much more elaborate than in my day.”
“Did you like high school?”
I shrug. “It was OK. Did you?”
“Yeah, I loved it. I guess it’s why I decided to go back.”
“You were probably like Homecoming King or something.”
He shrugs and looks embarrassed.
“You totally were! I’m standing among royalty.”
“You probably shouldn’t tease me while I’m wielding a knife,” he says.
He manages to make me smile. Again.
After the onions are diced we move on to carrots.
“Ouch!” James yelps as he yanks his hand away.
“Oh my God! Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I was just messing with you.”
“You scared me,” I say as I swat him on the arm. And thank God it was a false alarm or I’d have passed out at the sight of his blood.
“Sorry, my family is big on pranks.”
Will hurries over and asks if everything is OK.
“We’re fine,” James assures him.
“You’re so bad,” I tell him.
“I’ve been called worse.” Then he smiles at me, his dimple full on display.
We finish chopping the vegetables then add them to a stir fry. This week we are eating what we’ve prepared. As the vegetables are sizzling in the wok I do a quick check of my messages. There’s one from Trish asking about class. I may have mentioned to her I sat next to a cute guy, so of course she’s asking about him.
Trish: Did you get a taste of the hottie?
I turn away so James can’t see my screen.
Me: You’re so bad.
Trish: I hope you’re sharing. Let him have a turn to grind, pinch and whip?
Me: He’s sitting next to me!
Trish: Even better. Make sure he lets you cream.
Me: This isn’t a baking class. I fold ;)
I shake my head and smile as I finish responding to her text. Then I tuck my phone back in my purse. I sense James watching me.
“Catching up with your boyfriend?” he asks casually.
“Umm. No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Good,” he says. And we leave it at that, until my curiosity gets the best of me.
“What about you? Who’s this friend who canceled on you?”
“Oh, she’s my brother’s fiancé. They got the classes as a gift, but my brother travels a lot. And he has no interest in cooking. I told her I’d join her, but at the last minute she bowed out. She’s like a sister to me, but I think my brother didn’t like the idea of us spending all that time together. He told me I should find my own date. Whatever, it’s cool. Because now I’ve met you.”
I nod but don’t press the topic further. I’m quiet while we eat, so James makes small talk with the table next to us. The redhead who almost sat at our table is happy to oblige. At the end of class he attempts to walk out with me.
“I’m going to head to the ladies room. I’ll just see you here next week.”
He nods, likely sensing my change in mood. It’s not that I don’t find him attractive. He is rather adorable, and sweet. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to date yet and don’t want to give him the wrong idea. To be honest I have no idea what I want when it comes to relationships. I thought I knew. But right now I have no idea about anything.