“So, when was your last relationship?”
“Haven’t had a serious one since Carmen. What about you? Dated anyone since Chase?”
She stares up at me, and I watch a small flush warm her cheeks, making her look so vibrant and alive.
“Nope. I’ve been on dates but nothing that stuck. We make a good pair, Ben. Single and ready to mingle.” She wraps one hand around my arm and hugs her body up to me for a second before stepping back.
We head toward the truck. I want to reach up and envelop her hand in mine, holding it next to me, but I let her hand stay on my arm, reminding me that I’m not her boyfriend.
Friends.
Roommates.
Mason’s cousin.
8 Pepper
I spent last night filling out job applications and poring over emails from my culinary school. It starts in a week, and I want to be ready. My excitement is mixed with apprehension though, knowing that I’m being so dishonest.
Ben left for work before I woke up, so I have the place to myself, the whole day to myself. My phone rings, and I see Jules’s name flash on the screen. With a smile, I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
“Pepper, it’s Jules. How are you?”
I can hear Ginny babbling in the background, and it makes me happy.
“Wonderful. Just filling out some paperwork for school and job applications. You know, normal stuff.”
“Job applications? Why don’t you just work at the bistro some?” I can hear her mutter something in the background.
Jules and Mason put in a coffee shop at my uncle Nick’s bistro, back at the beginning of the year. Nick’s ex-wife, Mason’s mom, is my mom’s sister. They aren’t close—at all.
“I appreciate it, but I want to do this on my own. Show my parents I’ll be okay, you know?”
“Just know that you’re always welcome there if the other jobs don’t work out.”
“Thanks, Jules,” I say with a smile.
We had a rocky start in the beginning when we met at a holiday party. Jules thought I was Mason’s date, and he didn’t correct her. But once she found out I was his cousin, she warmed up to me.
“I wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Mason is off work, and he’s picking food up if you want something to do.”
“I’d love to come for dinner, but let me cook. You and May need a break.”
“You don’t have to cook at all,” Jules starts to say before I shush her.
“I’m cooking. What time?”
“Does six work?”
“Six is perfect. Can I invite Ben?”
“Ben, huh?”
I hear her giggle echo through the phone, and I groan.
“Shut up. It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like?”
“We’re roommates … maybe friends?” I’m not sure if I can even call us friends at this point.
Can you be friends with someone you’ve only known for a few days, but you already want to rip their clothes off and trace their hard muscles with your tongue?
Probably not.
Jules is too busy laughing at me to answer my maybe question.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I say, rolling my eyes. I look down and realize that my hand is balled into a fist, the tips of my fingernails cutting into my skin.
“See you tomorrow,” Jules says before hanging up.
Thankful that I finally have something productive to do today, I pull out my favorite lasagna recipe from my prized box of recipes that Grandma and I used to cook from. It has everything from breakfast pancakes to full-course dinner menus to delectable desserts, and it’s the one thing I can’t live without.
While I was growing up, cooking with my grandma was my favorite thing to do. I think it’s what made me fall in love with food along with how putting ingredients together in different ways could make your taste buds explode with flavor. She was my best friend, and I know if she were still alive, she would be so proud of me for going to culinary school. It hurts that my parents don’t understand how important my dream is.
I quickly write down what I need from the store before darting into the bathroom for a shower. I get ready and decide that I’m going to make a trip to all the places I collected job applications from and turn those in and then stop by the culinary school to pick up my welcome packet since I accepted so late. I press my hand to my stomach to quiet the butterflies bouncing around, wreaking havoc on my insides.
I’m doing it. I’m getting a job, and I’m going to school to do what I love.
I love all kinds of cooking, but my passion is pastry. I can remember standing in the kitchen with Grandma as flour floated around us, trying to make the absolute best chocolate chip cookie. We perfected it, and our secret recipe now rests in my box, where no other eyes are allowed to view it. I can’t even think about the mystery ingredients; that’s how secretive it is. I decide that I’ll make my favorite brownies to go with the lasagna, and I rush into the kitchen to include the ingredients on my list.
I’m on a high as I run my errands. Each time I hand over an application filled out with all of my information, I swear my smile gets bigger. I probably look like the Joker now, but I don’t care. I’m so excited. I keep checking my phone as if they would call me immediately and tell me I had the job. All five places.
After checking at the school for my welcome packet and dashing through the grocery store—cleaning the aisles out of noodles, tomatoes, and dessert ingredients—I head home with my haul.
I smile as the door opens a little later, Ben walking through as I’m laying a cooked lasagna noodle in a pan. He stops, looking
