The Boiling Point | ✔️

07 | partners

SUMMER

I try not to look at Ashton all morning, because I know if I do then I might look for a little too long. And I don't want to give him the wrong idea.

It was one thing for me to taste the lollipop he'd been sucking on seconds before I stole it, but to feel his solid body behind me, his rough hands guiding mine, hot breath on my neck... it stirred up a familiar whirlpool of butterflies in my stomach.

The same whirlpool that sucked me into dangerous waters the last time I felt it.

But he couldn't get away fast enough once he showed me the cutting technique. You'd think I was doused in repellant spray.

And the way he looked at me when Nick and I switched places, like I was the most repulsive thing on earth. As if him being a troublemaker is somehow my fault. Now Nick has Lola and I have a pain in the butt.

It's hard to believe he has the cutting techniques down to a T only from taking home ec. I felt embarrassed for not knowing how to do simple chopping properly. My dad never let me take home ec in school, and even though I've cooked for years, it was more as a hobby. Baking is what I really invested my time into learning.

It makes me a little jealous of Ashton. This default cocky attitude he has, walking through the class like a big shot who belongs. I hate to admit that it doesn't come totally unjustified.

He moves around quickly in the kitchen. Strangely elegant and smooth for his size, like he's well aware of how much he fits into culinary school already. As if he was born to be here. And if he's not aware, then he sure plays the part.

After he showed me the technique, it's like he's been making an effort to remind me that the reluctant help he gave was a one-time thing, taking every opportunity to undermine what I do.

"Don't worry, Cupcake, some people just don't have the natural skills for this stuff."

"If you're already struggling with the basics, then good luck with the cooking."

"Should I grab another bowl for you? Oh wait, whaddya know, I've already filled them all."

I wish Chef Kent hadn't made me move places. The guy's hot, but he's still an asshat. While I refuse to be a mat for him to stomp over, the constant stream of patronizing quips is slowly rattling my confidence, and it's only the first day in the kitchen. How am I meant to concentrate on climbing my way to the top of the class like this?

About ten minutes before lunch, Chef Kent calls out from the front of the class, "There's a soup in the fridge I want to add some of these vegetable cuts to. Can someone fetch it? Big pot on the shelf."

"I'll get it!" I volunteer and circle around our workstation, catching a look of distaste from Ashton as I go. He might not want to get on any of the teachers' good side, but I sure as hell do.

In the walk-in fridge at the back of the class, I instantly see the pot. Damn, the thing is basically half my body size.

I heave it up and find my balance, walking back as steady as I can. I'm four steps out of the fridge when Ashton blocks my way.

He holds his hands out. "Here let me take it."

"I've got it."

"You're gonna drop it."

"No I won't."

"Just let me carry it."

In the struggle of him trying to take it from me, the lid slips off and clangs on the floor, and the pot's murky green contents slosh up right onto my white chef jacket. We both freeze, my mouth dropping open as I look at the stain on my chest.