AllFreeNovel
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Our assessment suggested that the desserts you prepared for the interview did not fully capture the essence of passion and authenticity we strive for in our curriculum. While your technical skills are beyond reproach, we felt that the creations lacked a certain personal touch and emotional honesty that we value highly in our pastry arts program.
Should you have any questions or wish for further feedback, please do not hesitate to reach out.
Every sentence was like a knife in my gut. No passion. No authenticity. No honesty.
It was just like Chef Luigi had said. I was trying hard to be something I wasn't. I threw down my phone and turned my attention back to the suitcase that I was meant to be stuffing. My fancy city clothes—dresses, silk blouses, and stilettos—lay strewn across the bed like an ode to the life I left behind in New York. I hadn't worn any of them since coming back to Bluehaven Beach.
"Just a silly, naive, selfish girl," I said to myself, shoving a pair of shoes into the suitcase.
Cole was the reason I was going back to New York. I felt too strongly for him, and he didn't return those feelings. I needed to escape before I spiraled further into hopelessness.
Not only had I been rejected from the pastry school, but 7-Eleven had retracted their offer to purchase the bar. I had taken too long to get back to them, so I guess they’d found some other town center to destroy in the meantime. I never would have said yes to them, anyway. I just hadn’t quite worked up the guts to say no.
The bar was on the market now, but Jenna hadn't had any offers yet. She said the price was probably a little high for local entrepreneurs.
The only person I’d told about my failure was Lily. Yesterday, we’d spent a few hours together. She’d done everything she could to make me feel better, even going so far as to offer me a job at her store. I turned her down, even though my savings had almost run out.
I had to get away from Bluehaven Beach. There was no alternative.
Finding a job, though, was a matter of urgency. Another soul-sucking chef job, no doubt. I'd never train as a pastry chef. I'd never own my own patisserie. I’d crash at Helen's until she got fed up with me. Hopefully, I'd have sold the bar by then, but there was no guarantee.
Worst of all, there would be no Cole. He wouldn't be there to compliment my apple pie. He wouldn't be there to make me laugh and cry and come. He wouldn't be there for a single thing.
A sob caught in my throat. Then, a knock sounded at the door.
I was almost afraid to answer it. In case it was him. In case it wasn’t him.
But it was.
Cole was soaked, his dark hair slick and his T-shirt pasted to his torso. "Hey," he said, that deep voice sending shivers down my spine. "You busy? Can I come in?"
"I'm busy. I have to go soon," I said, in a small voice. Then, I added: "But you can come in."
"Thank you. I didn't want you to leave without talking.” He stomped on my doormat then came inside, wiping the rain from his face.
"You need a towel?" I asked. I thought back to the way he'd wrapped his towel around me the night we'd skinny-dipped in the ocean. That seemed like such a long time ago now.
"I'm good."
"What did you want to talk about?"
He looked pained. "I came here to apologize. I was an asshole. When you spoke to me about the 7-Eleven offer, I should have been more understanding. I lashed out. It was stupid of me."
I tried to stay strong, not give him any indication of the storm that was raging inside me.
"You're shrewd and smart,” he said. “You've been using the assets your dad left you in a responsible way, and you're going to set yourself up for the kind of life you deserve."
I felt my lower lip tremble. “I, uh, I’ve been doing my best. To make Dad proud.”
"Your dad would be so, so proud of you, Elara. You don’t even have to do anything special to guarantee that. He’d be proud of you because you’re just, well, you’re incredible.”
“And yet I’m not your dream woman,” I said slightly cruelly.
He frowned, a confused look on his face. “That’s what you said to me. That I wasn’t part of your dreams.”
He blinked at me, his lashes wet—most likely from the rain, but it made me wonder if there were tears there, too. “I was sad that you were leaving, Elara.” His voice was unexpectedly soft. “I was sad, and angry, and jealous. And . . . scared."
"Scared?" I echoed, my heart skipping a beat. “Scared of what, Cole?”
