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Since then Dad’s made it his mission to persuade me that I was just in the wrong place, that teaching really is for me. It gnaws at him that the career he’s had for thirty-odd years is the absolute last place I want to be. No matter how many times I agree with him—teaching is for me, I fucking love it—it doesn’t count in his mind since I prefer to teach outside the school system.
My phone pings and, sure enough, it’s a follow-up email from the school district. It’s bad enough I’ve let my dad down, bad enough he hasn’t let me forget it at the start of every single semester these last few years. Now he’s got me letting down all kinds of people I’ve never even met.
Not likely doing my reputation any good.
Of course, not that I’m going to need much reputation in those circles. Makes tutoring a little more challenging, though, when I can’t just approach the local science teachers and tell them I’m taking on new students.
I’m pretty full up working for Sizzle TV—one of the bigger cable cooking networks—these days anyway, and my boss runs a damn tight ship. Ty’s a great guy. Probably. Deep down. As bosses go, he’s demanding and exacting. Which is great because you always know exactly where you stand with him. He also doesn’t sugarcoat anything, which means he can be a little hard to take.
In short, it’s one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. Keeps me so busy, I don’t have time to think about the clutter in my head, or my father’s unending disappointment in my lack of a “real” career. Or my family’s opinion that I need to settle down and get married.
I shake off the automatic irritation his name brings to mind and push open the door to the Market Street Market. Bailey’s not here yet, so I head to the counter to order our coffee. I chat with the owner a minute then catch a familiar face out of the corner of my eye.
James Flores works with me over at Sizzle, and he and his friend Ben took my Cooking Basics course this summer. They’re sitting near the big picture window with a pretty, wholesome-looking brunette. I make my way over to say hello.
James asks me to join them right as I spot Bailey pulling up a chair outside.
“I’d love to,” I say, pointing to the window, “but I’m meeting a friend.”
Ben glances at Bailey and smirks at me. “Friend, huh?”
“My best friend,” I say. “Since college.”
It’s all we’ve ever been and all we’ll ever be, since she damn near married my brother Alan.
“Say no more,” says Ben, holding up his hands.
“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hi and ask if you’ve reconsidered entering the cooking competition. Starts next week, you know,” I say. Most of this is directed to Ben; since James works for the network, he’s not eligible to enter. He’s also not what anybody would call an amateur.
“Thanks, but I think I’d rather watch,” says Ben, shaking his head and grinning. “With Cooper Lawson hosting, it should be quite a show.”
Right, I’d forgotten. Lawson was in the same class with Ben and James. They got to see the natural disaster up close.
“You’re working with Lawson?” asks James.
“We have to be in the same place sometimes. It’s not a big deal,” I say, immediately feeling about twelve years old when I say it. “So far we’ve managed to avoid each other quite successfully.”
Cooper Lawson, professional pain in the ass and my personal cross to bear. I’ve had troublesome students before—whether it was ninth-grade biology class, basic cooking class, or some of the kids I tutor in the evenings. Cooper Lawson could give them all lessons on trouble.
Why the network had to go and hire him to host the competition next week, I’ll never understand. I don’t give a damn how much of an online presence he’s got. The guy is a walking disaster in the kitchen and a prick to boot.
Some people just can’t get the hang of things, or think they can’t when it comes to cooking. I know how to handle that type. It’s all in the approach.
Fucking Lawson, though. That guy gets under my skin like nobody I’ve ever met. And because I’m in charge of logistics during the competition, it’s apparently my job to make sure he doesn’t blow the whole place up with his hosting demos, or set somebody on fire while he’s doing interviews with the competitors.
Tutoring and teaching, I’m good at. Babysitting… not so much. Especially not him.
James makes a joke about paying off emergency medical services to hang close and I excuse myself, picking up my order from the front counter and heading out to meet Bailey.
She’s staring hard at her phone, not looking up even when I step up next to the table. Leaning over, I see she’s got our text thread open and is typing a message.
“You don’t have to text me, genius, I’m standing right here,” I say. Bailey takes her time meeting my gaze, clearly preoccupied. She looks up at me slowly, like she’s never seen me before.
“Everything okay?” I ask. Bailey takes her coffee and gulps some down before I can warn her it’s still too hot, sipping too fast and choking a little.
“Great,” she gasps. “You caught me off guard. Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” Something’s not right, but it’s obvious she’s not keen to share, so I wait until she looks at me to start prodding.
