Page 12 of A Very Grumpy Chef

We eat in silence for a minute before I ask, “Does your mom still live here in town?”

“No, she moved away the second I turned eighteen.”

“What?”

“Yeah… we were never close. I haven’t spoken to her since she left town.”

I’m outraged that her mom could do that to her. “Where did you live?”

“I couch-surfed with friends for a bit before I found the apartment. I had a roommate for a bit before she moved out. That’s when I met Pearl. She moved in with me, and we lived together for a few years before she met her boyfriend, Wells. She lives with him now.”

“That was shitty of your mom.”

“Yeah, well, she was always shitty. Her bailing wasn’t a shock or anything.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, still,” she agrees.

“How did you start with photography?” I ask, lightening the subject.

“I had a photography class in middle school and loved it. I saved up for months to buy my first camera and never looked back. That was when I knew what I wanted to do with my life. How about you?”

“Some of the foster homes were kind of… spotty on food. I learned to cook because I had to. I started cooking for some of the other foster kids and realized I loved it. I liked feeding people, and I was good at it.”

“So you made a career out of it,” she finishes.

“Yeah.”

“You never wanted to do anything else?”

I shake my head. “No, it was always cooking.”

We share a smile and finish our meal.

“Ready for dessert?” I ask as I stand to clear our plates.

She laughs. “Always.”

I take the dishes to the kitchen and collect the chocolate cakes I prepared this morning.

We spend the rest of our date laughing. Coco tells me about some of her more difficult models, and I share some hell stories from my time coming up in the industry.

When we’re done, I take her hand, and we leave out the rear door and walk to my car.

“Are you working tonight?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’ll drop you off and head back.”

She smirks. “No rest for the wicked.”

I huff a laugh. “Nope.”

I park outside our apartment building and open her door for her. We walk up to her apartment and pause outside.

“I had a great time,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Me too.”