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“Because that was your hope, right?” His eyes bore into mine, and he just shrugged.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps nothing. You totally want me, and I get it, because I’m all that and a bag of cheese.”
“Really? Not lacking in the confidence department, are we, Harriet?”
“I mean, I didn’t say I was Gisele Bündchen or Naomi Campbell or Gigi Hadid, but guys flirt with me.”
“But you’re single, right?”
“I’m single because guys my age kind of suck.”
“Yet you told me you didn’t want to date older.”
“I told you I didn’t want to date a guy as old as you because—”
“Because what?” he said, crossing his arms. “Please do not say I’m in my forties or fifties again.”
“I know you’re not in your forties or fifties, maybe late thirties.” His lips pressed together. “Fine. What are you, late twenties?”
“Yes, and you knew that.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but did you have any other questions or can I go back to the kitchen and cook?”
“You didn’t answer my first question,” he said. “I know you thought you were being smart in attempting to focus on the spanking part of the question, but the real, most important question still stands. Did you or did you not train at the Culinary Institute of Paris?”
His voice was a little colder now, and I knew the sexy-time talk was done. “No,” I said, my voice almost as quiet as a mouse.
“So did you train at any culinary institute?” I stared at him for a couple of seconds, wondering if I could possibly get away with another lie. “Harriet Campbell, answer me,” he said.
“ITT Tech?”
“What?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “No, I haven’t studied at a formal culinary institute.”
“Okay, but you’ve studied at an informal one?”
“Kind of.” My mind was racing, and I was starting to feel bad. My face was flushed red.
“What do you mean, kind of? Which informal culinary institute did you study at?”
“The Culinary Institute of Grandma and Grandpa,” I said, which was kind of true. My grandma loved to cook and always asked me to help her prepare in the kitchen. He didn’t need to know that was as far as it got, and he didn’t need to know that Grandma had stopped asking me for years because I never did a good job.
“So, you’re saying you’re a self-taught cook, is that it?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding, which was true. I mean, I was teaching myself right now.
“And you didn’t think to say that in the interview?”
“I didn’t think I would get the job if I wasn’t professionally trained.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, “and just how much experience do you have as a self-taught cook?”
“I mean, I would apply to be on the TV showChoppedorMaster Chefif I had any sort of skills,” I said honestly because it was true. I’d thought about applying to be on those TV shows many times. I didn’t think I would get on the show, but that was beside the point. “I mean the skills they are looking for, obviously.” I added quickly.
“Okay, so you’ve thought about applying toMaster Chefand toChopped?”
