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“Mr. Ryan, why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here?” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Well, I’m from New York. I grew up in some of the finest and fanciest restaurants around the world. Cooking has always been a passion of mine, and once I graduate, I want to open up my own restaurant. I plan to be a four-star Michelin chef by the time I hit thirty.”
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Are you freaking kidding us right now.” I laughed. “A four-star Michelin chef by the time you’re thirty.”
“What? Are you saying it can’t be done?” he said, turning those bright-blue eyes on me.
How had I found them attractive before, I wondered.
“You’re going to become a four-star Michelin chef?” I said, looking him over. “By the time you’re thirty, doing a pastry program.”
“I’m also taking the culinary program at the same time. That way I don’t waste my time spreading it out over the four years.”
“Yeah, okay, good luck with that.” I laughed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questioned.
“It means that you should be devoting your time to one, not both at the same time. They take dedication and focus, so as I said, good luck with that.”
“Look, it may be hard for some chick who hails from…. what valley did you say?”
“All right, that’s enough, the two of you,” Evangeline demanded. “I will not have my students ripping up one another’s dreams, whatever they may be. Now since we’ve had both your introductions, and you were the last two, I guess we will start the class…”
I watched as Tristan turned to face Evangeline. There was no way I was going to make it through the next two years if this guy was sitting beside me every single day. He would probably do all he could to sabotage me. Regardless, I pulled my pencil from my bag and opened my notebook and began taking notes. I’d talk to Evangeline after class if I had to.
It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut the remainder of the class. Every time Tristan opened his mouth, I wanted to scream. He was so arrogant, such a know-it-all. In fact, the instructor had to correct him more times than any of us. Such a different guy from the one I’d met in the coffee shop.
Tristan
The first three months of classes had gone by in a flash. It had been mostly note taking, but tomorrow was our first hands-on assignment. Brooke and I had to make a red velvet cake with a cream cheese frosting. I was the one who had pulled the card out of the basket, and when I read it aloud, she’d looked at me with worry in her eyes.
She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Can you bake?”
I could hear her voice in my head as I laid in my bed in my dorm room, staring up at the ceiling. My computer sat open on the small desk in my room, the fan humming away as I remembered the twinkle in her deep-blue eyes. I’d spent most of my nights in this same position, thinking about Brooke every single night.
I found her so attractive, and I wanted to get closer to her. I still didn’t know why she’d lied to me about her name. I guessed I’d never know, but whatever her reason I was sure it was a good one. Still, walking into that classroom on the first day, seeing her there, had knocked the wind out of me when my eyes landed on hers. As usual, I was an ass, and I’d treated her like shit. However, the more time I spent with her, the more beautiful she was becoming to me, and I wanted to find some way for her to notice me as more than just an arrogant ass. Yet every single day was the same. I couldn’t turn off that side of me.
I’d continued being that arrogant prick to her, just like my brother said I was to every girl I’d ever liked. I’d practically given her shit for running into me the first time we ran into one another, and then the first day of class I’d made fun of her, as I’d done each day thereafter. The only time I’d been normal had been the morning we ran into one another and shared a coffee together. I shook my head. There was no way any girl in her right mind would date me after I acted like that. Which was exactly why I was still single.
I sat up and reached for my phone, dialing my older brother, Zach. He’d know what to do. After all, he’d been married now for almost five years. I’d always gone to him for advice, normally when it was too late, which perhaps this time I had some room to make it up. At least I hoped I still had time.
“Hello,” he answered. I could tell from the noise in the background he was driving.
“Zach, it’s Tristan.”
“Hey, man, how’s it going? How is school?”
“Good, good.”
“What’s up, what do you need?” he asked.
“Do you have a second? I mean, I can tell you are driving.”
“Yep, it’s fine. I’m just about to drop Lana off. Give me two seconds to pull over.”
I waited for a couple of minutes and finally heard my brother’s voice. “Okay, I’m waiting here, so dump on me.”
“Well, I met someone.”
