Page 5 of A Very Grumpy Chef

“He sounds like a jerk.”

“He is a jerk!”

“You really need to learn how to cook,” she says gently.

I sigh. “Trust me, I know. I’m getting sick of living off frozen pizza and Lunchables.”

“Well, you know there’s a cooking class at Palmer’s Steakhouse every month.”

I look at her in horror. “You want me to embarrass myself in front of a professional chef?”

“I’ll do it with you,” she offers.

“I mean, I guess it can’t hurt to learn the basics,” I mumble.

Pearl nods enthusiastically. “In a safe, supervised setting.”

I pick up my burger and take a big bite as I think it over. “When is it?”

She beams at me. “The first class is soon. I think we can still sign up. Let me check.”

I continue to eat my lunch as she pulls out her phone. I look around Toasty Buns, taking in the happy couples sitting nearby. My mind drifts to the handsome grump across the hall. I frown, immediately trying to squash those thoughts. I’m not interested in the guy. He’s a jerk.

“Done!” Pearl announces. “I’ve signed us up. I’ll send you the class schedule.”

A moment later, my phone pings with a text. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

“You can buy lunch.”

“I’ll be buying the next few meals,” I grumble.

She laughs. “That works too.”

We catch up as we finish lunch. These weekly meetings are all the two of us seem to fit into our schedules lately. Pearl is still in the honeymoon phase with Wells, and she spends most of her time with him now.

“I need to get back to work,” Pearl says with an apologetic smile.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait for the check.”

“Are you heading out for a shoot?” she asks as she gathers her things.

“No, not today. I need to go home and work on the photos from yesterday.”

“Well, don’t work too hard.”

I laugh. “I’ll try not to. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. See ya.”

She hugs me, then waves as she leaves. Our server stops by a moment later with the check. Once I’ve paid, I gather my things and head out too.

I take the long way home, wanting to clear my head a bit. That’s what I tell myself, but deep down, I know I’m dreading the possibility of running into my new neighbor. I spent five minutes staring out my peephole this morning for any sign of him before I felt confident enough to make a run for it.

I park out front of our building and scan the streets for any sign of him, but it’s quiet.

“You can do this,” I tell myself as I climb out of my car.