Page 2 of The Chef

Right, stop overthinking and stop procrastinating, Bay.

Time to go in.

Might as well face the music.

I lean over to the side passenger seat and pick up the pile of papers. I skittishly thumb through the financial records, making sure everything’s there and in order. This morning I had to make a last-minute quick - and extremely panicked - trip to the town’s library in order to print the papers all off in time for this appointment. My brother doesn’t even have a printer at his house, so it was a very hysterical morning trying to get everything together for this moment.

Okay, everything’s here.

Good.

With another sharp inhale of air, I apprehensively open the car door and step into the hot Australian summer, locking the car behind me. I nervously cross the parking lot towards the bank, taking a quick look around the main street of town. New Water’s a small place, and I’ve only been here for a few weeks, but even so, I’ve come to practically memorize all the winding streets and roads of the town. There’s not much else to do here except drive around and surf, especially when you’re unemployed like me.

Well, hopefully, I won’t be unemployed any longer after today. Not after this appointment.

I am petrified.

I hope this goes well.

I cross the street and towards the main entrance of the bank.

As I approach the front door, leaning out to reach the handle to swing it open, someone suddenly steps in front of me, blocking me. Their hand shoots out and grabs the door handle just before I even get the chance to do so. I’m shocked by the rapid movement.

That’s so rude.

I glance up to see who it is that’s so abruptly cut in front of me in such a boorish and impolite way.

A man.

A guy no older than me. Twenty-seven or so. He’s tall, over six feet at least, with short black hair that’s wavy in that kind of classic Superman way. You know, the famous curl that falls down his forehead, the cute way he has it in the films? This guy has that. Come to think of it, his body is also like Superman’s. Very much so. He is broad-shouldered and very muscular, just like he’s straight out of a comic book. Judging by his body, he clearly spends more time in the gym than working on his manners.

A handsome man.

A handsome man who’s just pushed in front of me.

“Woah.” It’s all I can manage to blurt out before the man quickly turns his head towards me, his brown eyes shooting sharp daggers in my direction.

He’s acting as if I’m the one who’s done something wrong, as if I’m the one to be so impolite.

You’re the uncivil one here, mate. You’ve cut in front of me.

And then, as quickly as he appears, he’s gone. Inside the building.

Straight into the bank without even an apology or explanation for his behavior.

“Somebody’s in a rush,” I murmur under my breath as I watch him scurry ahead of me.

He doesn’t even hold the door open for me. It slams back with a fast swing. I have to fumble around with my documents to make sure I have a hand to stop it before the door hits me in the face.

I’ve not even made it into the bank, not even made it to my appointment, and I’ve already made a clumsy fool out of myself. Typical me.

Typical Bay Dover.

It’s literally one of the most important days – meetings - of my life and I’m stumbling around with a bunch of papers outside the door like an awkward baby horse taking its first steps.

All thanks to this rude Superman dude.

Henry Cavill, you are not, mate. No matter how much you look like him.