COPYRIGHT © 2017 Miu
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All pictures and multimedia used are not the author’s work and doesn’t claim any legal rights.
MATURE CONTENT and VULGAR words not suited for young readers below eighteen (18) years old.
After a short time, the room was filled with culinary students.
Some were surprised at the sight of me. Many wanted to converse, but with Lance barricading his arm around my chair and me giving off a ‘do not disturb me’ kind of air –– no one dared come close nor strike a conversation with me.
Eventually, the seminar started, and Lance concentration never once left chef Brullini.
I smiled and did not bother him.
Just glancing at him from time to time.
“Alright, this seminar was supposed to be a lecture. But I decided I will be teaching you guys in the kitchen. A hand on lesson.”
Cheers boomed, vibrating from all the excited cries of the students.
My fingers curled under the table when Lance smiled from ear to ear.
Of course, I planned it all.
Chef Brullini never teaches anyone. He only ever had one apprentice. Thus, this was a very rare opportunity. The students who came bargained more than what they paid for.
“Alright, everyone. Quite down.” Chef Brullini gestured with his hands with a stoic face, and with a robotic tone, like he was reading from a script, said, “The person seated right beside you will be your partner. I’ll give you five minutes to discuss what you’ll cook. I’ll be the judge of it, and along the way, I’ll give you tips and ways to improve your cooking. So think carefully of what kind of dish you’ll plan to serve me as I am not a kind critic.”
No one paid the chef another thought as all the students were stuck on the idea of their dish that would be judged by a renowned chef. He would even give them tips and pointers!
Of course, I also planned the pairing part. Just imagining Lance and I cook together –– like husband and wife!
I wiped away the drool dripping from my lips with my hanky.
“Em,” Lance called, and I snapped out from my dreamland and found him looking at me with a serious face.
I hope he did not see my drool.
“Do you have any dish in mind that you wanted to make?”
“I-I . . .” My mind blanked out for a moment. “I’m here for business, so do not worry about me and chose whatever you love to make. I’ll just help you from the side.”
My words have a lot of meaning behind it, but Lance did not give it much thought. His fingertips skimmed his jawline, thinking with a serious face.
“How about we cook Adobo with pineapples? It’s easy to make and delicious.”
“Yes! Let us cook that!” I readily agreed. I knew it was Lance and Lawrence’s favorite dish.
“Alright! Everyone let’s move into the kitchen. Follow me.” Chef Brullini guided us into the kitchen where all the ingredients and equipment were already set.
“Em, let’s go.” Lance held my arm in a hurry, pulling me into the center front kitchen table.
I repressed my giggles while in my mind, I played my happy-happy dance.
I knew Lance just snatched my arm without thinking about it due to his excitement, and before I could savor the feeling of his hot palm against my skin, he released my hand. Then not wasting another second, he prepared the ingredients.
“Em, can you cut me some onions and shred some ginger?”
“Sure,” I replied and did everything he told me to do.
Although I was not a pro in the kitchen, my grandfather, Luke Jansen, made sure that every one of us at least knew how to cook even the basics. Thus, cutting some ingredients was a piece of cake –– at least until I saw Lance with his lighting fast chopping skills.
I was embarrassed when Lance did all the cooking while I watched him from the side after chopping some fixings he requested me to do.
But still, I could not help but sigh at the sight of his serious, engrossed, somewhat flushed face. I crossed my fingers since the urge to wipe away that sheen of sweat on his lovely face was intense.
He was very serious at his job, but he seemed to be enjoying himself based on the small smile on his lips.
He seems so happy.
Eventually, I was converted into an audience as I watch him at the side. His actions were flawless, no wasted movement like he was dancing.
*sigh . . .
Watching and watching him –– I fell more deeply in love with him.
Show your love and support by donating here.
Buy milk or tea to help the Author sleep at night.
Thank you for the love and support.
Please take in mind the other person’s feelings.
Like they say, if you have nothing good to say, best keep it to yourself. You can literally save a person’s life.