Chef Charming (7 page)

By Monday, panic was setting
in for Rori. She had completed all her major paintings Sunday evening
. Normally she resisted working on Sundays, but the
cooking class had cut into time she would normally have spent in the studio.
Why did I ever think that three-hour break each evening was going to be worth
it?

Although the paintings were
complete,
she had framing, descriptions,
and printmaking preparations to do for the ones that would be available for
sale. Thankfully, the school’s art department was one of the best facilities in
the state and had the equipment to scan her pieces, even the oversized ones, in
order to make prints in the future. Those paintings that she didn't scan
could be priced
as one-of-a- kind originals. There were six
of her twenty works like that, although she was not confident in their selling.
She had watched the other four artists that were participating and their work
was so different from her abstract nature pieces that she was not confident in
hers.

Jessica, John, and Calvin
all showed up at the studio to make sure she was coming
. They waited patiently for her to change out of her
overalls and into the same peasant
skirt
she had worn
on the first day of class, this time matched with a peach t-shirt with one of
her favorite art sayings:
Art is Man's
nature. Nature is God's art. ~James Bailey.

The
y were running down the hallway, the trio tugging Rori
along just as Marcus stepped out to check on the racket. They all skidded to a
stop and sheepishly made their way into class. How does he manage to make me
feel like a child? He needs to loosen up! Her thoughts were a mixture of guilt
and stubbornness.

As
they entered the room through the door Marcus held
open, she remembered that they were doing pastries tonight.

“Oh, this was the night I
was most looking forward to!” she excitedly exclaimed.

“Glad I could be of
service,” Marcus’s deep voice resounded in her ear. She jumped. She hadn’t
realized he was right behind her. He watched in fascination as her lightly
tanned face colored with embarrassment. They stared at each other until she
finally looked away.
Score one for
Chef Charming,
she thought as she
moved to join Jessica.

“Tonight, class, we
will be learning about pastries.” The chef turned his
attention to the rest of his class. Unable to resist a dig, he added, “And I
have it on very good authority that there are some of you who were greatly
looking forward to this particular topic.”

Rori groaned, but quietly
enough that only Jess heard. Of course, her faithful roommate thought his
comment was extremely humorous.

Class began with a boring
basic vocabulary lesson, Jessica making notes in the margins of the handout
Chef had provided as Rori just doodled on hers.

“Finally,” she breathed to
her roommate as the chef called them to the demonstration table. “I’m starving.
I didn’t get dinner.”

“Again?”
Jess chided her quietly. “You’re going to get sick before your show if you
don’t take better care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rori said,
“If he’d hurry up and make me some dinner!” The two friends laughed at her
mockingly demanding tone.

Of course, their laughter
aroused a raised eyebrow from Chef. How does he do that? Rori thought, watching
the scornful brow arch over his eye.
Amazing.
She
grinned mischievously at him.

“We will start with croissants
this evening,” Chef continued. “These take several steps with overnight
chilling time in-between
. I started
several batches earlier today so you will be able to observe each one. You will
all have a chance to roll out the dough so you can get a feel for the process.”
The class divided into three groups and proceeded to follow the easy
instructions. The pastries were not difficult to make, just time-consuming.

Tonight Jessica and Rori
joined forces with the older couple and two young moms from the community
. It was a delightful evening. After the croissants,
Chef demonstrated several other techniques and the groups each chose a
different delicious pastry to attempt.

As the nine o’clock hour
approached, Marcus pulled out the coffee urn and the room filled
with the smell of freshly brewing delightfulness. Rori
was bordering on lightheadedness, due to skipping dinner and only eating a
package of crackers for lunch.

“Sit down, young lady,” Mr.
Watkins, the elderly gentleman in their group insisted,
as he saw her wobble slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she confessed
. “I forgot to eat since breakfast and I think I’m a
little woozy.”

Chef Marcus noticed the
slight commotion and came over to the group that he
had successfully
avoided up
until now. “Anything I can help with, Mr. Watkins?” Chef asked.

He's so nice to everyone
else, Rori thought when she heard his kind tone.

“This young lady just needs
to eat something, Chef,” the grandfather answered, as his wife was handing Rori
a wet towel. “She says she hasn’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Is this true Miss
Sinclair?” Chef t
urned to his emotional
nemesis.

“Yes, but I’ll be okay as
soon as our delicious cream puffs come out of the oven,”
she waved a hand towards their oven and covered her
distress with quick words.
“Should be any second now!”
Go away, please, she wanted to add.

Seemingly i
gnoring her, Marcus marched to another group’s table
and snatched one of their already plated masterpieces, returned and pushed it
at her.

“Eat.
Now.”
Marcus commanded. Rori
obeyed, wanting to mimic his tone with ‘Me Tarzan, You Jane.’ She knew she was
in bad shape when her giddiness reverted to such childish humor.

She obediently stuffed the
macaroon in her
mouth, smiling around the
delicious mouthful. “There,” she said, “I’m good.”

“Stay put until you are sure
you are steady on your feet
,” Marcus
insisted. “I don’t want to have to rescue a fainting princess tonight.”

Rori and Marcus did not see
sly smiles exchanged between the Watkins, the young
moms, and Jessica. Almost everyone in the class was aware of the undercurrents
going on between the graduate art student and the handsome young chef. It had
become quite the topic of conversation before and after class.

“It is quite obvious that
neither of the interested parties knows the other is interested,” Mr. Watkins
commented.

That the rest of the class
suspected what she did was news to Jessica.

“I promise you all this, I
will tell them each to wake up as soon as the course is over
,” she assured them, out of Rori’s earshot. “I think
Chef MacRae thinks that the school has some regulation he would be violating if
he showed any interest in a student. But she’s a graduate student which makes
her fair game, so to speak.”

“
I think he’s just in denial because she’s so different
from him,” the wise Mrs. Watkins spoke up. “It’s like a breath of fresh air
that he’s not used to. They are perfect for each other.” The romantic at heart
smiled as the rest of the group agreed.

The coffee and pastries
filled her growling lion of a stomach and Rori left class fully sated
. She only returned to the studio to retrieve her
backpack and wallet. She was heading straight home under orders from her pseudo
doctors John and Calvin.

“Whatever is down there can
wait
,” they insisted as Jess joined them
to head out to late night bowling. “Go home!”

The light sprinkles from
earlier in the day had turned into a
full-fledged
downpour as she ran across the sidewalk and jumped into her VW Beetle. This
will be a fun ride home, she thought. Her windshield wipers were due to
be replaced
, but it was something she didn’t think about
until she needed them.
Like tonight.

She was rubbing off the
condensation from the
car’s poor
ventilation when Marcus came out of the building. She saw that he had no
umbrella as he began to walk down the block. She honked her horn, leaned over,
and rolled down her window.

“Do you need a ride?” she
asked
. The rain would begin in earnest
any minute now if the typical pattern held.

“No, I’ll be fine.
” He was startled at the voice coming from the bright
orange Volkswagen. An early seventies model, from what he could tell.

“Get in, you big stubborn
oaf!” Rori demanded
. For some strange
reason, he obeyed.

As he folded himself into
the tiny front seat, he wiped the rain from his face
. She was obviously rain-soaked, too, but not as bad
as he was.

“What did you call me?”
Marcus turned to her, still not believing he had gotten into her car.

“A
stubborn oaf.”
She thought he laughed, but she wasn’t sure.

H
is apartment was only a couple of blocks away.
Thankfully the rain let up slightly just as she pulled up to his building.
Still Marcus hesitated before getting out of the car. Rori had no idea that he
was grasping for an excuse to extend his stay. After what seemed like hours to
him, but was in fact only a second, he remembered overhearing a conversation at
her station tonight.

“Tell me the cream puff
story,” he said. “I heard the laughter but your little incident distracted me
so I forgot to ask before class ended.”

Rori smiled at the memory of
her dad’s culinary misadventure, but was somewhat confused by the chef’s
attention.

“Are you sure?” she asked.
“It’s just a silly story about my dad.”

“Yes, please,”
Marcus
said. Hopefully the desperation was not evident in
his voice.

Rori recounted the story.
It happened during
her home church’s
annual Dad’s
Dessert Contest. Professor Sinclair had won the previous
year with an orange cake and was expanding his culinary skills with the more
difficult cream puffs. Unfortunately, his wife and daughters were out shopping
when he began his production. Not realizing that you should measure flour quite
differently from brown sugar, he carefully packed down each of the four cups of
all-purpose flour. As the cream puffs baked, they looked marvelous. As he
pulled them out of their molds to cool, he realized something had gone terribly
wrong. They were as heavy as baseballs. In fact, when his neighbor, a fellow
dessert challenge competitor, came to the door later that afternoon, Dr.
Sinclair tossed him one of the perfect looking creampuffs. Thankfully, the
neighbor
ducked,
otherwise the cream puff would have
knocked him out.
Needless to say, Rori’s
dad made
another batch.

“So your da
d likes to cook?” Marcus asked.

“We call his cooking,
‘creative’,” Rori said. “He made a delicious homemade soup one time, mainly by
combining various vegetables and spices. It was fantastic.
Unfortunately, he had just grabbed random things from
the cabinet and hadn’t bothered to write anything down. There was no hope of
duplicating it.”

“He sounds a lot like my
brother James,” Marcus said. “I would love to meet him.” Realizing
too late to stop the words that conveyed more of his
feelings than he was ready to acknowledge, he quickly opened the door of the
car.

“See you tomorrow night
,” he said as he leaned in the open door. With no hint
of command, but a sense of concern, he added, “Please try to eat before you
come to class. Thanks for the ride, and for the story. ”

Who are you and what have
you done with my disagreeable, mean chef? She wanted to ask. S
he stared in wonder.

“You’re welcome,” she said
as he hauled himself out of her small car.

He seemed to hesitate,
almost as if he wanted to say something more. Instead, he only added,
“Goodnight, Aurora.”

“Goodnight, Marcus,” she
said
as he closed the car door.

-------------------------

When she got back to her
apartment, she turned on her computer immediately. The email message box
blinked at her. He had already sent a message.

Dear Aurora:  Thanks
for the ride
. Your carriage was exactly
what I pictured yours would be. But it looks a little like a pumpkin. Aren’t
their rules against borrowing from other fairy tales?

Dear
Marcus:  I was glad to be of service. I would
hate to think of you lying in a puddle in front of the Tech Building.
Being made
of sugar and all, I’m sure you were likely to
melt. ~ Aurora.