stove.”
Monica turns her focus back to me and squints. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I look at my countertop and shrug. The hardest part of it all is timing everything perfectly so that one thing doesn’t cook sooner than the rest. As a matter of fact, I am quite pleased with myself. The only thing there is a wine bottle chilling in a bucket of ice. I pull it out and flash Monica a grin. “Guess I better crack this baby open.”
I dare a look at Desmond while I pour myself a glass. He’s at the front of the room, observing the class. Then his eyes meet mine with a narrowed challenge, as if he can’t believe I accomplished anything, much less prepared an entire gourmet meal from scratch.
Monica clears her throat, turning my attention back to her while I sip from my glass. “I meant the bread. Did you start your loaf?”
Her words are like a bash on the head. “Oh no.” I set down the wine and smoosh my face in my hands. “I completely forgot. Crap. No.” That should have been the first thing I did. But I was distracted with the thought of killing the lobster.
I swivel in a circle, suddenly drawing a blank. I don’t remember what I’m supposed to do. “Shit,” I squeak, a little too loud.
“Is there a problem here?”
Hair spikes on my skin, and a wave of heat rolls through my insides. That’s pretty much the effect Desmond Blake has on me now. It used to be flutters in my tummy and flushed cheeks just from looking at him. Then he had to go and open his mouth.
Okay, so his mouth is pretty nice. He even has one of those deep voices that could work me like a vibrator if placed in just the right spot. But the words that come out of it tend to make me want to clench my fists and spew a rebuttal.
“Of course not.” I try to control my voice, but I can feel my insides quivering. “Everything is parfaite.” I push my fingers together and kiss the tips of them. “Trés bien.”
“This isn’t a French dish, Maggie.”
“Oh.” I can feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment, but I quickly turn my fluster into confidence. I push Desmond aside with my elbow in an effort to reach the stove. “Excuse me. You’re distracting me.”
He catches my elbow before I can completely turn away and narrows his eyes. His look continues to harden as it travels down to my apron.
“What?” I ask, finding it impossible to hide my utter annoyance. His frozen gaze forces me to look down at the apron I found online. I was sick of wearing the blue-and-yellow Edible Desire aprons, so I opted to buy a bundle of my own. This one is black and reads, “Fuck me, I’m the Chef” in gold metallic lettering. “Oh.” I quickly realize Desmond doesn’t find it the least bit funny.
Then his eyes snap to mine. “There are kids in here.”
I toss my head to the right and look at a young girl with her mother a few stations over. They’re laughing and mixing something on the stove, totally oblivious to the scolding I’m getting.
“No one even saw it.” Frustrated, I reach around Desmond and pick up my wine. I place the cool glass against my lips, my forehead lifting when I realize he’s not walking away. He’s just standing there. His brows are furrowed, an angry dimple has popped in his cheek, and wisps of curly auburn hair have abandoned his otherwise perfect-looking man bun. I can’t remember the last time I got under someone’s skin like this, but I recognize the look because he has the same effect on me.
I take a slow sip, my stare leaving his glassy blue one. Dang, he’s attractive. It’s unfortunate his appeal ends there. What a waste of a great-looking man.
The corner of my mouth lifts in a smile. “Let me get this straight. You’re cool with us drinking but not expressing our creative liberties through our fashion? You should really make up your mind.”
Desmond shakes his head and blows out a breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter because you’re disqualified.”
I squint to focus a little harder on his sexy mouth, which made absolutely no sense. “Come again.”
“If you think I didn’t notice you use your sister’s lobster, then you’ve underestimated me. And I don’t see any bread, which guarantees you won’t have a finished meal in the next twenty minutes. So…” He backs