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But when it comes to food? That’s where my heart truly lies. Culinary school was a true revelation. It’s where I earn consistent A’s and praise from chef instructors. I really like cooking. I like learning all the techniques and pairings when it comes to seasonings. I relish studying the secrets behind making food taste exceptionally flavorful and cooking my meats until they’re as tender as butter. And the sauces—oh, I’ve learned to make my sauces so delicious, they’ll melt in any taster’s mouth. Yes, I love all of that. But baking and making desserts and pastries bring me the most joy.
There is an indescribable satisfaction in watching others relish the various breads and sweet creations that I whip up. The look of pure satisfaction on their faces brings me abundant joy, a sense of accomplishment that feels like it has meaning. This is where my future is meant to unfold—in the kitchen, not in a courtroom. Yet when it comes to relationships, clarity still seems to elude me.
Today, I’m back at work. And Randy, with his knack for complicating my feelings, has been distant for most of my shift, only to suddenly appear, all wired up and asking me to join him at the back counter to show me something.
“You see this number?” he asks. I instantly recognize the rhetorical tone in his voice, a familiar prelude to one of his ‘teachable moments.’ “We have to account for every grain of flour that’s used.” His lecture begins as if today were my first day on the job.
I can’t help but roll my eyes, my default response. I wish Jeremy could witness this perfect example of the behavior I spent so much of our date trying to explain. If he were a witness to this, then he would understand why I couldn’t stop going on and on about his cousin.
Standing my ground, arms folded and adrenaline surging through me, I’m ready for whatever confrontation comes next. “What’s that got to do with me?” I manage to politely ask, barely masking my aggravation.
“You didn’t ask if you could make your lemon pastries this week.” That patronizing smirk of his makes me want to… Ugh.
But I hold my composure. “What lemon pastries?” I feign ignorance, though I’m fully aware what he’s referring to. If Randy insists on picking this battle, then he’d better get his facts straight.
His expression twists in silent accusation. He knows that I know exactly which pastries he’s referring to. “There’s a budget, Gina, and if you’re going to keep this going, then I have to make sure we can pay for it.”
As Randy’s intense gaze meets mine, I can’t help but notice, despite everything, how striking his eyes are. Still, I am not deterred. “Are you kidding me?” I challenge him, rendered incredulous by his audacity.
“No,” he replies, dead serious.
Taking a moment, I look carefully at the pastry counter before proceeding. Then I watch Randy’s eyes, giving him one last chance to save himself. Of course, he doesn’t take it. “You should be kidding me,” I declare. “Because as you can clearly see by the empty pastry container, we are now sold out of my… what?”
“Sold out of your what?” he echoes, sounding confused about what I’m asking.
I relish that puzzled look on his face. “You said they were lemon pastries, but they were not. They were raspberry vanilla swirl cro-muffins. So if you’re complaining about the flour used for lemon pastries because those items aren’t selling, then you’re barking up the wrong tree because my baked goods have sold out.”
Good, he hasn’t dropped my favorite expression of his. Well, my third favorite expression of his. My first is when we’re in the throes of passion and Randy looks blissfully satisfied. I am just that satisfied right now, having wiped that smug look off his face. Sometimes when I’m arguing with Randy, all those law school classes definitely come in handy.
Just as Randy gears up for his rebuttal, a voice calls out. This is a voice that tugs at my heartstrings and cuts through the tension. “Oh, Gina?”
“Mom?” I respond even before my eyes find her. This is a surprise that sends a wave of warmth through me considering it has been two weeks since I last saw her. That’s a rarity since my parents live only ten minutes from my apartment. They also have a washer and dryer that I use to do my laundry, which is currently overflowing in my laundry basket. I’ve just been so busy lately.
I hurry over, and we exchange kisses across the counter.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I happened to be in the neighborhood, and it’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” she explains with a gentle pinch to my chin. “Plus, I’ve been dying to taste those raspberry vanilla swirl cro-muffins everyone’s been raving about.”
Before I can even turn to flash Randy a self-satisfied grin, one that silently conveys, “See? My mom remembers the pastries I make, and she’s not even profiting from them,” I realize he’s already standing beside me with his arm outstretched. Surprised, I twist slightly to face him, my expression inquisitive.
“Hello, I’m Randy,” he croons.
Catching the charm he’s throwing, my mom’s eyes light up as they shift between Randy and me, silently urging me to exhibit the manners she instilled in me.
“Right,” I mumble. Suddenly, my face flushes with warmth, and my head begins to spin. Strangely, my legs feel weak, as if I might actually faint if I don’t compose myself. Gathering my thoughts, I manage to introduce them, albeit somewhat clumsily. “Randy, this is my mother, Faye. Faye, I mean, Mom, this is Randy.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Faye,” Randy says, his tone syrupier than before. The agitation and snarkiness I faced earlier have completely melted away from him and have been replaced by a warm smile directed at my mom—an inviting gesture not even reserved for our regular customers.
“I know who you are. It’s nice to meet you too,” Mom responds, as if she has already been briefed about Randy, which I’m certain I haven’t done.
“Mom, I’ve never mentioned Randy to you,” I interject quickly, just in case he gets the wrong idea.
My mom gives me a curious frown. “I know, but his food is the talk of the town.”
“I know, but I don’t… Just…” My eyes squeeze shut as I fish for the right words, not wanting Randy to think I’ve been discussing him with my family as if he’s more than just a casual fling.
“Are you feeling all right, honey?” My mom appears slightly concerned but more amused. “Did you have shellfish for lunch?” She then turns her attention to Randy. “Gina tends to get anxious when she eats shellfish. It’s the mercury.”
