Single Wide Female: The Bucket List Mega Bundle - 24 Books (Books #1-24) (10 page)

On the ride to the class, I thought about the fact that I hadn’t dated much. To be honest, more often than not, if I was asked, I turned them down. Max was right. I had settled into a slump. I was hoping that the cooking class would help me get out of it.

I gazed out the window at the people that we were speeding by. Lately it seemed as if everyone I saw was coupled up. It wasn’t the season for romance, and yet it seemed to be blossoming all over the place. Maybe I was just being more sensitive than I should have been. Maybe for the first time, I was feeling a little lonely.

I was jostled out of my thoughts when the taxi pulled to a halt. I fished around in my purse for the cash to pay the driver. As I stepped out of the taxi, I noticed that the sidewalk was packed with people. They were all walking quickly, as if they had somewhere very important to be. Today I had somewhere important to be also.

I smiled as I headed inside the building with the best attitude I could muster. I was determined that I was going to have a great time and that I would be one of the star students. How hard could it be?

Chapter 3

I could smell the food cooking before I even pushed open the door. Inside there were students assembled at various counters. There was a central stove with many burners, as well as multiple ovens. It was easy to see that several of the students were couples. There were also a few single ladies. I hoped I would fit in.

I tried to make my entrance subtle, but my purse caught on the handle of the door, causing the door to slam shut behind me. All of the students turned to look at me, as well as the teacher—the teacher who could have been carved out of perfection. He had the kind of chiseled chin and big bedroom eyes that melted my heart at first glance. His light brown hair was curly and hung against the back of his neck. The white apron he wore covered a strong frame.

“Welcome, everyone,” he said, and I sighed with pleasure. His Italian accent was rich and enticing. “Tonight we are here to learn, not just about cooking, but about passion.” He smiled at each of the students, but it felt like he smiled just a little wider at me. I was really looking forward to listening to his voice all evening, and was quite sure that I’d be fine with him teaching me anything about passion.

“First, we’re going to start with getting things nice and hot,” he said.

I was still staring at him when he walked over to me.

“Samantha, isn’t it?” he asked.

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

“Would you take it off for me?” he asked.

My eyes widened. My first instinct was to say yes
—
of course
—
where should I start? But I had a sneaking suspicion I was missing something. I glanced around the room and saw that the other students were taking large pots down off the shelves above their stoves. I felt my face get warm as I reached up to grab the pot. When I turned back to apologize, he had already walked away to the next student.

As he led us through the first step of filling the pot with the right amount of water, I tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the beautiful voice tantalizing my ears. I placed the pot on a burner and turned the temperature up to high. I was sure that I could at least handle boiling water, so I allowed my mind to drift off into a daydream of Vincenzo in nothing but an apron. It was harmless to imagine such things.

“Samantha,” he called to me. “It’s too hot.”

“Hm?” I asked, still a bit dazed by my fantasy.

“Samantha, turn it down or your water will boil over!”

Only then did I look back at the pot on my stove. The water was seeping out at the edge of the lid. The steam rose in large billows. I cringed as the handle on the metal pan lid singed my skin. I had forgotten to pick up the potholder that lay so obvious in front of me. I dropped the pan lid. It clattered against the floor, drawing the attention of all the students. They were looking directly at me when I reached down to pick up the lid and nearly tipped the whole boiling pot of water off the burner when I struck it with my elbow.

“Careful!” Vincenzo shouted and lunged forward to catch the pot before it could tilt enough to fall.

Of course he had the presence of mind to use the potholder that he had in his hand.

I straightened up with the pan lid in my hand and saw the look of fear in his eyes.

“Samantha, that is terribly dangerous,” he said, his thick accent making his words sound delicious. But I was too embarrassed to enjoy them.

“I’m sorry,” I said and couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I just lost focus.”

“Just take a breath, darling,” Vincenzo said in the most soothing voice I’d ever heard. He ran his hand gently across my shoulders. His touch calmed me some. “Cooking should never be forced. It’s something that has to flow out of you
—
like speech
—
like love
—
like inspiration.” He smiled and nodded as if he expected me to fully understand his words.

“Like inspiration,” I repeated and nodded as if I understood.

But I didn’t feel inspired. I felt embarrassed. That seemed to be my usual state these days. It seemed like everything I tried to accomplish turned into at least a small disaster, if not an epic one.

Vincenzo adjusted the temperature of the burner. Then he stirred my water so that it wouldn’t froth over the top of the pot. I felt miserable as I realized that so far the cooking class had only proven that I could not even, in fact, boil water.

I felt warm strong hands roll across my shoulders. The sudden touch was so relaxing that I closed my eyes for a moment to savor it. I opened my eyes again to see Vincenzo smiling at me.

“You’re much too tense to cook. You must enjoy yourself, Samantha,” he said. Then he handed me the garlic to add to the boiling water.

I nodded and managed a smile in return. At least most of the students were polite enough not to laugh at my expense, though I could tell from their averted gazes that they were embarrassed for me. I focused on my pot of water. I sprinkled garlic in it until I could smell the flavor drifting up in the steam. As we moved on to the next step in the recipe, I could hear the passion in Vincenzo’s voice.

“You must understand that when you are cooking a delicious meal, each and every ingredient is terribly important
—e
ven the dash of salt in the water
—
the diced onions added into the sauce. If you want to create a masterpiece then you must treat each and every ingredient as a piece of artwork, to be cherished by the tongue.”

Chapter 4

My heart beat a little faster at his words. I met his eyes accidentally and he smiled warmly at me. I liked the way he talked, not just because of his accent, but because of the passion he possessed. I didn’t think there was anything in my life that I had ever been that passionate about. It was passion beyond a favorite hobby, it was a passion as if he’d stop breathing if he couldn’t cook.

I wanted to feel that kind of passion as well.

I looked back at the ingredients, determined to follow his instructions. I sliced the tomatoes carefully. I simmered them in the olive oil and took extra care not to burn them. I added the diced onions exactly when he said to, despite the tears they brought to my eyes. Then I began to casually stir the mixture with my spatula.

My mind drifted as I watched the olive oil crackle in the pan. I thought of the man that I might make this meal for. Would it be Max? Or would it be someone else entirely? Was there really and truly one special person out there for me? Someone who could feel as passionate about me as
—

“Samantha!”

Only then did I realize that the crackling had turned into a smoldering. I’d left the potholder too close to the burner. I had let the onions and tomatoes burn to a crisp, and now the potholder was beginning to smoke.

“Stand back!” Vincenzo shouted as he grabbed a small fire extinguisher and raced over to me.

“It’s no big deal,” I said with a laugh. “Just some smoke, see?” I tossed a small amount of water onto the pan. This drew screams and gasps from the other students. I didn’t understand why until flames abruptly jumped up from the pan. I screamed and jumped back.

Vincenzo was right there with the fire extinguisher. He sprayed it until he was certain that the fire was out. When he turned to face me, I couldn’t tell by the look on his face whether he was furious or concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he stared at me. “Did you get burned?”

“No,” I stammered out and lowered my eyes. “I’m fine.” I sighed.

“Samantha, look at me,” he said.

I reluctantly looked up and met his eyes. I expected him to toss me out of the class, to accuse me of being the worst student he’d ever had.

“Never, ever, put water on a grease fire,” he said with authority. “Understand?”

“Yes,” I said. I was beyond embarrassed and could tell by the heat I felt in my face that my cheeks had to be a bright shade of red by now. I could hear disdainful whispers from the other students. “I’m so sorry,” I added and shook my head. “This obviously isn’t the class for me. I should go.” I grabbed my purse and turned to walk out of the kitchen.

Vincenzo grabbed me by the crook of my elbow. “Wait just a moment,” he said. “I want to speak with you.”

He turned back to the other students. “We’re going to dismiss class early today. This class will not count towards your tuition. We will repeat the class and extend the sessions.” He smiled apologetically to each of the students. “Please be sure that your stoves are fully off,” he added.

The other students didn’t seem overly pleased, but a few were coughing from the smoke in the air. I couldn’t look at them as they paraded past me one by one out the door. I felt so foolish. How did I get to be thirty-two years old without knowing the proper way to put out a fire?

Vincenzo’s hand was still on my arm. I knew that if I pulled away he would let me go, but I was sure that he wanted to talk to me about the damage that had been done.

Once the last student was out the door I turned to look at him.

“I’m so sorry about the fire. I’ll pay whatever extra I need to
—
to cover the damage,” I said.

“That’s not why I asked you to stay, Samantha,” he said as he turned to face me.

“It isn’t?” I asked as I searched his eyes. “Then why did you?”

“I want to work with you, one-on-one.” He was staring at me intently as he spoke.

“Oh, well, I can’t really afford private lessons,” I said with a slight shake of my head.

“No charge,” he said.

I stared at him with disbelief. I couldn’t imagine a professional chef giving his personal time to a hopeless student.

“Why?” I asked, mystified.

“Because, Samantha, I can see all of this passion bubbling inside of you,” he said and let his hand drift down from my elbow to my hand. “With no way to get out.”

“I don’t think cooking is the way.” I laughed, feeling nervous.

“Oh, I think it can be,” Vincenzo said. “You are in truth a fantastic cook, Samantha.”

“Ha, I beg to differ,” I laughed and looked at him with doubts filling my mind. I was trying to figure out if he was attempting to trick me for some reason.

“Differ all you want,” he said as he gave my hand a light squeeze. “But I am right and you are wrong. I intend to show you, if you’ll let me.”

I loved the feeling of his touch. It was warm and strong, as if his fingertips had been trained to be tender. Maybe it was because I had been alone for so long, or maybe it was because he was being so kind to me, but I craved his attention after I’d felt that touch.

“Okay.” I smiled. “Show me.”

“Yes,” he said squeezing my hand again before releasing it.

Chapter 5

Chef Vincenzo turned back to the stove I’d been working on. He tidied up the mess I had made, then he led me to another stovetop to use.

“You have the intelligence, the passion, and the creativity to be a great cook,” he said as I followed him over to the new stove. “But there is one thing bottling all of that up.”

“There is?” I asked. “What do you think it is?” I frowned.

“Tension.”

The word rolled off his tongue as if it was a piece of art itself. I felt his voice travel through my body, as if he was strumming me from the inside.

“Tension?” I repeated.

“You can’t relax,” he said and slid a hand slowly along the top of my shoulders. “You hold yourself so tightly, like you’re afraid that if you let go, you’ll fall apart.”

I could feel my face grow warm as I met his eyes. I felt as if he was seeing deeper into me than anyone had in some time.

“That’s no way to live, Samantha,” he whispered. “Life is about risk, about being willing to lose everything just so that you can truly experience what it is to be alive.”

At some point my mind had drifted. I was sure of it, because his words faded and I could only see his lips moving sensuously around each word. My body was coming alive in a way that it hadn’t in some time. I wanted to feel desirable and delicious, and the way he was looking at me made me feel that way.

“Like this,” he said.

The heat of his palm gliding along the back of my hand as he slowly stirred the sauce was more intense than the scent of the roasted garlic. I took a deep breath and felt a wave of lust, both for the meal we were cooking and the teacher who was guiding me. I was a little startled by it, as I didn’t expect that I would be so enraptured by him.

“Slowly,” he whispered beside my ear. “It’s more of a swirl than a stir.” I could sense his hips moving in a swirling motion. This of course meant that he was swirling against me, which made me swirl right back. “Perfect,” he said, and I felt the tickle of his breath along my cheek. It was as spicy as the meal we were cooking, and it made my mouth water with the desire to taste both his lips and the dish. “Samantha,” he said softly. “We’re done with this part now.”

I froze. I hoped I hadn’t continued to swirl for as long as I thought I had. If I had, Vincenzo didn’t seem to mind. He lifted the spoon from the pot and then rested it on the counter beside the stove. I waited for him to step away, to create some space between us, but he didn’t. He remained just as close to me.