“There aren’t any prepared dishes. You up for cooking?”
“I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve made anything fancier than ramen noodles, though.”
I pull out some ingredients. “But you do know how to cook?”
“The basics. I can’t make anything like this place sells.”
“Good, because we’re not making one of those dishes.”
He purses his lips into a slightly playful smile, an expression that makes him even more attractive.
I shove that thought aside and put the ingredients on a counter. “Grab one of those large pans and some cooking oil. Avocado, if there is any.”
Before he can reply, I spin back around and pull out the rest of what we need.
“Coconut oil okay?” he asks.
“If there’s no avocado.”
“None that I see.”
“Sounds great.” I look over everything on the counter and start organizing everything based on when I’ll need the item. “Turn on the stove to medium and oil the pan.”
“You got it.” He gets to work. “What are we making?”
“You’ll see.”
“Oh, that’s my favorite. My mom used to make that all the time when I was a kid.”
The corners of my mouth twitch.
He winks as he rubs the oil over the pan.
Warmth creeps into my cheeks and I look away. “Here, start with the onions.”
He caramelizes the bowl of already-chopped veggies while I measure and mix the other ingredients.
“Still won’t tell me what we’re making?” he asks. “What if I have a food allergy?”
I glance at him. “Do you?”
“No.” He gives me a playful expression before stirring the onions some more.
“Then why ask?”
“Why not? What are we making?”
I pour some sauce into a pan. “Like I said, you’ll see.”
We tease each other as we make the meal. After I roll out the dough and flip it in the air, his brows draw together. “Pizza?”
“You ask too many questions. Turn on the oven to four-hundred.”
“Does this place actually make pizza?”
“I do.”
He smirks. “Aha. Just got you to admit what we’re making.”
I snort. “You still have no idea. What kind is it?”
“Caramelized onion pizza.” Linc folds his arms.
“Go ahead and think that.” I busy him with tasks until our dish is ready for the oven.
After he sets the timer, he turns to me. “Will you tell me now, or do I have to wait? And shouldn’t we check on your brother?”
I sigh. “He’s fine, trust me.”
He doesn’t. Without a word, Linc exits the kitchen. Comes back five minutes later.
I’ve already got half our mess picked up. “Let me guess. Holden’s fine, like I said.”
Linc nods. “He said you’re making caramelized onion, gruyere, and pepper bacon gluten-free pizza. At least I think that’s what he said. That’s a mouthful.”
“It’s also the best thing your taste buds will have ever come into contact with. You’ll be begging me for the recipe.”
He lifts a brow. “I just made it with you. I don’t need no stinking recipe.”
I laugh out loud. And it kind of makes me sad because I can’t remember the last time that happened. To make matters worse, once Linc’s belly is full, I’ll never see him again.
“Why do you look disappointed?”
“I’m not.” I hand him a floury bowl. “Wash this in that sink over there.”
He clearly doesn’t believe me, but he also doesn’t push it.
Is it bad that I want him to stick around? Yes, it actually is. I’ll bring him nothing but pain and misery. Well, good food, pain, and misery. The food only keeps them coming back for so long. Especially after meeting my family. And he’s already seen Holden in all of his glory.
But even with as messed up as the middle Devereaux sibling is, he isn’t the one who will freak out Lincoln the most. Not even close. One interaction with my parents will send him running for the hills.
I sigh and try not to think about it as I take care of the rest of our mess and then check the oven. My masterpiece is almost done. It’s bubbling and golden, and the smell makes my mouth water immediately.
Linc turns around. “That smells amazing.”
I close the door before he can see my pizza. “And you’re going to have to wait until it’s done.”
He smirks as he turns around and rinses the bowl. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“I’ll take it.” I put it with the others and find him cleaning the rest of our mess.
Linc holds up a wooden spoon. “This isn’t the one from earlier, is it?”
“Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
He tilts his head and gives me a crooked half-smile. He really is good looking. “Hard to say. I just met you.”
“That’s true. Keep in mind I grew up around this. My father runs a tight kitchen—everything has to be done just so.”
“What did you do with the spoon, if I may ask?”
“I tossed it in the garbage.” I nudge him out of the way and check the pizza.
Perfection. I grab an oven glove and pull it out.
“Can I finally look?” Linc teases.
“It’s out, isn’t it?” I set it on the counter. “What do you think?”
“Hard to say without tasting it, but I have to say it looks much better than the frozen pizzas I usually cook.”
I give him my best horrified look. “How dare you compare this to a grocery store brand? Do you realize what you’re about to taste?”
“Not really.” He taps his fingers along the counter.
“You’ve got that right. Grab some plates while I cut this.” I point to where the plates are stored.
“How many? Are we sharing this with your brother?”
“Yeah. Get three.” I find a pizza cutter and slice twelve equal pieces. It really is a piece of work, so I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures. I’ll add filters and upload one to social media later. For now, I want to devour it.
“Do we need anything else?” Lincoln asks. “Drinks?”
“I nearly forgot about those. Soft drinks or wine?”
He lifts a brow. “I’m only twenty.”
“So? I’m not going to card you.”
“Don’t want to get your restaurant in trouble.”
“It isn’t mine. What do you want?”
“Surprise me.” He grabs the pizza and balances it with the plates, then heads out to the dining area.
I want to carry the food myself—as a lifelong waitress, I have the technique down. Not sure he has any experience. But I let it go and wander over to the drinks and try to decide. Holden and I aren’t of legal drinking age either, but it’s not something my parents have ever cared about. They’ve always given us samples, going back as far as I can remember.
Maybe that’s part of what led my brother down the path he’s currently drowning in.
I pick some higher end soft drinks and find Linc and my brother at a table near the back. No surprise, given that my brother likely doesn’t want anyone seeing him through the windows. They haven’t touched the pizza yet—that has to be thanks to Linc. Holden would have devoured half of it before I even arrived.
My brother looks up in surprise. “You did make it.”
“Of course.” I set the drinks down. “It’s my favorite. Leave enough for all of us.”
He scowls at me.
I sit next to our guest. “Don’t act like you don’t scarf down food before anyone else can have any.”
Holden turns to Linc. “Don’t listen to her.”
“I’m not judging anyone.”
I turn to him. “Do you have any siblings?”
“A brother. He’s older.”
Holden grabs a piece of pizza. “So you feel my pain.”
“Hey, I just made you dinner after cleaning your puke. You have no room to complain.”
He just shrugs.
“Try it.” I nudge Linc.
“The chef should eat first.”
I sit taller. “No, the guest should.”
“If you say so.” He grabs the nearest piece and takes a bite. His eyes widen before closing for a few moments. “This is amazing.”
“Like I said.” I give him only half the smile I’m feeling inside and have a bite myself. It’s so good I could eat it for every meal and never get sick of it.
“It’s really gluten free?” Linc asks.
I nod, my mouth too full to answer.
“Don’t ask what flour she uses,” Holden says.
“Why not? It’s delicious.”
My brother takes another slice. “It’s not so much the weird flour but the ground veggies she adds in that will make you shudder.”
“There’s nothing strange about that.” I sip my grape-flavored drink. “It’s healthier.”
“It tastes great,” Linc says. “That’s all I care about.”
We laugh and joke as we finish the meal. If only my life was actually this normal. I try to make it last because once Lincoln walks out the door, I’ll have to face reality again.
And that’s the last thing I want.
Chapter Three
Lincoln
I hit snooze for what has to be the fifth time. Sixth? No idea, but if I don’t get up, I’m going to be late for class. I already bombed the last quiz, so I can’t afford to start showing up late. My professor said she’ll think about offering me something extra to bring up my grade, but I’ll never get any grace from her if I don’t show I’m responsible.
I force myself to sit up. When I see the time, I race into the bathroom. Luckily, none of my roommates are in there. I’m too tired to chew them out for last night. That will have to wait. Two of them have early classes and are already gone, and the others appear to be sleeping later than me.
After taking the world’s fastest shower, I stick a pod in the coffee machine and stick a travel mug underneath the stream of brown goodness. I’m still full from the pizza last night, so skipping breakfast is no big deal.
It’s a race against the clock getting to my classroom. Though the apartment is on campus, I still have to jaunt ten blocks to get there. By the time I reach the building, I’ve broken out into a sweat. Taking a shower had been a dumb idea. I’d have been better off taking the time to get to class without running.
But I still manage to get into the classroom just before the lecture starts. The professor throws me a glance as she begins.
I find the first available seat and slump down. Catch my breath and pull out what I need to take notes. Sip my coffee. Some other students poke me and whisper teases. I joke back, but inwardly I’m trying to figure out what it’ll take to get me up earlier. My phone’s alarm is already set as loud as it’ll go. Going to bed earlier is out of the question.
The class is Behavioral Psychology, and I’d make a great subject of study—how a person can do the minimum but still manage good grades. It had been so easy to slide by in high school, but I can’t get away with ninety percent of that in college. The good news is I’m getting closer to graduation. Not that I know what I want to do with my life. I know what my family wants from me. Everyone expects me to join Dad’s successful construction company. My older brother is already working there, his eyes set on taking over when Dad retires.
I’m definitely not needed. Not when Anchor has everything planned out. He doesn’t need me. And I’m not even sure construction is what I want to do. Sure, the skyscraper they’re building sounds like a fun project, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend my life in that field.
I sigh and force myself to focus on the lecture. The professor is talking about some study done decades ago where people gave into peer pressure. Doing studies like that would be fun. But I’m not majoring in psychology. Business is my focus. I’m taking this as an elective. It isn’t too late. I could still change my course of study.
Before I make such a radical decision, I need to focus on what the professor is saying. It’s ten times harder today. Too bad I can’t get bonus points for having possibly saved a dude’s life the night before. Though I’m sure Malia could’ve done it without me. I just held him down. Really, I did nothing.
I sip my coffee and tune out my thoughts. The professor is going on about peer pressure and how it doesn’t end with high school. She puts a video on the screen and shows clips of people in elevators doing crazy things just because everyone else on the elevator is doing it. In one scene, a guy steps on and everyone else is staring at the wall to the left, so he does the same. And he’s not the only one. Everyone else who gets on does the same thing. In the next one, a girl walks through a hallway only stepping on black tiles because everyone else is.
People are so weird. I’d never do that. Or would I? Those looked like normal people. But the more clips that we see, the less convinced I become that I’d do the same. Everyone in each scene is an adult, proving her point about it not being a high school thing.
The professor turns off movie time and turns the lights back on. “How many of you think it would be fun to create similar tests like that here on campus?”
A few hands go up, then some more until nearly everyone has their hand up. I don’t want to raise mine because questions like this usually lead to work.
The professor smiles. “I’m glad to see that because that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Bingo.
She continues. “You’ll create your own scenarios and record how people respond to unusual circumstances. You can use peer pressure or find other ways to act that would be deemed socially inappropriate. Does anyone have any questions?”
Of course, people do.
She answers several before continuing. “Between now and when we meet next, I want you to pick someone to work with on this assignment. I’ll email you all the full details before the end of the day. In the meantime, think about something unique you can try. You’re going to need several ideas, and they can’t be repeats of what we just saw. The more creative you are, the more points you’ll earn.” Her gaze lands on me.
I give her a halfhearted smile.
“Can we work alone?” asks a guy who routinely smells like pickles.
The professor turns to him. “If you think you can pull it off, but I don’t recommend it. You’ll need to come up with hypotheses and experiments, plus you’ll need to record everything. I suggest you have two people at minimum. I’ll allow groups of three, but with more people, you’ll have to work all the harder to impress me.”
“So, we can work on our own?”
Chuckles sound all around the room.
“If that’s what you really want. We’ll save the rest of the questions until we meet next, after you’ve had a chance to go over my email. Like I said, for now think about some experiments you can try. As you saw, elevators are great places, but get creative. You have a full campus to work with.”
“Can we do this somewhere else?” asks a girl.
Her voice is familiar.
My heart skips a beat. I crane my neck to see the girl with long dark brown hair across the room.
Malia.
She’s in this class? I have to be imagining this. What are the chances? And we never saw each other before this? Not that I’m too surprised. This lecture hall holds over a hundred people. Certainly not the largest, but small enough that I would’ve noticed her before.
I realize the teacher is talking again. But now I can’t focus on anything coming out of her mouth.
Has Malia always been in Behavioral Psychology? How is it I never noticed her? I mean, it shouldn’t be so surprising. I run into people on campus all the time that are in my classes. How is this any different? And why do I care so much?
I don’t. I’m just thrown off because last night was so weird, and I never expec
ted to see her again. And now she’s in my class. But she probably won’t want to talk to me, anyway. Not after seeing her brother like that. She’s got to be worried I’ll say something to someone. I know I would be.
The professor dismisses the class, reminding us to think about our projects and potential partners.
I look around for my friend Ellis. Can’t see him anywhere, but it’s hard to see anything with everyone gathering their things and fleeing the room. If Ellis missed class, then it’ll be easy to get him as my partner because everyone else is busy claiming partnerships.
A yawn escapes, and I drown it with the remainder of my coffee. Not that it helps. My eyelids are growing heavy, and I have an advanced business class next.
I’m doomed. No way I’ll be able to stay awake for that. Not today.
“Hey, stranger,” comes a familiar feminine voice.
I jolt but then turn to Malia. “How long have you been in this class?”
“Since day one. I assume the same of you?”
“Yes. I never noticed you before.”
“You had no reason to. Now, I’m unforgettable.” She smiles widely.
I chuckle. “Because of your brother or the pizza?”
“The food, of course.” She gives me a coy look. “So, do you have a partner picked out? You know, for the project?”
“I, uh, not yet.” Why am I suddenly tripping over my words around her?
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s do it. I already have a ton of ideas. This could be the most fun we have all semester.”
I can’t find my voice. This gorgeous, talented girl wants to work with me?
“Cat got your tongue? Or you just don't know how to say no?”
“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “I was going to ask my friend Ellis, but he’s not here. So, bummer for him.”
“You want to partner up?”
“Let’s do it.”
She beams. “Great! I’d better get your number.”
When You Start to Miss Me: A Romantic Suspense (Wildflower Romance Book 3) Page 2
