Babydaddy To Go: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Adams, S. C.

  What Alyssa doesn’t know is that I really mean it. I’ll be seeing her sooner than she thinks.

  I just hope she’s not mad at me when we meet again.

  4

  Alyssa

  I stand in the doorway long after Nate has left my apartment building. He’s probably home and in bed before I finally float back inside.

  Did that kiss really happen?

  The tingling on my lips tells me it did. My first day in New York and a guy has already kissed me! Grams would be thrilled, but there’s no way I can tell her about this. She’d probably hop on a train and try to meet him tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, I think. My first day at NYACA is tomorrow. The dream I’ve had my entire life is almost coming true!

  My entire body shakes. I can’t focus on what’s to come. I need to keep my mind on what I did today. The date with Nate was fantastic. Seeing Central Park was the highlight, but getting to cook together was almost as incredible.

  If only I could figure out how I know him. I swear, Nate looks so familiar. It can’t be that he looks like someone I’ve known in the past. His face is too unique for that. It’s the eyes I think I know. They’re so blue…

  I have no idea. Next time I see him, I’ll ask him if we’ve met before. Maybe he thinks I look familiar, too.

  From my post in the hallway, I take in my new apartment. I’ve never lived on my own before. I tried to make the place as homey as possible before Nate arrived to take me out, but it doesn’t quite feel like mine yet. The photos of my grandparents and me are comforting, but I need more.

  In the small bedroom, my two suitcases are still settled on the bed where I left them. Only a few pieces of clothing were removed when I was getting ready for the date. My second suitcase, still zipped, is the one I want. I open it and find it half-filled with clothes. The other half, though, contains the few knick-knacks, posters, and various personal artifacts I allowed myself to take when I left.

  The smaller things can wait until I’ve set up my desk. What I’m looking for is folded against the bottom of the suitcase. I pull it out and unfold it, revealing a beautiful royal purple tapestry. The edges are fraying, the colors slightly faded, but I love it just the same. My mother had it hanging in her dorm room when she was in college. It’s been in my bedroom since her death, and it was only fitting that I bring it with me here.

  I tack the tapestry against the plain white wall in the living room, facing the couch. I’m nowhere near done, but this place feels a little bit more like home now.

  My eyes wander to the kitchen and land on the microwave clock. Is it really after ten already? Nate and I spent almost five hours together. It felt like thirty minutes. Time truly does fly when you’re with someone who makes it easy to lose yourself.

  I still can’t believe I started my adventure here with a gorgeous guy and that he kissed me after our night together. It’s like something out of a movie!

  Knowing I have an early day tomorrow, I prepare for bed. Less than fifteen minutes later, I’m settled under my blankets with the TV remote in hand. The modest flat screen was a gift from my grandparents for my new apartment. We had it delivered and installed a few days ago so I’d be able to use it as soon as I got in.

  I flick through the channels, but nothing captures my attention. Why is there never anything good on TV after like, nine at night? What are the night owls supposed to watch?

  Passing by annoying cop shows and comedic talk show hosts, I finally settle on the cooking channel. I don’t know why I bothered checking other stations. I always end up watching the cooking channel anyway.

  The show is one of my favorites, starring my favorite chef. He’s only on from a distance, but that black hair is unmistakable. Nathaniel Glover is so hot!

  The camera zooms in on his face and my heart stops.

  Yes, Nathaniel Glover is ridiculously hot. He has stunning dark hair and even more stunning blue eyes. Blue eyes I am now intimately familiar with. In fact, I’ve seen them up close and personal because on my TV is the face of the man who kissed me tonight. I kissed Nathaniel Glover! How did I not recognize him?

  To start, he was wearing normal clothes, and not his traditional chef’s attire. Plus, people always look slightly different on TV than they do in real life. If it weren’t for his eyes, I might not have known Nate was Nathaniel.

  Oh my god, I hyperventilate in my mind. I kissed my dream guy!

  I pause the DVR on an up-close frame of Nathaniel’s face. There’s no denying that this is the same guy who left my apartment an hour ago. Omg omg omg. My heart is pounding in my chest. Not only did I kiss Nathaniel Glover, but I made dinner with him too.

  Now what? I think. Does Nate think I’m an idiot for not recognizing him? The guy has been on the cover of every cooking magazine in the country. I gushed to him about going to culinary school! Was he laughing at me all night, thinking I was just some naïve girl who didn’t know she had a celebrity in front of her?

  No, Nate wouldn’t do that. He was so sweet, taking me on a tour of Central Park and helping me prepare dinner. He even gave me some pointers on cooking, like using a serrated knife on tomatoes. How did that not give away his true identity? How could I have not realized? I guess it’s because I was new to the city and things were hitting me so fast, right and left. The fact that I was actually hanging out with the man of my dreams slipped my mind, I was in such a daze.

  My phone sits charging on my night stand. Should I text him and tell him that I know who he is now?

  My hand reaches for the phone, but instead of opening our earlier text conversation, I go straight to the internet. A quick google search leads to hundreds of articles and photos. I’ve read most of these before, but now I’m looking for something different.

  Does Nathaniel Glover have a girlfriend? I enter into the search bar. This time, the results are different than the ones I’ve read before. Thankfully, the consensus is that Nate is among New York’s most eligible bachelors. At least I don’t have to worry about a disgruntled girlfriend coming after me for smooching her man!

  I toss my phone back on the table before I have the urge to text him. I’m too nervous to open that door. What if he doesn’t want me to know who he is? Or even worse, what if he doesn’t like me now that I know? Is it possible that he was just looking for a night out with someone who was too dense to recognize him?

  Ugh! This is ridiculous. I should have recognized him the second I saw him! I’m so embarrassed. He’ll probably never talk to me again.

  No, that can’t happen. If he doesn’t contact me in a few days, then I’ll suck it up and contact him. I don’t want to lose the best thing that has happened to me since arriving in New York. True, I’ve only been here a day, but it can’t be just some coincidence that we met. I like to believe our train station encounter was destiny.

  I can’t stand to see Nate’s face on TV anymore, so I switch it off. I should be getting some sleep, anyway. I close my eyes and will myself to fall asleep, but it doesn’t work.

  There’s some chamomile tea stocked in the cabinets in the kitchen, one of the few food products I packed from home. Maybe if I brew a cup, I’ll be able to fall asleep.

  Being in the kitchen reminds me of the hours Nate and I spent together today. I had my dream date with my dream guy, right here at this counter!

  I set a pot of water on to boil for my tea. The fridge is mostly empty, with the exception of the leftover tacos, some extra ingredients, and a small thing of light cream I added to our groceries earlier. I need a little cream in my tea or I can’t drink it.

  Once the tea is ready, I settle against the counter to sip quietly. The cream cools it down enough that I can sip it without losing my tongue. It would be awful to burn my tongue the night before I start culinary school! It’s nearly impossible to accurately taste food with an injury like that. I’d probably be kicked out after my first day!

  Do they kick people out of school? I’ve already paid the full year’s worth of tuition. I ima
gine they’ll let anyone stay if they pay for it.

  That thought isn’t reassuring.

  I down the tea quickly, but my entire body still feels jittery. I was anxious enough before I realized I went out with Nathaniel Glover!

  If it were earlier, I’d call one of my friends back home to talk about my night. I don’t have a ton of girlfriends, but surely one of them would listen to me rave about my fantastic date. They’d be able to help me figure out what to do next, too.

  The clock is dangerously close to eleven, though, and tomorrow is a workday. I don’t want to bother anyone with my boy problems.

  After washing my tea mug and using the bathroom, I snuggle back into bed. Unfortunately, I’m still wide awake. Can the chamomile start working now, please?

  A possibility I hadn’t yet thought of creeps into my brain just as it starts to shut down.

  Tomorrow, we’re going to meet the celebrity chef who is teaching the entire year at NYACA. We haven’t been told who it is officially, but all of the hints seem to point in one direction. The guy has his own show, owns his own restaurants, and he’s a self-made chef. He started cooking as a kid and worked his way up in various restaurants before buying one and turning it into his first place. That story sounds an awful lot like Nathaniel Glover’s story.

  What if Nate is my instructor? We only kissed, but will it still be really awkward in class? Oh god. That can’t happen. Maybe the school will be taught by someone else? I can only hope.

  Finally, I start to yawn. It’s already later than I planned on falling asleep tonight. I should have known I’d be anxious. I could have brewed the tea as soon as Nate left to help me fall asleep much earlier than it is now.

  Oh well, I guess six hours of sleep is better than none. I close my eyes and hope to find sleep waiting for me.

  It takes another hour before I finally drift off. There’s definitely a smile on my face, because as I fall asleep, I’m thinking about Nate, that kiss, and how badly I want to do it again.

  5

  Alyssa

  The sun isn’t usually up at six in the morning. That’s my first thought when my alarm wakes me up bright and early Monday morning.

  My second thought: it’s not six in the morning. According to my phone, it’s nine. I’m going to be late. Oh shit, oh shit. I was supposed to be in the classroom by now! This can’t be happening, not on my first day.

  I jump out of bed and fumble around in my suitcase for my school uniform. NYACA requires us to wear full chef’s gear for every day of class, even the first, so in the bathroom, I change in record time. I toss my supplies into my shoulder bag, grab my phone from the side table, and run out the door.

  Jogging in what I can only hope is the right direction, I type the address into my phone and wait for Google Maps to compute. It’s so much faster to take the train, which was my original plan, but I can’t afford to wait for the next subway. I have no choice but to sprint there and hope my instructor is lenient on our first day.

  As I pass by various New Yorkers on the street, I try to convince myself this is all a dream. People often have realistic dreams when they’re stressed, right? That must be what’s happening to me. In a few minutes, I’m going to wake up and find I still have plenty of time to get to class.

  I pinch myself for good measure. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re dreaming and want to wake up, I think. The sharp pain is annoying, and I’m still sprinting down a city sidewalk.

  Guess that means I’m not dreaming after all, even though this feels like a total nightmare.

  Luckily for me, most people started work at nine and it’s not a busy tourist day. The sidewalks are mostly empty, with only a few stragglers, as I run full speed towards my school. Less than ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of a imposing glass and steel building.

  This is it!

  It’s my first day, the instructor has to excuse my tardiness. No one could be so rude as to call me out on my first day!

  The door opens with a slight tug. Inside, the walls are covered in photos of food and all of the chefs who came to NYACA. I’ve seen all of these people on TV with their own shows, or in the news opening huge restaurants. I can’t believe I’m going to the same school that taught them everything they know. This really is my dream come true!

  Printed signs guide me to the classroom. I push the door open, figuring that the class will be going over getting-to-know-you games or the syllabus.

  It’s just my luck that class is in full swing. All of the students have notebooks open on their desks, but none of them are paying attention to the instructor.

  Every eye is on me.

  Including our instructor, I realize when I lift my gaze to the front of the room.

  Familiar eyes stare down at me.

  It’s just my luck that after missing my alarm and showing up late, the class instructor is the one person I didn’t want it to be.

  My face is bright red. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I woke up late.”

  “I’m not interested in your excuses,” Nate admonishes. “Take your seat beside Samantha. And don’t be late again.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to apologize or defend myself or ask who Samantha is. Nate turns back to the board and continues writing whatever the class had been working on. It looks like he’s giving us some kind of a recipe or going over a technique, but I can only see part of the board.

  On either side of the large room are eight cooking stations, complete with sinks, ovens, stovetops, fridges, and beautiful appliances. In the center are sixteen black lab desks lined up in two columns of eight. Thirty-one students are seated at the tables, two at each with one exception. A blonde-haired twig sits alone at a table near the middle. This must be Samantha. I wonder what she did to be the lone solo student in the room.

  I slide meekly into the seat beside her. She doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. Her eyes stay trained on Nate’s every move.

  The class resumes their avid note-taking. I’m late, but I know I should probably be paying attention to what’s going on. This could be important later when we get into the kitchens, or it could be on the bi-weekly exams I read about in the academy brochure.

  As quietly as I can, I slip my shoulder bag onto the table to take out my notebook. The bag’s flap snags on the corner of the desk. It flips open and falls out of my hands, spilling the entire contents on the floor.

  Once again, the entire class is staring at me. Nate drops his marker with a heavy sigh and walks towards me. I can tell he’s annoyed by the way he avoids my eyes, but he helps me pick up my things anyway.

  I crawl over the cold, tile floor to snag the loose pencils and notebooks that shot across the room. How did my things move so far so fast?

  No one else bothers to help. I guess they figure Nate and I can handle it. It would have been nice for them to at least offer.

  I find my last pencil wedged beneath the counter in one of the kitchenettes. I crawl back over to my desk only to find Nate standing beside it with a notebook in his hand.

  No, I realize. It’s not a notebook. It’s my diary! Nate has it open to the most recent entry and he’s clearly reading it! What an invasion of privacy. Who does he think he is?

  I snatch the worn book from his hands with the sternest look I can muster. My burning cheeks and dusty uniform probably make me look like a child throwing a tantrum, but I don’t care. Nate crossed a line by reading my diary.

  “That’s mine,” I say huffily. “Stay out of my things.”

  “Stop disrupting my class,” he counters.

  “I’m sorry for that, but my disruption does not give you the right to read my personal property.”

  Nate shrugs. “It fell open and looked interesting. You penned a nice letter to your mother.”

  My face is on fire. “You’re an ass.”

  “Take your seat and pay attention, Miss…”

  He hesitates, waiting for me to fill in my name. Is he for real right now? Is he putting
on a show for the other students, or has he forgotten my name?

  When Nate doesn’t confess his blunder, I’m fuming. Even if he is pretending not to know me for the sake of the class, he’s taken it too far.

  I throw myself into my seat. “It’s Hall,” I say angrily. “Alyssa Hall.”

  “Miss Hall, I expect you’ll be a model student from now on?” he asks in a condescending tone. Does Nate thing this is a kindergarten instead of a college?

  “What was your name again, sir? I didn’t catch it.”

  His eyes flash. Good, I think. Two can play at this game.

  “Nathaniel,” he finally says. “Nathaniel Glover.”

  Nate waits for an outburst that isn’t going to come. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day. Now that the adrenaline of the morning has worn off, I’m mortified. These other students probably think I’m a fraud!

  Maybe they’d be right to think that. I feel completely out of my element here. I hate feeling lost and vulnerable like this. Maybe coming to New York was a mistake.

  Even if that’s true, I can’t back out now. Leaving in the middle of class is almost as bad as showing up late. My heart races just thinking about it.

  Nate is back at the front of the room with his white board and markers. This feels like Cooking 101, and not a professional-level course. I’m almost glad, because that means I’m not at a disadvantage with my lack of prior education.

  “Choosing the right utensils for cooking is vital to preparing the best meal. If you use the wrong pan or the wrong spatula, everything could be ruined.”

  As angry as I am, I know Nate is right. I write down everything he puts on the board as he drones on about knowing how to choose the right vessel for the meal we’re making.

  “Let’s say you’re making spaghetti for 10 people. Which of these pots would you use?”

  Nate gestures to a tall pot, a strainer that would fit inside, and a small saucepan. I raise my hand immediately, knowing the exact answer. Our instructor completely ignores me and calls on a student further back.