by Kris Bryant
“But I thought we were working on rubs today,” somebody whines.
“I’m allergic to coconut,” Scott says. Mary rolls her eyes at him. Even I know the difference.
“Macarons, not macaroons. The colorful, round cookies that can be made a hundred different ways. You’re safe, Scott,” Mary says.
“It’s Friday and I want to try something different. We tried desserts earlier in the semester and most of you struggled with them. Rubs are easy. Cooking meat is easy. Macarons are not. Plus, you can take them home and eat them over the weekend.” She starts off explaining two different ways to fold the ingredients together. One is dry, the other is wet. My brain takes over and I start playing the role of student again. Taryn is quick, but informative and we’re all glued to the lesson. She makes the syrup and points out the importance of temperature. While we wait for it to heat up, she beats the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Once the temperature of the syrup is constant, she adds the mixture to the egg whites, keeping the steady whipping action while folding the ingredients together. It is amazing to watch her work. She never doubts herself. She is sure, confident, and beautiful. Wait. My heart starts to beat faster as it pushes my brain in a direction I don’t want it to go. Last night’s memories wash over me and I have to hold onto the counter to ground myself.
For a few glorious seconds last night, she kissed me back. There’s no denying it. I felt her against me, felt her hands on my waist as her fingertips slipped under my shirt for a brief, wonderful moment. There is something between us. Something bigger than that kiss. I just need to wait until the semester is over and I can either explore it, or get away from it.
By the time she dismisses us to our stations, I’m still somewhere between final whipping stages and food coloring. I have no idea what to do after that. Maybe by then, instinct will take over and I’ll be able to finish them without asking for help. I’ve gone the entire semester without her assistance. I’m going to look like I’m trying too hard if I ask now. I don’t want to be around her. I don’t want her around me. I go back to my station and close my eyes for a moment to think. I need to find the zone. I’m perfectly still for I don’t know how long until I feel a nudge. I turn to see Mary looking at me.
“Are you okay, Ki? You’ve been standing still for about five minutes now.”
I stare at her for a moment, thankful she bumped me into action, but upset that I still haven’t found my zone. “Yeah, I’m just retracing the steps. I can’t remember what happens after the food coloring.”
“Just take a third of the meringue and blend it with the almond mix. Fold it together until it’s smooth, slap it in the pastry bag, then it’s done.”
“Thank you so much, Mary. I owe you.” I’m filled with excitement as I figure out the last few steps in my head. Got
it. Zone found, cookies to be made. I tune everybody out and start. A lot of cooking and baking is about timing. If you learn how to manage your time in the kitchen, you can accomplish so much.
I put my earphones in to avoid talking to anybody who might feel the need to converse, specifically Taryn. Although everybody is ahead of me, I’m holding my own. I carefully fold the ingredients together, heat them on the stove and begin my meringue. Other students are giving me looks, probably because my music is loud, but I ignore them and finish beating the egg whites. Half of the class is already baking the cookies, some have to start over, but I’m right on task. I add my syrup at the exact temperature and mix the two together until the frothiness stiffens. I quickly add pink food coloring to the mix and can’t help but smile as color explodes in the bowl. Olivia would love this particular shade of pink. It’s bold, not pastel, and I hope that doesn’t ding me. I fill my pastry bag, add parchment paper on the sheet and start making small discs. They smooth out nicely without blemishes. Their tiny perfection makes me smile for the first time in a long time. Somebody taps my shoulder. I look up to find Mary peeking over my shoulder.
“Those look beautiful.” I pull out the earbuds and stare at my accomplishment before putting them into the oven to bake. Mary really is sweet. She made purple macarons and even added a bit of lavender to her ingredients. Smart girl. I can’t wait to taste them. She leaves to make her buttercream frosting and I decide on a ganache filling. Might as well go out with a bang.
Dr. Wright slips into the classroom for the impartial tasting. He’s not a nice instructor. Informative, yes. Goes above and beyond to help a student out? No. Rumor has it that he once said that men make better chefs. What a jerk. I can’t stand the sight of him, knowing why he’s here. It will be hard to remain civil every time I have to give him a plate of my food. I shake my head and look away.
I’m not surprised that Scott’s cookies are done and he’s racing to put them on tasting plates. Dumbass. Always being in a hurry is going to cost him the scholarship, not the relationship between me and Taryn.
I decide on a whipped white chocolate ganache. It will make for a prettier cookie and I can dye it any color I want. I pick green to complement the pink. Perfect. My timer shrills and I race to my oven. The discs have puffed up a bit, but I know they will settle in room temperature. I pull them out, pleased with their overall appearance, and wait. If I frost them too soon, the ganache will melt and seep past the edges.
“These are good, Scott. The texture is correct and the taste is good, but you should have waited a few minutes before filling them,” Taryn says. I stop and listen to them. Dr. Wright agrees with Taryn and Scott sulks back to his station. Sometimes, I can’t believe he’s a grown man.
Most students are finished, but I’m still waiting to frost. I match up cookie shells with like sizes and add the frosting, pleased with the results. They remind me of tulips. Perfectly pink with a hint of green. I make a dozen cookies and plate two each for each judge. I dread the walk over there. I have to act as if nothing is wrong. As if my heart isn’t threatening to explode inside my chest. I have to remain calm.
“These are very good, Ki.” Dr. Wright happily munches on a cookie. “The texture is great and the ganache is sweet, but not too sweet. This is white chocolate, right?” I nod my answer, my throat entirely too dry to talk. I’m two feet from Taryn and I have yet to make eye contact with her. I have no choice when she starts her evaluation.
“The cookie is light, airy, and smooth. That’s the hardest part of making a macaron. Have you made macarons before?” I look at her and try my best to curb my anxiety before I speak.
“I’ve never made these before. They’re a new favorite now.”
“You did a good job.” Taryn looks at me and I’m able to hold her gaze for about a second before I turn and walk away. I can feel my body shaking and I need to get out. I place my cookies in a container and label it with a single name. It doesn’t take long for me to clean up my station because I didn’t dirty up a lot of bowls and utensils. I’m out of there in a flash. I don’t even look at Taryn. I grab my bag from the back of the class and leave quietly, happy to have a weekend where I can just be by myself and wallow in self-pity.
Chapter Thirteen
“Ki. Ki, wake up.” Somebody is gently shaking my shoulder. I don’t know where I am until I open my eyes and see the textured earth tone fabric of my couch. I remember showering when I got home, then crashing in the living room. I didn’t even fix dinner. I grabbed Sophia and cuddled with her and fell asleep immediately. Now, somebody is waking me up from my much needed slumber, and I just want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes again. “Ki. It’s me, Taryn.” Now I’m awake, but too confused to move. I need to figure out why Taryn is in my house, shaking my shoulder. I roll over and stare up at her. Christ, am I dreaming? What is going on here? I struggle to sit up, but I’m too weak right now. I’ll try again in a few seconds. I rub my face, desperate to wake up, or hide my emotions from her. She is in my apartment.
“What time is it? Why are you here?” I worm my way into a sitting position, careful not to touch her or allow her to touch me again.
Now I’m awake. I scoot back to free myself from her nearness. “How did you get in here?” Suddenly, I’m wondering how I look. She looks great as always. Tight jeans, tight T-shirt, and sandals. I’m trying to remember what I’m wearing without being obvious. I threw on boy shorts and a tank top after my shower. I don’t think I even brushed my hair so I know it must be a tangled, damp mess.
“Your door was unlocked.” She sits down at the end of the couch.
“So you just came in?” I ask. She actually looks guilty.
“You left today in such a hurry, and you haven’t answered my texts tonight so I had to come by to check on you.”
“You didn’t have to. I just didn’t sleep last night and was tired,” I stand up and move away from her. I need space between us. She looks me over from head to toe, not hiding the fact that she is checking me out. The tank is worthless and barely covers me, and I’m pretty sure half of my ass is hanging out of my short shorts.
“I’ll be right back.” I head to the bathroom to see how I look. My hair is wavy and tangled, but not as bad as I thought. I splash some cold water on my face and quickly brush my teeth. I exchange my tank for a T-shirt, hoping it offers more coverage than the tank. Satisfied that I don’t look trampy, I return to the living room.
“I’ve never seen you with your hair down before,” Taryn says. “It’s nice.”
“Long hair and cooking don’t mix. I wear it up whenever I’m in a kitchen. People get a little upset when they find a hair in their food.” I don’t know why she’s making small talk. “Do you want anything to drink?” I’m not really being hospitable. I just need a glass of wine to calm my nerves. I find a bottle of red and open it. I pour myself a glass and take a quick, private moment to appreciate the first sip. It’s a wine with hints of chocolate and cherries. A girly wine, but one that makes my palate happy. I need happy right now. I pour a glass and hand it to her.
“Thank you for the cookies for Olivia. She squealed with delight. Pink is her favorite color, but you already know that.” She takes a quick sip of wine and damn it, once again I’m focusing on her mouth. I walk back to the kitchen, glad for distance. I feel like a caged animal. Trapped, angry, sad. “Please sit down with me. I really want to talk.”
“I got your message loud and clear last night, Taryn. I’m sorry I did what I did and that it made you feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what else to say.” I’m getting frustrated at her for making me relive a horrible moment that I want to erase from my head and my heart.
“Well, then maybe you can just listen to me.” She rises from the couch and heads to the kitchen. She is graceful and confident and I’m able to keep eye contact with her until she reaches the opposite side of the kitchen island. I’m thankful it is between us, even though I have nowhere to go. I’ll have to walk around her to get out. That doesn’t seem like a good idea. “I’m really sorry I didn’t react last night. Truly, I am. I was in complete shock. Plus Olivia was there and I didn’t want to wake her. You have to understand. Olivia is everything to me. I have one shot to do what I love and have a normal life with her. Teaching is the only thing I can do that won’t disrupt her life. If I lose this job, I would probably have to move and try to find another school to teach at, or screw up Olivia’s schedule and go work at a restaurant again. I can’t do that to her. No matter what I’m feeling or what I want. She comes first.”
“Of course she does. I understand that. I actually admire you for making the choices you’ve made so far for both of you.” I finish off my glass and pour another. I’m not a drinker, but I’m on my last nerve over here. “Most parents are selfish and won’t adjust their lives for their children. You don’t need to explain this to me.”
“You shouldn’t drink so quickly. Have you eaten dinner?” I shake my head. “The wine will make you sick.” I take a long sip of it and stare at her over the rim of my glass. At this point, I don’t care.
“I don’t have to be anywhere,” I say. I almost roll my eyes at my own immaturity. Apparently I’m going to have this temper tantrum whether I want to or not. She gives me a look. “Fine, I’ll make a sandwich.”
“Right now? You’re going to make a sandwich right now?” She sounds exasperated.
“What do you want me to do? Listen, talk, eat? I’m confused.”
My front door opens and Jessie walks in, her eyes focused on the living room, trying to seek me out.
“Why are you being so loud?” she yells. “I can hear you all the way down the hall.” She freezes when she spots us in the kitchen. Her eyes widen in surprise.
“Not now, Jess,” I say. She slow motion backs up until she reaches the door.
“And, I’m out.” She closes the door carefully.
Any other time I would smile at her humorous attempts at cheering me up, but I’m so pissed right now at myself, the situation, at Taryn. “Christ, does anybody knock anymore?” I throw my hands up in frustration and turn back to the refrigerator. I dig around until I find turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise. Taryn doesn’t say anything, just watches me. I feel like throwing something. “Do you want a sandwich, too?” She smiles at me.
“I’d love one. I didn’t get to eat dinner. My neighbor’s granddaughter is over this weekend and asked if Olivia can sleepover. They are cute friends. I wanted to make sure she actually ate dinner before being pumped full of chocolate and sugar. She wanted macaroni and cheese and it just didn’t seem appealing to me.”
“Well, a turkey and cheese sandwich isn’t much better.” I toast the bread and slice the tomatoes thin. It doesn’t take long to fix the sandwiches. Sophia creeps into the kitchen and sniffs at Taryn before jumping up into her lap and curling up on her.
“She’s such a lover,” Taryn says. And now it’s awkward again. I pretend not to hear her and we eat our sandwiches in silence. My anger is dissipating. I’m just tired. I’m tired of this friction between us, drained of the unrequited feelings that eat away at my heart. I just want to curl up and hide from my emotions.
“Can we just pretend last night didn’t happen?” I ask.
“No, I’m here because it did.”
“So what happens now? Where do we go from here?” I’m exhausted.
“Last night’s kiss was incredible. I’m not denying that we have a strong attraction.” Her confession empowers me. “I’m not entirely sure what to do since I’ve never been in this situation before.” I take her hesitancy and run with it.
“So then let’s not think about it and just have the month. Let’s just see what happens. This doesn’t have to be complicated. Olivia already knows me and is comfortable with me.” Taryn looks at me warily. “Or I can stay away from her.”
“No, she really does like you. I’m not worried about that.”
“What are you worried about?”
“For one, I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon at the academy. I don’t know of any institution that allows teachers and students to date. And I just think we are on different levels of what we want right now. You might be running off to Italy in a month, and I want something stable. I don’t get the luxury of acting on my impulses anymore.” I’m still processing the fact that she wants me, and I’m not about to let her slip away. “I really have to worry about my job. I can’t risk everything because of a night or two of passion.”
“Or twelve or twenty.”
We smile at one another. She thinks I’m kidding. I have a semester of sexual frustration and fantasies that I’m anxious to unleash with her. She leans her head back on my couch and closes her eyes. I study her, eager to reach out for her, make her mine. Instead, I wait. Everything is riding on what happens in the next ten seconds.
I watch her swallow, her neck arched, her skin smooth and pale. She opens her eyes and looks at me. It’s a look of surrender. I don’t hesitate. I pull her to me, closing our distance. This kiss is different. This time, I can feel the pas
sion flow from her. Her mouth is warm and delicious, her tongue greedy against mine.
I pull her on top of me and we both moan as she stretches out between my legs. Her hips press into me, her rough jeans create friction in my sweet spot. I move my hips into her, wanting more, needing more. Her hands are already under my shirt, moving up over my ribs, stopping just short of my breasts. She’s going to have to stop kissing me to get my shirt off, and right now, that’s not happening.
I wrap my leg around hers, trapping her against me. I don’t want her to think about what’s happening right now. I just want her to act on her impulses and continue this delicious seduction. Her hair surrounds us and I dig my hands into its softness. I pull her closer into me. Her moans are deep and sensual and I can feel myself getting lost in her. I need to taste her. I want her naked. I need us to be on the bed, not squished down on my not-so-comfortable couch. She unbuttons her jeans. When her knuckles accidentally brush against my clit, I break the kiss to cry out. I’m so ready to come just from kissing. She looks down at me, her full, swollen mouth slowly curving into a crooked smile. I break eye contact only to watch her push her jeans down. She leans back to kick them the rest of the way off. Her panties are black and sexy and I smile, thinking she wore those for me. There was the possibility of this happening even before she showed up. Without hesitation, she removes her T-shirt, and before I even get a chance to admire her slim body, she crawls back on top of me. I hold her close. Our lips fit perfectly together. She grinds her hips into me and I can feel myself getting wetter just from her heat and aggression. I need to spread out and this couch is hindering my movements.
