Chapter 2: Unfinished Recipes

CASSIE

The next time I saw him, I was ready.

I had spent the entire week convincing myself that George...yes, I had Googled him and he was just another rich guy looking for entertainment. I'm certain he had taken the class on a whim and wouldn't show up again. Our brief, strange interaction was nothing more than an oddity in my otherwise predictable, downward-spiraling life.

But there he was.

Standing at his station like he owned the place.

His sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms. His hair, dark and just a little too perfect, was slightly tousled. He looked effortlessly put together, while I had spent the past ten minutes scrubbing flour off my shirt from a failed attempt at kneading dough.

Unbelievable.

"Look who decided to come back," I said as I grabbed a mixing bowl from the counter.

His mouth twitched. "Missed me?"

I scoffed. "Hardly. I just didn't think billionaires had the time for community cooking classes."

"I make time for things I find interesting."

I swallowed. There was something about the way he said it, something slow and deliberate, that made my stomach twist.

This was bad.

Very bad.

I turned back to my ingredients. "Well, don't get in my way."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He replied while kneading another dough.

"Show off" I cursed under my breath.

GEORGE

Cassie Davidson was trouble.

The kind of trouble that sneaks up on you and sinks its claws in before you even realize you've been caught.

I didn't have time for trouble.

But here I was.

I watched her from the corner of my eye, the way she bit her lip in concentration as she measured ingredients, the way her brows furrowed in frustration when something didn't turn out perfectly.

She cared. More than she let on.

And that made me curious.

"Did you Google me?" I asked casually, cracking an egg into my bowl.

Cassie froze, her hand hovering over the whisk.

"…No."

A slow smile spread across my face. "Liar."

Her eyes narrowed. "Okay, fine. Maybe I did. You can't blame me. You show up here looking like you walked out of a designer catalog, and you don't exactly blend in."

Fair.

"I'm not here to be a spectacle, Cassie."

She tilted her head. "Then why are you here?"

I considered lying. Saying something simple, something easy.

Instead, I said, "Because sometimes, I just want to feel normal."

Her expression shifted.

I didn't know what I expected her to say, but it wasn't what she said next.

"I get that."

She did.

I could see it in her eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like someone understood.

CASSIE

I hated that I wanted to know more about him.

But the way he said it, the quiet honesty of it, made something in my chest tighten.

I turned back to my batter, pretending my heart wasn't pounding.

The rest of the class passed in a blur.

When it was over, I gathered my things quickly, eager to leave before George had the chance to say anything else that made me question my sanity.

But as I stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around me, I heard his voice behind me.

"Cassie."

I stopped.

He fell into step beside me.

I should have walked away, should've ignored him.

But I didn't.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the distant hum of the city filling the spaces between us.

Then, quietly, he said, "You don't let people in, do you?"

I tensed. "You don't know me."

"No," he admitted. "But I'd like to."

Dangerous.

This was dangerous.

I forced a laugh. "That sounds like a terrible idea." 

He didn't look away. "Maybe."

My breath caught.

I needed to run. Right now.

 Instead, I whispered, "Goodnight, George."

Then I turned and walked away, ignoring the way my heart betrayed me with every step.

___________

I wasn't thinking about George Sinclair. I caught his name on his name tag. I'm surprised I even paid that much attention.

No. Not at all.

I wasn't thinking about the way his voice had dipped low when he said he wanted to know me. I wasn't thinking about the way he had walked beside me, silent but steady, like he had all the time in the world. And I definitely wasn't thinking about how his eyes had lingered on me like I was something worth looking at.

Absolutely. Not. Thinking. About. Him.

Except that I was.

And this was certainly a problem.

George, well… he is rich, powerful, and completely out. Of. My. League; and I was just a broke microbiology graduate who spent her nights staring at rejection emails and wondering if her life was ever going to kick start.

I had nothing to offer him. And yet, he had looked at me like I wasn't invisible, like I was very… special.

I groaned, dropping my forehead onto my kitchen counter.

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

Suddenly, I heard a knock at my door. I jolted up abruptly, nearly breaking my chair… I was always the type to get easily startled by the most meagre things.

I frowned. No one ever knocked on my door. It's unbelievable because no one cared enough to know where I lived, nor did I have the skill, patience or personality to keep friends without burning the relationship down.

I hesitated before getting up. I cracked the door an inch open to take a peep at who's at the door.

On seeing who's at the door, my stomach dropped.

Standing in my doorway was George Sinclair, looking every bit as polished and out of place as I felt and holding a Tupperware container.

"Hi," he said casually, like it was totally normal for a person of his caliber to show up at my apartment, an apartment and neighborhood like this.

"What are you doing here and How did you find out where I live?" I questioned.

"I brought you leftovers." He said while lifting the container slightly. "You never ate in class." He continued.

I blinked at him. "You what?"

His mouth twitched. "You do eat, don't you?"

I scowled. "Yes, I eat."

"Good." He handed me the container. "This is chicken parm. Not my best, but I believe it's decent."

I stared at it. "You… made this?"

"Obviously." He replied.

I should have told him to leave, I should probably have slammed the door on him and walked away.

Instead, I sighed and stepped back. "Fine. Come in." 

GEORGE

Cassie's apartment was small, cluttered, and smelled faintly of vanilla and a high trace of lavender.

It suits her perfectly.

She watched me warily as I stepped inside, like she wasn't sure how I ended up here.

To be fair, I wasn't entirely sure, either.

I wasn't supposed to be here nor be doing this, but Cassie was different.

And I had never been good at ignoring things that intrigued me.

"You can sit," she said finally, crossing her arms.

I took a seat at the tiny table, watching as she hesitated before sitting across from me.

She eyed the food suspiciously before finally lifting the lid.

"…It smells good," she admitted.

I smirked. "I hoped so."

She picked up a fork and took a small bite out of it.

And then, just for a second… her eyes closed, and a soft sound escaped her lips… Something in my chest tightened.

"That good?" I asked, keeping my voice even as possible.

She swallowed, avoiding my gaze. "It's fine."

Liar… I thought to myself.

She took another bite of the chicken like this was the best thing she had tasted in ages. She was obviously enjoying it but for some reason, she chose to pretend. The only sound I could hear so loud was the silence I let settle between us.

I see Cassie as a puzzle, with her sharp edges, defensive walls, and enough vulnerability to make me curious about what she was hiding underneath all that facade of strength.

I had gotten used to seeing through people, they wear masks a lot. I believe I know this well enough because I had worn them myself.

My efforts were starting to pay off; Cassie's mask was slipping… And I want to know what's underneath.

"You don't let people in," I said, repeating my words from the night before.

She stiffened, her fork hovered over her plate for a while before she forked the chicken aggressively. "And what makes you think you get to be the exception?"

I leaned forward slightly unhinged by her sudden outburst. "Because you haven't kicked me out yet."

I watched the way her lips parted, a sharp retort was forming, but… she hesitated.

Because I was right.

She wasn't pushing me away. Not yet.

And that meant something.

CASSIE

I hated him… he saw way too much; right through me as a matter of fact. This wasn't what I was used to and is definitely not what I want to get used to.

I despised the fact that he was sitting at my table, just right across me… Looking at me like he actually gave a damn.

But most of all, I hated that some stupid part of me wanted to believe him.

I put my fork down in denial. "This doesn't mean anything."

George smiled slightly. "Sure."

Liar. I knew the only one I was fooling was myself. I needed someone, even just a friend… I'm lonely right now.

And the worst part?

I wanted him to be.