Eight | Sloan

The Chicago Culinary Institute first became my dream when I had been out on a walk with Steve. We both had frozen yogurt in our hands as we strolled by—still only friends at this time. We stole spoonfuls of each other's flavor before finally giving up and deciding to switch. Steve had pointed up to the massive building and recommended I apply simply because he adored my lemon cod piccata. That was back when I still had some money saved, and the idea seemed almost doable. Then so much happened, and the dream seemed lost.

Moving on—it seemed too soon. But how long are you supposed to cage yourself into a room before that step needs to happen? Months? Years? Would feeling whole again ever really be an option? My heart was still broken and missing pieces I knew would never be found again. Whole wasn't possible.

The alarm blared for the third time. I sent my phone flying to the floor. A breeze swept through the room, causing the curtains to fly upwards with a gust of wind, and the smell of maple syrup was distinctly coming from the hall. Hallie was cooking the one meal she knew how to make... waffles. I was going to need to force myself out of the bed and get the day started. Today was another step of moving on, and I would conquer it with the help of carbs.

I dressed casually, selecting a favorite pair of jeans and a vintage Chicago Cubs tee. I had found it at TJ's store for three dollars and couldn't pass up the chance to buy some Chicago nostalgia. I didn't know where I came from, but Chicago had been home as long as I could remember. Not wanting to fuss about the day too much, I twisted my hair back before securing it with a plastic clip, minus a few stray strands which always fell into my face. My nerves finally settled after I applied some foundation, loose powder, and a light blush. It was just enough to make me look human again, and that was always half the battle with depression. If I could dress myself, that usually meant my day would go okay.

"The food is getting cold, and you need to leave soon!" Hallie's hand slapped the bathroom door as she whizzed by it.

The vacuum erupted to life in the room beside me. For the third time this week, Hallie was vacuuming. I sighed, frowning and staring at the moving cord draped down the hallway. Hallie had been this way since TJ announced his engagement over a month ago. She didn't want to talk about it. Instead, Hallie used cleaning as a coping mechanism. I just wished I could help my friend the way she'd been there for me.

The stack of waffles sat on a plate in the center of the table. They looked like they could feed six people. There was also a plate of sausages and a glass of orange juice sitting beside it. The kitchen was absolutely spotless. No dishes were left in the sink or remnants of ingredients left behind. I poked at the waffle just to be sure I hadn't imagined my best friend in here cooking this morning.

"What are you doing?"

I swung around to find Hallie standing with her hands on her hips with brows heightened in question. She now had a feather duster in her grip. She used it to motion to the waffle I had just poked when she didn't get an immediate answer.

"Making sure you didn't cheat and use the frozen kind. Where are all the dishes?"

"They are done and put away already."

Hallie dragged a chair from the table and placed it beside the wall. She proceeded to use it as a step stool to run the feather duster across the top of the fridge. I dropped to my seat, pulling one of the many waffles to a plate before smothering it in butter and syrup. Every time I attempted to speak to Hallie about her quarter-life crisis, I thought better of it and stuffed my mouth with a piece of waffle.

"Eat more than one!" Hallie didn't even look at my plate as she hopped down from the chair and moved it across the room. "First day! You need your energy."

I was already full and wanting to unbutton my jeans. These weren't exactly the smallest waffles. They were thick and fluffy. Not wanting to argue, I stabbed another and slid it to the plate. That left about seven more for tonight's dinner.

"Do you have laundry? I'm taking mine today."

This was becoming too much. I dropped my fork against the plate, causing a clank, and took a long sip of orange juice. I wished I had spiked it first.

"You took laundry two days ago. We going to talk about this, Hal?"

"Talk about what?" Hallie shrugged her shoulders and crossed her arms, clearly becoming agitated at the mere mention of change to her domestic demeanor.

"What's with the cleaning? You hate it. Even Pete is spotless." I pointed to the pizza Pizzaz that no longer had burned cheese on its edges. "Is this really because TJ is engaged?"

Hallie's gaze became intense before falling away completely. She tossed the duster to the counter and leaned into it, biting at her lip. I immediately regretted asking. I figured Hallie would get mad, but now she looked to be on the verge of tears. It was rare to see Hallie cry.

"She looks like a fucking soccer mom. They're going to have a minivan and go to PTA meetings. She will probably be on the damn booster club!"

I said nothing as Hallie's head shook. I had only seen TJ's fiancée once, and it was the night I caught him cheating. I wasn't sure how Hallie had seen her, but I had a pretty good guess it involved a fake social media account meant purely for stalking purposes.

"All because he couldn't," Hallie lifted her fingers to create air quotes, "handle me".

My frown was sympathetic. Those were his parting words to Hallie when she confronted him with his cheating. Yes, Hallie could be a handful at times—okay, most of the time. She voiced her opinion regularly, enjoyed nights out partying, couldn't hold a secret to save her life, and lacked a lot of domestic skills. But she had an absolute heart of gold, and TJ had already learned every quirk the girl had. When he said he couldn't "handle" her, I had a pretty good idea of why, but he shouldn't have made her feel like a shitty person by blaming her for his infidelity.

"You can do better. TJ was a prick, and you were his loss. He knows it too. You don't need him, and you don't need to turn into something you're not to prove it."

Hallie smiled briefly, but it was so fake even I felt the pain behind it.

"I put extra blue highlighters in your bag with a copy of your schedule, just in case you lose yours. Oh, and a snack. It's sitting by the front door." She kissed my hair before walking away from the spotless kitchen. "Have a good first day."

I took another waffle and bit right into it before standing from the table. My backpack was exactly where Hallie said it would be, with a brown paper bag sitting on top. It had a smiley face drawn on it.

An absolute heart of gold, I thought again.

>>

The halls of the Chicago Culinary Institute were a clean shade of white, paired with black and gray accent walls with various black and white photos of food and famous chefs. It was much more modern than I had envisioned when peering in from the outside during many occasions. There were seating areas with black leather chairs and couches, a high-tech library, a learning lab, and lots of hidden nooks for studying.

This was such a different world than I was used to, but my confidence surged just by stepping through the front door. I had made it this far and was going to handle whatever they threw at me next. Compared to the year I was having, school was going to be cake.

With one hand, I adjusted the weight of the backpack on my shoulder and used the other hand to hold the day's schedule. My first class was Knife Basics 101 in room L106. I flipped the paper over to view the map of the building, seeing I was only a few doors short of the classroom.

The halls were filled with fellow culinary students. Many were piling around the very door I needed through. A majority also appeared to be in their first of two years. Although, I doubted any were my age. At twenty-three, I wasn't the typical student. Even if it hadn't been for Steve setting me back, I still would have been older than most of them. I joined the line of the Knife Basics room, already taking note I was lacking the same attire as everyone else. I was in a t-shirt and jeans while everyone else was in a crisp, white chef jacket.

Fuck. I dropped my head back and mentally groaned. This was not a good start. Perhaps I should have reviewed the requirements before showing up. I had stupidly left that up to Hallie while I holed myself in a bedroom for months.

Standing beside me was a petite girl who looked at least a smidge older than a fresh out of high school student. She was clutching almost every single book we had been supplied with and was lacking a bag completely. She didn't even have a purse with her. I wanted to ask where the hell she hid her tampons and decided against it. I tugged on the girl's white jacket instead.

"May I ask where you got this?"

"The bookstore sells them." The tiny brunette motioned with her head towards the end of the hallway. "I think they have them for like a hundred dollars, but I got mine off amazon for about sixty shipped."

I groaned again. "Outstanding."

There was no way I could afford one. I had just purchased a train pass, and it took a huge chunk of my budget. Plus, Hallie and I had to have internet installed to turn in assignments. Sixty dollars was a lot of money right now. Shifts at TJ's would not cut it, especially now that I was working part time.

"Maybe he won't notice," she offered. "I've heard he's a douche, though. I've been dreading this class all week."

That did not help my anxiety any. With it being the first day, would the instructor really get angry over not having a damn jacket? I had three dollars in my checking account and was praying it didn't bounce before payday. Maybe I should have researched my teachers before thinking today would be a breeze.

"Like, how douchey are we talking?" I asked. "What makes him so bad?"

She released a chuckle that didn't seem amused. "He makes his students cry. Girls, guys... doesn't matter. He's set in his ways. If he doesn't like what you're doing, he's going to call you out on it in front of the class. Most people don't make it to second semester."

Great.

We shared an equally hesitant look before entering the classroom. It was just as impressive as the school itself, with a state-of-the-art kitchen designed for instruction. No instructor was in sight yet, but his desk sat before ten, two-person work benches made of stainless steel. And beside the instructor's desk was a demonstration station, equipped with an angled mirror that would allow us all to witness commands from our own seats.

"We should get as far back as we can!" The girl nudged my elbow with her own, meanwhile still bulked down by the weight of her textbooks.

While I was busy ogling setup of the room, everyone else was busy staking their claim to the seats nearest to the back, out of sight from a douchey instructor. The girl rushed to a table near the middle, three rows back out of the optional five. The last two rows were already full. After dropping her books, her hand slammed to the seat beside her. Over her horn-rimmed glasses, she peered at me and waited. It felt as if I was back in high school.

She saved me a seat?

Unlike high school, I had apparently made a friend on the first day. I hiked the backpack up again before casually taking the saved stool. Before I had dropped my bag, my new friend already had a pad of paper and a pen out for notes.

"I'm Ava." She offered her hand out.

I took it and gave it a small shake. "Sloan."

I had just opened my mouth to ask Ava where she had attended high school, but stopped when Ava's eyes turned to saucers after looking to our left, to the door we had just came through.

"Holy shit," Ava whispered with cheeks tinting to pink. "No one mentioned how hot he was."

"Who?" I turned and gasped before I could stop myself.

Oh no.

A tall, muscular male with a husky voice and permanently messy short hair. My body instinctively ached at the sight. No plaid or all black today. He now wore a white chef's jacket—the one I was supposed to be wearing. I knew his jacket was hiding many drool worthy tattoos beneath it. I was not supposed to know that. I sank my body further into my seat and shielded my face as best I could.

No fucking way is my luck this bad. Is it?

"I'm Chef Oliver," the familiar voice boomed over the room with the sound of his bag hitting his desk.

Ollie.

My luck was definitely that bad.

"This is Knife Skills 101. You will be here every day. You will arrive on time. I don't allow for late homework, and I don't allow for make-up tests. You aren't here for the test, you fail it. Questions?"

No one made a sound, which left me imagining there were many people shaking their heads no. Ava may have turned an adorably shy-shade of pink, but I was quite certain I was the color of a tomato. My face was feverish and had a pulse.

He continued to speak as I tried to remain out of his sight, keeping myself directly behind the body in front of me. Of course, this guy had to be the shortest male ever. I was short but taller than him. The way I was contorting my back to stay behind the human shield was absurd and only causing odd looks from the surrounding students. I gave up and leaned my elbows on the table, keeping my head down and hidden behind my forearms.

"Are you okay?" Ava asked via whisper. "You look ill."

There was a very strong possibility of being sick. My one-night stand was currently talking about how to turn in homework. I was panicked and sure I would not make it out of this classroom without being seen. Perhaps he wouldn't remember me. We were so drunk...

... and very sober when he remembered me at the bar. And sober the next morning...

"Is there another instructor for this course?" I asked Ava.

One I haven't slept with?

"No. Everyone would switch out if there were."

"Right," I agreed, continuing to stew in panic.

Everyone else did their goddamn homework when they got their class list. But no—my sulking ass allowed Hallie to handle everything. I rummaged through my paperwork before pulling out my course schedule. Chef Oliver Mulligan's name appeared beside the course title. My stomach sank. Mulligan... as in Mulligan's Bar & Fine Dining. The same place he found me again, cursed me for adding salt to his fries, and then took me upstairs to his freakishly stunning apartment to be raptured. Oh, and then I stole from him. My face fell to my hands.

Vomit was definitely going to happen.

"Am I boring you, miss?"

My body froze at the harshness of his tone.

Please don't be talking to me, please don't be talking to me, please don't be...

"You in the baseball shirt?"

Shit.

"Need I remind you to pay attention in this class is necessary, as is proper attire? This is considered a lab, and you will wear a jacket in my class from this day forward."

My hands dropped, and my arms straightened across the table before finally gaining the courage to lift my head. Wide sapphire blue eyes met mine. His mouth instantly parted to speak but couldn't find words. It snapped shut again. His throat cleared. I was watching him break into an uncomfortable sweat that had him tugging at the collar of his jacket. He was definitely breathing faster.

"I uh..." Ollie's throat cleared again, and he did a quick scan of the class.

Was he looking for other girls he had taken up to his apartment? Or maybe he was just trying to gauge if anyone had caught that we know each other. That could not happen. No one could ever know that I slept with my instructor. I looked around the room, ensuring the same. Everyone looked too terrified of Ollie to notice, and right now, I was one of them.

"I uh," he repeated awkwardly. "I wanted to talk to you all about your knives. I expect you to bring them by next Monday. I suggest you purchase a set you plan to use throughout your career. Don't skimp on this. I use the Michel Bras collection in my restaurant and highly recommend them."

This day was getting worse by the minute. Not a chance in hell could I afford knives and the class uniform. The dream was slipping through my fingers, and it was all happening in front of the guy I had hoped to never see again—much to my body's dismay. This was only the first class of the day.

Chef Oliver continued to speak about the knives and what we would cover for the next few months while I refused to look up again. He didn't seem to mind this time. I was sure Ollie didn't want to look anywhere near this direction either. He discussed how we were to answer with yes, chef or no, chef when asked a question and how he is strict for our own safety—which caused a lot of side glances between my classmates and a sigh from Ava. Ollie seemed completely different from the night at the bar. This did not feel like the same guy who had me laughing until I cried. Now I just wanted to plain cry.

"I'll see you all tomorrow."

It felt like those words would never come. Everyone already had their bags packed and were scurrying off to their next class. I snatched my blank notes and pen, not bothering to pack them. I just wanted to get out of this room as fast as possible. Ava, thankfully, had waited for me near the door. Before I could get anywhere near there, a firm hand snuck around my upper arm and held me back. I instantly died inside.

"She will join you in hospitality mathematics," Ollie assured Ava. "Miss Smith, a word? I want to discuss the code of this class with you, since you ignored it."

I exhaled through my nostrils and gave Ava a nod, telling her she could go on without me. So much for sneaking out of the classroom. When Ava was out of sight, Ollie was dragging me by the arm across the room to another door. He only stopped to grab his jacket off the back of his chair before we were standing outside in what appeared to be an alleyway behind the school. Not appreciating his rough hold, I yanked my arm away.

Ollie paced at first, holding his hand to his mouth and making small glances in my direction. I thought about walking back inside and ignoring whatever he wanted to say, but I also didn't want to piss him off any more than I already had by just existing.

"So, you thought this would be funny?" His voice was even colder than earlier. He sifted through the pockets of his jacket before finally pulling free a small white box. "You saw my name on the class list, researched me, and then thought you would show up at my restaurant and sleep with your teacher? It won't get you anywhere in my class."

"Excuse me?" I scoffed at the accusation. "I didn't know your name was Oliver Mulligan until forty minutes ago! You approached me. Not the other way around."

He inhaled a sharp breath, his eyebrows dropping in a sulk. He began tapping the box against his palm harshly before pulling a cigarette from it and lighting it. He took a long drag and pushed a cloud of smoke from his mouth, instantly infuriating me.