Must Date The Chef

|| 24.

"What if I don't need the money?" comes his quick reply and it takes me a few seconds to admit to myself that I have no appropriate response to that. I sigh and lean back into my seat. "I don't mind working for you."

"You can't work for me forever," I counter.

Anyone in their right senses will snatch this golden opportunity to show off their skill to the world and get funds to start a business. Anyone but Paul who doesn't seem to share in my excitement and now I feel stupid for getting him a slot without asking first.

The SheilaKing cooking show is the first of its kind in Calabar and there are a lot of benefits for the winner. It's not every day an organisation is willing to fund a business without asking for anything in return except for a private display of your expertise with professional chefs ready to judge and make the final decision.

"Says who?" I point a finger to my chest and his lips curl into a smile. "Some of us are meant to work for people," he mutters. "We can't all be business owners." My eyebrows raise and he continues, "To each his own."

Disappointed is not enough to describe how I feel at hearing him say that. My hands drop to my lap, I rub them against my knees and spare him a glance which I hope hides my disappointment. Maybe I am overly ambitious and trying to project that on him but he's not even willing to try or give it a thought. I sigh and nod, to each his own.

"I'll think about it," he adds. My shoulders sag in relief, I flash him a sincere smile. I had no idea how much I wanted to hear those words until now. "I don't know what to cook." When I look on in confusion, he goes on to say, "At the end of the show, we have to make a special dish. I have to think of something nice, different and simple."

The smile on my lips grow, I'm glad to know he already did some research. "You can do it, I trust you. I'll help as much as I can."

His mouth opens for him to say, "You have a lot of faith in my cooking skills." I nod and he chuckles. "No pressure, right?"

My head bobs, I smile. "Right. No pressure."

For the second or maybe third time today, I catch him staring at my lips. He doesn't care to be subtle, my hands go over my mouth and I clear my throat to call his attention.

"You can kiss me if you want." I realise what I said a second too late and hurriedly cover it up with, "I have been getting your notes." A nervous laugh escapes my lips when he remains quiet. "I enjoy rereading them."

His eyes finally leave my lips to scan my face as if seeing me for the first time. He holds my gaze captive to ask, "What notes?"

"The one about you..." I trail off to calm my nerves, ignoring the feeling in my gut. "The notes with your name signed on it, the gifts and flowers too." He looks on in confusion, I let out a sigh. "The eyeliner, makeup brush." My fingers tentatively reach out to touch my bare face, of all days, we have to see today when my eyes don't pop. "Chi brought them to me on your behalf. I loved them, thanks."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

My fingers brush my lips coated in the red lipstick I was told he sent me. "What about this, the lipstick?" He continues shaking his head. "Paul, stop," I whine. "I'm serious, Chi said it came from you. All the gifts."

"They did not come from me."

I let out a humourless laugh, his expression doesn't crack. "You don't want to kiss me? You don't miss me? You don't like my eyes?"

The chair makes scratchy sounds as I rise in embarrassment to drop the money for my meal. Someone will die tomorrow, a certain fair-skinned female who thinks it okay to lie to me. Did she use her money to get the gift? Is there any truth in the poems? Is that even his handwriting? Why did she do it?