A Little Secret Something

The First Step

That was your first experience with cooking.

By the next morning, you were attached to your grandma's leg. You watched her cook breakfast, you watched her cook lunch, you even helped make dinner. (You helped smush the potatoes).

The weekend flew by and you didn't want to leave once your parents came back. But they promised that you'd get to come back soon, and you made sure they kept that promise.

You spent hours at your grandparents house, learning to cook beside your grandma. You'd bring books from the library and ask to make the recipes. You'd watch all sorts of cooking shows on tv; your favorite was Masterchef Junior. You'd taste and test and learn everything you could.

Eventually, you discovered that your grandpa owned the local grocery, a small shop that catered to the neighborhood. You'd go with him and your grandma on shopping trips and the regular customers soon knew you by name.

It wasn't any surprise that your grandpa let you set up your own little shop inside. It started with lemonade one summer and, as your cooking skills grew, expanded into a free sample station of your bite-sized creations.

One day, a stranger walked up to your station. He looked about the same age range as your dad, a stubbly beard on his chin and long hair. He took one of your samples and ate it, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Not bad, kid." He grinned down at your six year old frame.

You gave a very shy "Thank you" as he pulled one of the spare crates out from under the nearby display and flipped it upside down.

"How'd you make this?" he asked, sitting down, his face now closer to your eye level.

You bit your lip, then started explaining slowly, fiddling with your fingers to give yourself a nervous outlet. The strange man listened intently, as if you were giving him directions to a buried treasure as opposed to directions on making mini pizza pretzels.

"I like the crunch..." you finished, after demonstrating how you bake a batch in the toaster oven your grandpa had set up for you.

"Do you like cooking?" he asked.

You nodded. "I like the different flavors."

"Keep it up then. Because you've got some real good ones." He reached over to grab a fresh one.

"Thank you, mister," you blushed.

"Call me Saiba," he grinned. Then he stood and ruffled your hair, "See ya, tiny chef."

'Tiny chef. Chef. Could I be a chef like on tv?' You thought to yourself as you straighten your hair and watched Mr. Saiba walk away.

You watched him buy some bamboo shoots from your grandpa, talking cheerfully to the older man before handing him a business card.

'What's that?' you wondered.

Your future.

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Thank you for your readership. This was a requested story and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and wish to read more. To those waiting on the next chapter of I'll Be (Your) Number One, sorry, I was feeling inspired and had to write this before I forgot it. Please leave questions, comments, concerns, requests, suggestions, etc. I do read them and I love the feedback. However, be nice to your fellow readers.

Thank you for reading.