Page 41 of Unexpected Pickle
She seems unfazed. “That was me being a total idiot. I was making chocolate dots and for some dumb reason I slid the parchment paper of them onto my arm right after piping them. I don’t know why I thought they’d be cooled.”
“It did that before you could take it off?”
“It stuck to my skin. Took a few seconds to peel it off.”
“I’m not sure which profession is more violent,” I say. “Yours or mine.”
She laughs. “Yours, for sure. I’ve seen how it goes for the other guy.”
The conversation stops, but it doesn’t feel awkward, not with the fire and the steady fall of snow.
“What are all the chefs doing this afternoon?” I ask.
“Cooking meat without added calories. There was nothing to learn.” Her gaze casts down, and I suspect there is more to this.
“Are you okay?” My concern gives way to anger. If that French guy did something to upset her, I’ll crush him with my bare hands.
“I needed a break. Thought I’d use it to see how you were.”
“I’m good.”
“Did you get to eat? You ran out on lunch.”
“I have an entire bag of food.” I lean over to pat my duffel full of snacks. “I have to keep my macros on track. I knew it might be a challenge here, even if we were allegedly making sports nutrition.”
“Your nutrition might be more intense than theirs.”
“Exactly.”
“There’s a break between the course and the cocktail hour,” she says. “I could cook you something. The chefs have been taking over the kitchen as often as they like.”
Jeannie, cook for me?
“I’d like that.”
She stands. “Just let me know your macros and we’ll fit them in. Like a mini-course for the two of us.”
I like how she said that. A lot.
“You going to go back to the class?”
She shakes her head. “I’m going to take some time off. It’s been a whirlwind from the awards ceremony to traveling here to meeting everyone.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stare at the ceiling, probably.”
I see my chance. I’m going to have to be bold, but careful. “I have a ceiling,” I say, pointing up. “And a fire. And snacks.”
She watches me for a moment. “Do your snacks suck?”
Am I getting somewhere? “They are amazing. Some were made by those chefs you hate.”
That gets her attention. “They’re not prepackaged?”
“Only about half.”
“Oh! What are the ingredients? The binding agent?”
