Abby I shuffle from one foot to the other, still shocked by Karl’s sudden appearance. But the flowers in my hand are grounding, like a lifeline. “Are you sure about this?” I find myself asking. “Your Alpha duties… You’ve already given up so much to help me. I don’t want to jeopardize your status
“Okay, I’ll... get ready then. You’ll be okay out here?” Karl waves a hand dismissively. “Go ahead. You got a mirror somewhere so I can get to work on…” He gestures to himself, to his tousled hair, his white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “...This?” I nod and point to the
Abby I swallow hard, my palm slick with nervous sweat as I reach for the door handle. “Ready?” Karl asks, his voice low. His eyes meet mine, and I can feel a sense of calm wash over me, although it’s not quite enough to allay the anxiety that’s blooming in my chest. “Ready.” The door swings
Abby The judges are sitting in front of me, spoons poised, and I can’t help but hold my breath. Every moment that they taste the soup without a word feels like an eternity. My palms are sweating, and it’s all I can do to not show them that I feel like I’m about to pass out. Vanessa is the first
His words give me pause. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I’m lost in his brown gaze. But then, I realize that he’s right; Logan just wants to throw me off my game. This isn’t the cook-off. There are no fellow contestants switching my spices, no real reason to let one judge’s comments make me doubt
Abby A warmth rushes over me as I carry the extra plates to the table where the judges are sitting. Karl follows close behind with a jug of water and two extra glasses. The scent of rosemary and thyme hangs in the air as I slide the plates down and pull up a chair. My heart’s doing somersaults,
Abby Six years ago. The stainless steel countertops gleamed under the harsh lighting of the culinary school kitchen as I plated my dish with trembling hands. The scent of my creation, a painstaking fusion of herbs and spices, wafted tantalizingly through the air—but I had no appetite. My gaze
When it was time to present, I stood by my dish, my heart hammering against my ribcage, as Professor Hawthorne approached. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever. I watched him closely, searching for any sign of approval. Then he spoke, so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. “A+.”