Chapter 77

MAXWELL'S POV

Things only got more chaotic from there.

As we moved from station to station, the air became filled with the smell of spices, sizzling oil, and the occasional shout when someone—usually me—almost messed up a step. The chef did her best to keep us on track, but I could tell she was mildly horrified by my lack of skill in the kitchen.

It was humiliating and fun all at once.

At one point, I tried flipping a piece of naan bread in the pan, a trick the chef had demonstrated earlier. Of course, the bread went flying and landed halfway across the room, hitting another student in the leg.

I winced. “Uh, sorry! Rookie move!” I called out, trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Beside me, Isabella was doubled over, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“You are the worst cook I’ve ever seen,” she gasped, clutching her stomach.

“Thank you,” I said, bowing with a flourish. “I aim to entertain.”

By the time we finished the class, we were both