Bree I walked into the giant kitchen—a massive, open space designed to feed dozens of people, buzzing with the faint echoes of past meals and future messes. It was the same kitchen that would host the cooking classes, the place where we’d all be expected to learn some basic survival skills that went beyond opening ramen packets or heating up frozen meals. I’d already survived the fractions course that morning, which honestly hadn’t been as bad as I expected. We’d broken them down, multiplied, divided—and surprisingly, I’d kept up. The guy leading it, Landon, had a knack for explaining things simply. He’d even shown me a trick that made everything easier, faster than the method I’d been taught before. It left me feeling like maybe—just maybe—my brain hadn’t turned to mush post-high school. Physically, though? I was wrecked. My body was screaming at me after the morning run, sore in places I didn’t even know could get sore. Every muscle was tight, every joint aching. It felt like I’d aged a decade overnight. But there was something else beneath the pain—something unexpected. I’d actually enjoyed it. Gage had been there, steady and patient, supporting me in that quietly commanding way of his. And somehow, with him beside me, even exhaustion had started to feel like accomplishment. Now, I was ready to shift gears—ready to learn how not to starve at college. I needed this class. Desperately. Neither Mom nor I were what you’d call culinary inclined. We got by—soup cans, frozen lasagna, and whatever leftovers Grandma and Grandpa handed off—but we’d never been passionate about cooking. Still, I’d always wanted to know more. To take simple ingredients and turn them into something meaningful. Something good. The idea of making something from nothing… it felt powerful. My eyes scanned the room—and then, like gravity itself tilted, I saw him. Gage. He was leaning casually against one of the counters, his massive frame relaxed, one shoulder propped like it belonged there. He was laughing along with a group of friends, his expression lit up with ease, his hands animated as they talked. It was effortless—he was effortless. I quickly looked away, my stomach tightening. I didn’t want to draw attention. Especially not now. Especially not with her watching. Gabriella stood close by, one of her perfectly shaped hands resting lightly on the countertop beside him. She tossed her head back, laughing louder than necessary—an exaggerated, performative sound designed to capture attention. It didn’t take a genius to see who she wanted to impress. And I wasn’t about to step into the ring with her, not again. Not when I was still reeling from everything she’d done. So I made my way toward the main table instead, determined to ignore them all. The table was filled with ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, chocolate, butter—everything you needed to bake something sweet. Just looking at it filled me with a strange sense of comfort. I’d always had a soft spot for sweets. Cakes. Cookies. Anything sugary and soft. The thought of creating something from this spread made my heart skip a beat. It felt… safe. Familiar. “You excited for the first lesson?” His voice. Right beside me. I turned my head, and there he was, standing far too close, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his shorts. His T-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders just enough to suggest what was underneath, the fabric loose around his waist. His cap was pulled low, hiding his golden-blond hair, but it only made him look more relaxed, more unreachable. I glanced behind him—his friends were still deep in conversation, seemingly unbothered by his absence. But Gabriella? Oh, she was watching. Hard. Her smile was gone now, replaced by a glare sharp enough to cut glass. I looked back at Gage. “Sure,” I said, keeping my tone light, my gaze flitting back to the table. “Looks like we’re going to be baking or something.” A wide smile spread across his face, dazzling and a little cocky, like he knew the effect he had. My cheeks instantly flushed, heat blooming under my skin as I looked away. Damn him. He had to know what that smile did to people. “We always bake the first time,” he said, his voice a low hum, casual and easy. “And I know we always team up in pairs.” “You’ve taken the class before?” I asked, confused, my brows drawing together as I glanced up at him again. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, it’s fun.” I crossed my arms loosely in front of me, feeling awkward. Not because of him—but because of the weight of everyone’s eyes. I could feel it. The whispering, the watching, the curiosity. Gabriella’s gaze felt like a laser between my shoulder blades. I didn’t want to give them anything to talk about. But standing next to Gage made that impossible. “I’ve taken a bunch of classes more than once,” he continued, his green eyes focused on mine like he was searching for something. “Since it’s my fourth year here, it’s kind of hard to avoid repeats.” “But wouldn’t that be cheating?” I asked, trying to cut the tension with a smile. His grin turned crooked, a spark of mischief lighting up his face. “All’s fair in war and cooking.” I laughed—actually laughed. It slipped out before I could stop it, and I rolled my eyes, amused despite myself. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.” He shrugged, eyes flicking back to the ingredients. “Maybe not. But it works.” He faltered for a second, still looking at the table. “Maybe you should take advantage of it,” he added, the teasing back in full force. “How?” I asked, tilting my head without thinking. “I don’t have a partner yet,” he said, his eyes locking with mine. “You could use me. Take advantage of my expertise, if you want.” My heart jumped. Literally jumped in my chest. I felt it thudding faster, harder, butterflies erupting in my stomach like fireflies set loose. My mind started spinning, conjuring up images I had no business entertaining. Because I was still healing. Still trying to find my footing. Still dealing with Gabriella’s venom echoing in my head. w***e. That’s what she’d called me. Gage shouldn’t be talking to me. He shouldn’t be standing next to me, smiling like that, making it feel like I belonged next to him. He should be laughing with his friends, basking in the kind of attention people like him were born into. He should be anywhere else but here—because standing here, next to me, people might start getting the wrong idea. Or worse… maybe they already had. Maybe they already thought the worst. Maybe they saw me and thought I didn’t deserve someone like him smiling in my direction. “Shouldn’t you pair up with one of your friends?” I asked, my voice softer than intended, edged with hesitation I couldn’t quite hide. My insecurity wrapped around every word, dragging it down like an anchor. “Nah,” he said, still grinning at me with that calm ease he wore like a second skin. “I get enough of them during the rest of the year. And besides,” he added with a little shrug, “if they find out I can cook, they’ll have me doing it for them every weekend of senior year.” A soft laugh burst from my lips, catching me off guard. My cheeks flushed, and I glanced down at myself. I was swimming in oversized clothes, desperate to hide the parts of myself I didn’t want anyone to look at. I was burning up from the heat, but I still couldn’t bring myself to wear something tighter, something that would make me feel more exposed. And I couldn’t stop wondering how Gage saw me. Was I someone he actually wanted to spend time with, or was I a project? A broken bird? A charity case? “So,” he asked, his voice still gentle—never pushy, never commanding—“what do you say?” I looked up, letting my eyes meet his for a heartbeat. “Sure,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’ll pair up with you, Gage.” Just as I said it, Rachel took control of the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention and pulling us into the official start of the class. Gage stayed at my side, his hands still buried in his pockets, his tall frame a steady presence beside me. It felt almost surreal, standing there with him, like I was in a moment I hadn’t earned. Rachel launched into her introduction, her voice bright and expressive as she dove into the fundamentals of baking. She talked about the interaction between ingredients, how something as simple as yeast or baking soda could completely change the texture of a treat. Her excitement was infectious, and for the first time, I actually felt curious about the science behind something I’d always just eaten without a second thought. Then she gave us the day’s challenge. “Tonight, after dinner, I think everyone deserves a treat—something sweet to celebrate our first official day of learning. So, in pairs, I want you to bake something that can serve at least twenty people. Use whatever’s in front of you, get creative, and try to surprise me.” That was the signal for chaos. Students lunged for ingredients like it was the Black Friday sale of the century. There was shouting, elbowing, and laughter as everyone scrambled to grab chocolate, flour, eggs—whatever they could get their hands on before it disappeared. I looked up at Gage again, my eyes wide, half amused and half horrified. He just stood there, watching the chaos with that same lopsided grin, clearly entertained. “So,” I asked, trying to get us back on track, “do you have anything in mind?” His green eyes scanned what was left on the table, thoughtful. “Do you like muffins?” “Sure,” I said with a nod. Truth be told, he’d have a hard time finding something I didn’t like when it came to dessert. “You thinking muffins?” “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Maybe banana muffins with some nuts or something mixed in? We could get creative with decorating them too, if you’re up for that.” “Definitely,” I smiled, feeling a little flutter in my chest. “You lead the way, oh powerful one.” A deep chuckle rolled out of him, warm and rich, as he stepped forward toward the remaining supplies. He handed me a small bunch of bananas while piling ingredients into his own arms—flour, sugar, baking powder, even a couple of chocolate chips for good measure. I kept offering to help, but he waved me off with an amused shake of his head, his arms now comically full like a walking ingredient tower. We found a station, a quiet corner away from the chaos, and settled in. I let him guide me through the steps—his voice calm, patient, never making me feel like I was messing up. I mashed bananas while he sifted flour, his movements confident, practiced. I wasn’t even sure why flour needed sifting, but I didn’t question it. He knew what he was doing. Conversation flowed between us like it had always been there. We talked about favorite foods, weird food combos we secretly liked, and which desserts could tempt us no matter how full we were. It was effortless. For a moment, the world outside this kitchen didn’t exist. Oliver, Jenna, Gabriella—all of it just disappeared. And for the first time in a long time, I did what I’d promised myself I would do this summer—I had fun. “These need more sparkles,” Gage declared, eyeing our finished muffins with a critical squint. “You can’t put any more sparkles on them,” I giggled, pointing at the snow-white glaze already covered in a galaxy of sugar stars. “You can always put more sparkles on,” he countered, lifting the container like it was a weapon of mass decoration. I watched in horror—and then amusement—as he tilted it a bit too far, and an avalanche of sparkles spilled out, burying one poor muffin under a mountain of sugary chaos. I burst out laughing, the sound escaping me before I could stop it. I leaned into the counter, watching as he stared down at the muffin like it had betrayed him. “Was that what you had in mind?” I asked through my laughter, my cheeks hurting from smiling. “Maybe it was a bit too much,” he muttered, though the grin he tried to suppress gave him away. “I thought you said you could always add more sparkles?” I teased, poking at his logic. His green eyes glinted with mischief as they met mine. “Maybe you need some sparkles.” Before I could react, he tilted the container toward me, sending a gentle sprinkle of sugar stars over my shoulders. I let out a squeal, jumping back, swatting at the sparkles now dusting my shirt and arms, while Gage laughed—loud and carefree. And in that moment, standing in a kitchen full of chaos and glitter, I realized something. If cooking class was going to be like this… then maybe I was finally exactly where I was supposed to be.