Chapter 0152


    We both dip spoons into the sauce, tasting it simultaneously. It’s… alright. The paprika adds an


    unexpected depth of vor. But it’s just not what I wanted. None of this is what I wanted. I had really


    thought for a while that Karl would wind up being my sous chef for thepetition, but that had turned


    out horribly.


    “Tastes good to me,” John says gruffly, breaking the silence.


    “Yeah. It’s fine,” I half-agree, setting my spoon down.


    John lets out another groan. “Fine?”


    I nod and meet his annoyed gaze. “Yeah. It’s fine, John.”


    That’s when John rips his apron off and tosses it down on the counter. “Whatever, Abby,” he groans.


    “I’m going home. Goodnight.”


    “Wait, John—” I call out as he storms over to the door, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know


    he’s made up his mind.


    “I’ve had enough for one day,” he says, his eyes meeting mine for a moment over his shoulder before


    he reaches the door. “See you tomorrow.”


    And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the kitchen.


    In his wake, I nce around at the chaotdscape of our practice session—the used utensils, the


    half-chopped vegetables, the sttered sauce—and my heart sinks.


    John has left me with the mess again. I mutter a curse under my breath and start attacking the kitchen


    with a vengeance, scraping pans and banging dishes into the sink.


    As I work, my thoughts drift back tost week, the moment of optimism when I had asked John to join


    me for thispetition.


    The staff had decided to stay at the bar for a while after closing to celebrate someone’s birthday, and


    John and I were sitting beside each other, chatting.


    “Hey John,” I’d said, my finger running around the rim of my ss. “So, the cook-off ising up, and I


    could really use a sous chef. Would you be interested?”


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    His eyes had lit up faster than I expected. “Really? You want me?”


    “Yeah.” I smiled, suddenly relieved. “I think we could make a great team.”


    “Absolutely. I’m in,” he had answered, clinking his beer bottle against my wine ss. “This is going to


    be amazing, Abby.”


    I snap back to the present, staring at a greasy pan that’s proving to be a challenge. Amazing? Yeah,


    right. More like a disaster waiting to happen. I scrub harder, as if I can erase the tension of thest few


    days with enough elbow grease.


    John’s enthusiasm was short-lived, and it’s only been a week and yet I already don’t know what I’m


    gonna do. He seems to resent the extra hours, the hard work, the relentless pursuit of something


    extraordinary.


    I can’t reconcile the John from that night at the bar with the man who just walked out on me. And that


    terrifies me. How can we go on national television like this? How can I trust that we won’t blow up on


    each other on live TV? We’re supposed to be a team, and yet every day feels like a battle.


    I rinse thest dish and ce it on the drying rack, my reflection staring back at me in the dim light of


    the kitchen.


    Karl would have never left me like this, I think, and then immediately hate myself for it. I can’t afford to


    dwell on a past that’s noting back. Karl chose his path, and now I have to choose mine. But does it


    include John? Can I trust him to stand beside me when the pressure really mounts?


    I let out a sigh as I look around at the mess, half-wondering if I should just go home now and clean up


    in the morning. But then, suddenly, an all-too-familiar voice cuts through my train of thought.


    “Need a hand?”