Round 1, NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Competition, 2020.

Criteria: Genre - Romance; Location - a culinary school; Object - a calendar

Thea

Synopsis: Max, a student at a culinary school, finds love unexpectedly..

Transfixed, Max watched as the bowl of whisked eggs slid towards the edge of the bench. The metallic boing as it hit the floor brought the beehive activity in Kitchen Three of The Lyndhurst Culinary School to a standstill. Well, almost. Sybil, the unintended recipient of the eggs, continued to spin sugar with a focus usually reserved for air traffic controllers.

The eggs had coated the back of her chef’s pants and were pooling around her feet. The sugar spun, Sybil turned slowly and skewered Max with a glare.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry”, stammered Max. He advanced with paper towels, anxious to make amends.

“Leave it! I’ll change into my spares”. Sybil strode towards the change room, yellow dots in her wake.

By the time Sybil returned, Max had finished cleaning up. “Good as new. Now the only egg is on my face”, Max said gamely. “I’m Max”. He proffered his hand.

“Sybil”. She shook the tips of his fingers and then returned to her assignment, eager to make up for lost time.

“Erm, Sybil…” Sybil’s sigh was inaudible but Max heard it clearly. “I was wondering if I could buy you a drink after class, to make up for...this?”

“No. Thank you.”

Chagrinned, Max retreated and whisked a fresh batch of eggs for the choux pastry.

He tried to concentrate, but his run-in with Sybil had upset his equilibrium; his whipped cream was inexplicably grainy, and the choux pastry had come out leathery. Max placed his profiteroles on the assessment table and fled to the patio. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the afternoon air and felt the sun on his face.

“What a bitch. She comes here every year, you know.”

Max looked around and saw one of the other students approaching. She was petite, her bobbed, strawberry blonde hair swaying slightly as she walked. Her face was round and her eyes, set quite far apart, crackled with life. She was smoking a Gauloises and peered at his name badge through a veil of tobacco smoke. “Hi, Max, I’m Thea”. They shook hands. She offered him a cigarette, which he declined.

“Doesn’t smoking affect your sense of taste?” Thea took a deep drag and held the smoke in her lungs, eyes closed and face angled towards the sun in complete contentment, before exhaling slowly. “Apparently”, she said, and favoured Max with a smile that made him shiver with delight. He chuckled.

“How do you know Sybil’s here every year?” 

“I got talking to some of the staff. Don’t take her personally, Max. She gives them a hard time as well.”

“It’s hard not to take her personally when she’s next to you, cooking every bloody thing to perfection”, Max said glumly.

“Ah, it’s just food. No biggie.”

“No biggie? Lyndhurst is the most prestigious school in the country. Why are you here if you don’t want to learn as much as you can?”

Thea was almost touching him now. Her jacket was splotched with vanilla, whose fragrance was ignited by the warmth of the sun. Combined with the hint of smoke, the effect was intoxicating. Max swallowed hard and edged away, he hoped imperceptibly. She looked up at him. “I love cooking, but there’s more to life than perfect pastry. Have you been into town yet? Gone for a walk along the river? This is God’s own country. Come into town with me, Max. Miss a couple of classes. You’ve already paid for them.” 

She reached up and touched his face, her fingers as gentle as butterfly wings. Max was tempted. He felt so comfortable with Thea. It was as if she could see him, his essence, not the overly earnest, diffident man producing doubtful choux pastry. Max wondered if his attraction to Thea was mutual. Or was she this sensuous with everyone?

“I’d love that, Thea, but I’ve paid a lot of money for this course. I want to get as much out of it as I can.” Max cursed himself. This is when she would move on. However, Thea continued to regard him frankly. He noticed she’d moved closer too; this time he didn’t edge away.

“We’ll have an adventure here then”, she suggested. “Let’s check out their wine cellar.” The school had a first class cellar, kept under strict lock and key.

“Good luck getting in there”, Max replied.

“It’ll be easy. I know the staff’s routines. The door takes a while to close, and there’s an alcove we can hide in until they leave. Then…”

Max vacillated, but Thea was clearly in her element. She clutched his arm. “Come on, Max” They approached the cellar and pretended to peruse the calendar of events on a nearby noticeboard.

Presently, a woman pushing a trolley rounded the corner and unlocked the cellar door. After she entered, the door’s pneumatic hinge began its laborious work. Thea and Max slipped inside and secreted themselves in the alcove. The alcove was small so cuddling was inevitable. Max went to speak but Thea placed a gentle hand over his mouth, shushing him. Forget the wine, Max thought, I could stay like this for hours. Thea, likewise, showed no inclination to remove her hand.

With the woman gone, they examined the cellar’s contents.

“Oooh”, exclaimed Thea. “Cognac.” She uncorked a bottle of Louis XIII and took a generous swig. “Here you go.” Thea handed Max the bottle. There was colour in her cheeks, whether from the cognac or the thrill of propinquity Max wasn’t sure. He noticed a tiny bubble of Thea’s saliva on the lip of the bottle. The fact that it didn’t deter him from drinking was all the proof he needed that he’d fallen in love with this woman.

They sat against the cool cellar walls. Thea rested her head on Max’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. Thea sighed contentedly. “Still thinking about tomorrow’s class?”, she murmured.  Max realised he wasn’t. “I’m learning more here.” Their lips met.