Wax

Seven

A/N: Hi Beans! I'm really sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up and I hope you enjoyed the Valentine's day special :> who knew chess could be so hot hehEHEHEHEH. The last couple of weeks, I have been working on a new cover for Baked Love. Which was why I took a short break from writing. If you're keen on seeing how it looks like, you could head over to my Instagram at hisangelchip. 

Enjoy the chapter!

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[Vanilla]

"Leroy, you're on a seventy-two. There is no need to know what I am up to in the evening," I established first before realizing just how long my gaze had lingered on the collar of his shirt. "If you're that curious, well... I'm heading to Siegfried's for a five course."

His frown was subtle but did not escape observation. "You landed a table?"

"A couple of weeks in advance, with a little help from... contacts. No critic would be in the right mind to miss your father's seasonal menu." The slip was horrendous and embarrassing; I watched his eyes darken at the word and made the subsequent inference. Working in the same kitchen did nothing to help their relationship.

Averting my gaze soon made apparent the lack of purpose in my arms and hands. I kept them out of sight behind my back. "So, um... any recommendations?"

"The water's good," he said with a snort, glancing down at my signature on the bottom right corner of the papers. He'd chosen to avoid speaking about the food in three efficient words. "Just you?"

"Yes." I looked back up, meeting his gaze. "Most critics dine alone. There is no need for a second opinion."

"People aren't just for second opinions." He advanced, lowering the clipboard that occupied the space between us. Somewhere along the way, Chen had cleverly excused himself without my notice and for some reason, the idiot before me seemed to know exactly when to misbehave. I stood my ground.

"To the everyman, yes, that is not incorrect, but to a true critic, the very presence of an additional mind beyond their own could potentially distort the truth of independent thinking."

"So what was that last night?" He had the audacity to mention in broad daylight, under the roof of a prestigious school, with a smile prime for disarming.

I had to look over my shoulder in panic. "Good god you're—oh thank goodness the girl's left but, y-yes regardless, behave yourself!" I held him at arm's length, eyes fixed on the entrance. "This is school premises we are currently... it's a practice kitchen, for goodness sake. Anyone could walk in right this moment and if you're so bent on continuing this matter of debate then perhaps it'd make sense if I told you that I did not dine as a critic at any point in time last evening."

He had the obligatory look of confusion on his face for a good second before cracking a different sort of smile. It did not do very well for level-headed thinking. "So what were you?"

"Not a critic," I re-emphasized, quite afraid to go anywhere further, closer to a flame that perhaps could not be observed by the current eye. "Haven't I said that already?"

He laughed then; short and low before taking a step back, letting up rather quickly which, admittedly, surprised even myself for a moment.

"Enjoy your dinner."