“You look amazing,” he says, a dazzling smile spreading across his face. My cheeks flush red as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He has on a pair of dark denim jeans and a white t-shirt with a Lacoste logo inconspicuously in the corner.
Rich prick?
I swallow hard and try to smile away my embarrassment.
“So do you…nice car.” I gesture to it.
“It’s my dad’s, my truck is having engine issues.” He opens the door for me and I let out a little gasp. I’ve never been in a car this expensive in my entire life and my nerves have climbed up my throat.
I peep over at him as he settles into the car as if he was made just for him. I wonder if this is the feeling all the girls talked about when I was fourteen and they all had their first crushes. Boys were the farthest thing from my mind at that point.
“Can I be honest with you about something?” he asks, and I hold my breath.
“Yeah. Shoot,” I tell him.
“I had this feeling you were going to stand me up,” he says with a boyish chuckle.
I swallow hard. He has no idea how much convincing it took for me to be here.
“I wouldn’t have stood you up, if I wasn’t going to go I would have told you beforehand,” I tell him honestly. He eyes me carefully.
“Is there a reason you would have?” he asks, and our eyes lock. Am I more transparent than I thought, or do I read awkward or wrong?
“I’m not much of a dater.” He arches a brow at me.
“I’d have thought you’ve had guys lining up for the chance.” he says, almost surprised.
“This is my first year going to school on campus, I’ve been doing virtual admin work the past year or so. I haven’t really been out as much.”
“Purdue’s best kept secret then. I’m glad I found you first,” he says genuinely. I think of the irony of his words. There are so many secrets in the world; I’m not one of them. I just have more than a few.
Based on TV shows my foster siblings described, I always thought a first date involved going to a movie or a cheap restaurant. Not a gourmet cooking class where the teacher, Ms. Chereaux—a short, plump, stunning woman who speaks with a French accent—is an expert that looks like she came straight off the Food Network.
Kameron is more than what I thought he was. In my imaginary reality, before he actually asked me out, he was still beautiful of course, but the silent type. This Kameron is warmth, jokes, and fun. Not a stuffy prince but like the handsome jester that you thought was a jester until you find out he’s really a prince.
I’ve been reading too many books but I’m not nervous around him like how I thought I’d be. Things are nice and almost easy and that I’m not used to in any part of my life.
We’ve fumbled our way through most of the instructions. Kameron’s entertaining and I bet he’s been raised by parents who believe manners and etiquette are important. I’m sure he knows how to set a place at the table, the ones rich people have where there’s like five forks.
“Turn the heat up how you want in the bedroom!” she booms gracefully, directing us to finish off our crepes. My face turns red as a skittle. Kameron covers up a laugh as we turn our stove up and stir the ingredients. There are only us and two other couples in the room so it’s nice to have a certain amount of privacy without it being too intimate.
“I suck at cooking,” I admit, trying to keep my dish from becoming a burnt mess.
“I’m glad you chose this place.”
“I wanted to do something fun where I could get to know you. Our options are limited here in good ole Indiana but this isn’t as bad as I though it’d be.”
“I hope it’s a hundred times better than you ever expected,” Ms. Chereaux adds almost magically, appearing behind us.
“Oui!” he laughs, and I give him an embarrassed smile.
“The secret ingredient to making food is to make it with love, passion…think of food as your lover.” She winks and playfully pats Kameron on the shoulder. She makes her way over to the other couple to embarrass them.
“I’m much better at other things, I promise.” His eyes hint at a mischievous innuendo between his words, while his smile remains angelic. How does he do that?
I press my lips together and try to make my dish as edible as possible. I load mine up with fruit and powdered sugar. I notice Kameron watching me, amused.
“You’re like an eight-year-old,” he teases. I freeze, embarrassed. I can imagine how refined this must look.
He thinks you’re immature; you’re really just stupid.
“No, it’s cute. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he follows up quickly, and to compensate he adds more fruit and sugar to his and gives me a butterfly-inducing smile. I add a little more powdered sugar on his food for good measure.
Once the instruction portion of the class is over we’re sat at a separate table to eat our dishes, some masterpieces other couldn’t aspire to reach the heights of being on a value menu at a fast food place.
Ours are both edible and the presentation isn’t as bad as we’d imagined it to be while making it. The fruit and sugar no doubt covers up the failing we may have had in making the perfect pastry. Ms. Chereaux thankfully supplied eggs and sausage to supplement what dish could have been a tragedy.
“Before we break bread I’d like to share with you a tale of two lovers from my country,” Ms. Chereaux begins. “Alexander and Sophie, we’ll call them. Sophie was beautiful of course, as girls must be in stories like this. She was a student at the time, young and vibrant, and would stop at a little café everyday before her class. Alexander was handsome young man who worked in the café and would watch Sophie from afar every day. This was not creepy in those times.” The class laughs, and my arm tingles when Kameron slides his hand down it and holds my hand.
“One day he worked up the courage to ask her if she was available for a date and he did this writing the question on her favorite pastry. However, the pastry was instead delivered to a big burly prideful man who was sitting next to Sophie, and that request did not go over well. The man was upset and insulted and Sophie stepped in saying that it was at her request as a joke. And being young, vibrant, and beautiful as she was, the man only mildly scolded them both. Young Sophie then asked Alexander if she could have one of her very own crepes and if so she’d like one that said ‘yes.’ He obliged and that was the first of many they shared over a lifetime.”
“Isn’t your name Sophie, Ms. Chereaux?” Kameron asks as charming as a beautiful man should be, as she says.
“Guilty!” she laughs and the class joins in with her.
“And I was the schmuck who almost got pummeled,” her husband adds, joining her. She beams and kisses him on the cheek.
“I say it would have been worth it right?” she shrugs daintily, and we all applaud.
“We now will let you lovers enjoy your meal why we enjoy ours.”
“That was such a cute story, were you asked to tell everyone her name?” I ask as we begin to dig in to our food.
“Ms. Chereaux is actually a friend of the family,” he admits with a half shrug.
“Really? Your mom is French?” I ask, stealing an extra blackberry.