SUMMER 

I've only known Ashton Banks for two weeks, and in those two weeks he's shown how competitive he can be. Making simple tasks into a race, needing to be the best, needing to be right about everything.

Now throw in an actual competition, and the guy becomes a monster.

Seeing him cook with so much focus is like watching a conductor orchestrate. Like it's just him and his ingredients and nothing else is important enough to break through the barrier. A car could come crashing through the kitchen and he'd be more concerned about whether he seasoned his sauce to perfection.

But I want to win this. Not to beat him, which would be beyond satisfying on its own, but it would be even more satisfying to call up my dad and tell him of the achievement.

Living with the Villas has been an adjustment. I haven't even seen them much because school and homework have kept me busy, but it still feels like Mrs. Villa's presence is all around me.

She randomly checks up on me, leaves passive aggressive notes about chores and what I'm doing wrong, spends her days at her garden club or book club or wherever she day drinks with her friends, and then comes back and waits for me to do something she can criticize.

Mr. Villa is a lot better. But he's barely around, and when he is, he's normally working in his study. That first dinner we all had together last week was telling.

Let's just say he's nicer to look at than to listen to. He reminds me of those Wall Street men, his conversation revolving around yachts and business and anything that sent me to the edge of sleep.

Throughout all the adjustment, I've kept the dinners consistent. Not because I'm eager to catch them up with my day, but because it's given me the opportunity to practice my chopping. And now, I'm feeling more confident than ever.

Ashton may be speeding along, thriving on pressure and expecting me to crumble, but I'm in my own zone that nothing can pull me out of.

"Man," he sighs with exaggeration, scraping aside a heap of minced garlic on his board. "I wonder what I'll do with my extra-long weekend."

I ignore his obvious baiting.

"You know, when I win," he taunts.

"You're gonna jinx yourself, Banks," I say.

"Really? Can a jinx take away pure talent?"

I shake my head, keeping my focus on the eggplant I'm slicing with even precision.

Ashton's laugh extinguishes when Chef Ross appears next to our workstation. A man of few words, he looks over my section and gives a nod of approval that ups my self-confidence. Then he peers over Ashton's section, a frown pulling on his small mouth.

Ashton makes no attempt to hide his unease. "What's wrong?"

Chef Ross picks up two pieces of eggplant from Ashton's set aside baking tray. "Tell me what you see."

"Eggplant."

Chef Ross flips them in his fingers so the edges face outwards. "Do they look the same to you?"

Ashton's narrowed eyes tick between them. He doesn't answer.

"Overconfidence can be any chef's downfall, Mr. Banks. No matter how talented they are." He sets the round pieces down, and I now see the difference. One is perfect, the other thick on one side and sliced too thin on the opposite edge. Slanted. 

"In appearance, consistency can turn a beautiful dish into a mediocre one." Chef Ross continues. "I know it's natural to rush in a competition, but you've jeopardized quality over speed. We don't waste food, so don't even think about starting over. Perhaps you can salvage them. To get an idea, they should look like Summer's."

And with that, he walks to the next station, leaving Ashton looking like he's suffering a brain malfunction.

"Hey, hey. Don't worry," I sympathetically tell him. "Remember what you said the other day? Some people just don't have the natural skills for this stuff. Right?"

I smile to myself and continue on as Ashton scrambles to correct his mistake, trimming his vegetables to save them.

Not long after, Lola stops by with a bunch of tomatoes she got from the fridge. "God, this is stressful. I don't even care if I win at this point. How's it going here?"

"Really well, actually. I mean, I don't wanna get ahead of myself, but I have a good feeling."

"And for you Ashton?"

He mutters something incoherent, throwing the chef toque off his head in irritation.

Lola and I exchange looks; smiles stifled as I wipe my hands on a dish towel.

"You actually just reminded me I need a couple of extra tomatoes. Tell me there's more back there."

"Yep, a whole crate."

In the walk-in fridge, I savor the cool air as I scan the shelves, taking my toque off and wiping my sweaty forehead. That's got to be the most uncomfortable part of this uniform.

I spot the tomatoes at the back and put a couple in the metal bowl I brought. But when I turn to leave, I collide with the solid body blocking my path.

"Shit, you scared me!" I slap Ashton's arm. "Why the hell are you sneaking around so quietly?" The fridge door shuts on its own. How could I not notice that?

"You would have heard me come in if you weren't talking to yourself."

"I was? Oh."

I start to edge around him, but he mirrors my step and stands in my way. "Wait!"

"Dammit, Ashton. What?" My annoyance is building by the second. "I need to get back to the contest."

"Forget about the contest for a minute."

That answer immediately makes me suspicious, and his calm demeanor only adds to the suspicion. He was like a different, far more agitated person a few minutes ago.

My eyes narrow. "Okay... what are you doing?"

"Chatting." He gives a shrug.

"More like trying to waste time so I won't make the deadline," I retort. "I'm fully focused and there's nothing you can do to change that. Now please get out of my way."

"It's not about that. Can we just talk seriously for a second?"

His voice surprises me. It's soft and thoughtful, barely recognizable to the usual smug tone. I gesture for him to talk—still holding my bowl of tomatoes—curiosity getting the best of me.

"Look, I get that this isn't the right time. I can't hold on to it anymore, though. And I know I've been an asshole, but I only act like that 'cause—" His Adam's apple sluggishly moves as he swallows, the muscles in his jaw straining. "I only act like that 'cause of the tension between us."

My body stills. "Tension?"

"Yeah... sexual tension." He takes a step forward and I unconsciously move, my back pressing against the shelf. "I'm not imagining it, right? I know you feel it as much as I do."

Of course I feel it. I've been attracted to him from day one, his insufferable personality has just clouded those feelings. Until now.

Ashton rests his hand on the shelf, his towering presence confining me. He's so close now. How does he still smell this good after sweating over a stove?

"Tell me there's nothing here, and I'll drop it," he murmurs, his chocolate eyes studying me intently. My breath hitches when he strokes aside a strand of hair that's escaped my bun. "You can admit it, Summer."

"Wha—You called me Summer! You've never done that." It's such an abnormal thing to hear from him, so much so that I've glazed over the fact that his warm fingers have settled on the nape of my neck.

The corner of his mouth lifts while his thumb softly runs over my jawline. "Well that's your name, and I told you I'm being serious."

With his gaze dropping to my lips, the feel of his caressing fingers burning trails on my skin, I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him. Or for him to kiss me. Whichever breaks this tension the fastest.

"You know," he says through a lazy smile. "I've always found confident girls like you really hot, that's sort of my weakness... should've figured staying away would be torture."

Shivers race through my core as his other hand finds my hip. "You think I'm hot?"

"Fuck yes."

It all happens at once. Ashton grips me tight and pushes me hard into the shelf, his surprisingly soft lips crashing onto mine in one fell swoop. The sound of clanging metal. My hands let the bowl slip away, needing to grab onto him instead. I swing my arms around his neck and tangle my fingers in his hair. He's devouring me, and I'm letting him.

His tongue skims the line of my mouth and I part my lips, giving him permission to consume me deeper. I can't believe this is happening. I'm making out with the guy I've hated for two weeks, with our class separated by nothing but a door. But as his tongue hungrily swirls around mine, my anger for him has dissolved along with everything else surrounding us.

I can only think how my skin feels as if it's caught fire, how his hands roam over my back, pulling me into him as I clutch his jacket. He's rough, but it just makes the kiss more intense. More urgent.

The ferocity of it feels bigger than us. Like the lights should flicker and the shelves should shake and the earth should split open and swallow us whole. Heat scorches in the pit of my stomach, pulses between my legs and makes my knees buckle. Just as an uncontrollable moan escapes my mouth, I feel him smile before abruptly breaking away.

I lean against the shelf, trying to catch my breath. The chill of the fridge has vanished; it's like a sauna in here now. My fingertips trace over my swollen lips.

"Wow, that was, um... that was..." My head is spinning. I can't even string a sentence together.

Ashton rolls his loosened sleeves as he lifts his head to look at me.

His bright eyes read over my flushed face, a smile creeping up. "Damn, I didn't expect that to work so well. I mean, I expected you to be a good kisser with those lips of yours... but that was a bonus."

"Expected? What are you talking about?"

He lets out a deep, sated sigh. "Tell me... how's that focus of yours doing now, Cupcake?"

Ashton smirks at my dumbfounded face, giving me a slick wink before walking out of the fridge and letting the door slam behind him.

What. Just. Happened.

I'm frozen in place, straining to process everything. He tricked me, no, manipulated me. All for some stupid contest.

God, why am I even surprised?

I drop into a full shame spiral in the fridge, cursing the existence of Ashton Banks. I wish my lips would stop tingling so I could think straight.

Pacing back and forth, I want nothing more than to rewind to the moment he blocked my way with that fake look of painful conflict plastered to his face. It was a mask. Why was I so quick to believe him when I knew he was acting weird? Hormones, that's why.

I was too caught up in his husky sweet talk, in his crooked smile and electric touches. In that moment, he had molded me to think like everyone else—charmed and unthreatened by him. He just had to put in a little more effort to get me there, and it worked. 

I may as well have had a 'gullible' sign stuck on my forehead.

I crouch down and snatch my bowl from the floor, muttering to myself.

"Uh, Summer? You okay?"

Looking up, I'm met with a pair of oaky eyes that belong to Grant. The door is ajar, his body hovering in uncertainty.

I gather myself and smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Without being asked, he helps me collect my fallen tomatoes. If only he walked in before Ashton did.

❖❖❖

When I get back to my station, I catch the tail-end of Ashton's exchange with Chef Kent.

"... I know, so weird of her to disappear with the time crunch. Guess she thinks this is a joke or something." He's slowly stirring a pot—literally and metaphorically.

I zip past him and clunk my bowl down. "Chef Kent, I can assure you that I'm taking this competition seriously. I don't have time for jokes."

Chef Kent leaves us be, and Ashton wastes no time in provoking me. "You're looking a little hot and bothered. Something on your mind, Cupcake?"

I light my burner in silence.

"Right, we shouldn't talk," he says. "I wouldn't want you to... lose focus."

"My focus is fine!" I snap.

But in the remaining time left, as much as I tried, my focus was shot.

I worried I overcooked it, that I didn't season it enough, that the sauce was too runny. Everything I did, I did with distraction.

Ashton had achieved his goal. My brain was drowning in the echoed thoughts of that kiss. That stupid, amazing, mind-blowing kiss. And while I hated him for tricking me, I hated myself more for actually enjoying it.

When our dishes have been tasted and judged, we all stand in a clump, waiting for the results with bated breath.

"All right everyone, you put in a fantastic effort, and it was truly noticeable in your meals," Chef Kent says. "A lot of you have shown your dedication and improvement already, and it's only the second week. We want to commend you for that."

"It was a close call but remember it's just a fun contest." Chef Ross adds. "We can see how motivated you were, so we'll do more stuff like this in the future with different things we learn. Without further ado, in third place... Crystal!"

A light clap fills the kitchen as Crystal smiles sweetly, a hint of disappointment in her dark eyes. Everyone wanted to be first.

"Grant in second place!"

He smiles as well, but he doesn't look disheartened. He genuinely looks happy, surprised even.

"And in first place—" My anticipation leaps as Kent reads the name. "—Ashton!"

My heart plummets. Ashton theatrically bows to the applause from the class. They're laughing with him, none of them showing any disappointment now.

"You started off a little rocky, but you managed to get on track," Chef Ross says. "Once you recovered, it all came together. Delicious taste, well-presented, perfectly seasoned. A clear winner."

"Ashton, you're now free to leave early and skip cleanup," Kent tells him. "Enjoy your long weekend."

Ashton grins and tips an imaginary hat to them. He then swoops past me and grabs his already packed up things. "Later, losers."

❖❖❖

After a cleanup full of self-loathing, I approach Chef Kent on the way out. I've been counting down the days for this.

"Summer." She glances up while she packs away utensils. "I'm sorry you didn't place. I thought your dish deserved to, but Ross was adamant on his picks."

"Really?" That makes me feel a little better. She looks at me expectantly, and I remember why I came to talk to her. "Um, about my workstation partner."

"Oh, Ashton already let me know before he left."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh." She stops what she's doing, a proud expression shifting onto her round face. "I knew you two could work out your differences. All it needed was a little time."

Wait, he told her he still wants to be my partner?

Chef Kent unties her apron. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"No... no that's all."

summer on her way to slap the life out of ashton:

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