Chapter 2
Their eyes met, and Sarah's flight mode was instantly activated.
But Evan, cool as a cucumber in a gin and tonic, just leaned there, a smirk on his lips. "Sarah Hayes?" he drawled, putting a like on her name.
"Evan...Evan Parker," she stuttered, her voice as dry as her DMs on a Friday night. He was the same Evan, minus the teenage awkwardness, now all man and menace wrapped up in a package that was too tempting not to double-tap.
Mrs. Margaret's eyebrows lifted. A past connection? A friend request denied?
Evan's smirk widened. "What a coincidence."
Sarah's mind hit the panic button. "I should go..."
"I'm hungry. There's ingredients in the kitchen. You cook," Evan interrupted, extinguishing his cigarette with a flick that spoke of practiced nonchalance.
Sarah's escape plan was as dead as her last Tinder date. Mrs. Margaret, now all smiles, ushered her towards the kitchen. "Shall I assist you, Miss Sarah?"
Sarah shook her head, her resolve crumbling like a poorly constructed cake. She had no choice but to face the heat of the kitchen—and the man who was suddenly the chef's special in her day.
The kitchen was stocked like a food blogger's dream, the ingredients fresh and vibrant, a silent challenge to her culinary skills. Mrs. Margaret hovered, dropping tidbits about Evan's dietary quirks like they were hot gossip. "He likes it spicy, hates sweets. And careful, his stomach's a ticking time bomb—hunger is the trigger."
Sarah nodded, her mind serving up memories of Evan from high school, the bad boy with the devil-may-care grin, always surrounded by a cloud of admirers and the scent of smoky barbecue. She remembered how he'd toss back drinks with the ease of someone double-tapping on Insta, how she'd watch him from a distance, a picture of teenage rebellion and chili-covered skewers.
Well, she thought, let's see if he can handle the heat now. Evan Parker's appetite for flavor was as complex as his taste in women—rich, intense, and with a hint of danger. Sarah Hayes, with her culinary prowess, concocted dishes that danced on his palate like a sultry tango. She infused her pork ribs with the earthy tones of mushrooms, the spring onion's zing cut through like a razor-sharp wit. The corn-flecked rice was a sweet whisper against the boldness, and her garlic-kissed greens snapped like her own patience had on more occasions than she cared to count.
Mrs. Margaret, the seasoned matriarch of the kitchen, eyed Sarah's handiwork with a nod that was more a passing of the torch than mere approval. "Not bad," she conceded, her voice carrying the weight of years spent mastering the culinary arts—years that Sarah was quickly eclipsing.
Sarah, with a tray heavy with spicy chicken and simmering soup, made her entrance like a heroine destined to fall for the brooding leading man. Evan was sprawled on the sofa, his thumbs a blur over the screen of his phone, lost in a virtual world where he was undoubtedly the hero. His legs—long and carelessly thrown over the coffee table—were a silent challenge, a barricade she was once tempted to breach.
The scent of her cooking broke his focus, and his eyes—those deep pools of mystery—lifted to her. "Hmm? Smells good. Spicy chicken?"
With a nod, Sarah placed the dish before him, and Mrs. Margaret followed with the sides. Evan abandoned his digital conquest, his movements languid as he propped himself against the table and helped himself to a piece. The moment stretched, taut with anticipation, as he chewed, then turned his gaze upon her.
Sarah felt the heat rise in her cheeks, a blush that betrayed more than the steam from the kitchen could account for. Evan's lips quirked in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sarah, not bad."
It was a smile edged with a challenge, a double entendre wrapped in casual praise. Sarah's face burned hotter, and she longed for the anonymity of her Instagram feed, where emotions could be filtered and captions could be edited.
When she had pursued him, once upon a time, she hadn't anticipated this reckoning. If only she'd known, she would have played it cool, kept her cards close to her chest. But here she was, four years later, her heart laid bare and her pride in tatters.
"I... I'm going," she stammered, desperate to escape the gravity of his presence, her hand fumbling for her purse.
"Huh?" Mrs. Margaret blinked, caught off guard.
Sarah's flight was halted by his voice, a cold command that froze her mid-step. "Stop." Evan wiped his mouth with a napkin, his stare pinning her in place. "What's wrong? You're still in love with me?"
Damn it. The chill that zipped down her spine was like a slapstick punchline in the dark comedy of her life.
Mrs. Margaret's eyes were saucers of shock.
"I didn't expect you to be so persistent," Evan drawled, his voice dripping with derision.
His laughter was a knife, sharp and mocking.
Sarah closed her eyes, gathered her shattered composure, and faced him. Her voice, when it came, was steel wrapped in velvet. "Where do you get off thinking you're so great?"
-
Sarah Hayes became Evan Parker's personal chef, a role she filled with a simmering resentment and a dash of reluctant desire. The pay was as good as his looks, and he had an appetite for her home cooking that she couldn't help but satisfy.
The hours were as flexible as his morals, designed around her studies. Evan managed his own lunches, while she was left to conjure dinner during the week. Mrs. Margaret, her health waning, retired with whispered advice and a knowing look.
"He's very clear in terms of feelings," she said, a coded warning about Sarah's once-unrequited love.
Sarah understood. She nodded with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, thinking, 'If it weren't for his damn provocation, I wouldn't be here, playing chef to a man who's a discerning palate but arrogance in love.'
As she walked over the overpass, leaving the glitz of the new town for the grit of the old, she couldn't help but glance back. Two worlds, separated by mere concrete and steel, yet worlds apart in every way that mattered. In the steamy haze of a downtown noodle joint, Sarah Hayes slurped down her last spoonful of broth, the savory liquid a prelude to the battle ahead. Seven days of Freshman Orientation with specially designed team-building programs loomed on the horizon, a rite of passage for the fresh meat at the university. Paintball, lasertag, outdoor ball games, all in camo. With a battalion of newbies, including a posse of non-traditional vets like herself, they boarded the bus to boot camp, camo-clad and ready for war.
Wendy Manson was a vision of disarray, hair tousled, her youth masquerading under the guise of military garb. Sarah, with her dainty features and willowy frame, blended seamlessly with the rookies. In stark contrast, the older self-study crew stood out like sore thumbs, their camo more a costume than a uniform, their presence more chaperone than comrade.
The curious peepers of the front-seat freshmen couldn't help but steal glances at the odd ensemble. Wendy, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned in close to Sarah, her breath a whisper of dark prophecy, "They'll be us one day."
Sarah's chuckle was a silent one, her gaze lost to the world beyond the window. Life's missteps echoed in her mind, a siren's song of second chances.
-
In the east campus canteen, Evan Parker poked at his plate with the enthusiasm of a man on death row. His buddy, Cameron Davis, swooped in like a vulture, his tray heaped with berger and fries and the sweet promise of Coke.
"Still playing hard to get with your food, Evan?" Cameron teased, tongue clicking with mock disapproval.
Evan's response was a languid lean back, a tilt of his head that oozed boredom. Cameron, meanwhile, wolfed down a mouthful before dropping a bombshell.
"Guess what? Sarah Hayes, our very own enigma, is back. As a freshman!"
Evan's "Oh" was as flat as week-old soda.
Cameron, his curiosity piqued, couldn't help but speculate on Sarah's lost years. They were juniors now; she should've been right there with them, not restarting the race. "Did she hit rock bottom? Couldn't even cough up the cash for tuition?"
Evan, the ever-silent enigma himself, fiddled with his fork, uninterested in the gossip. His mind, however, couldn't help but wander to a memory—spicy chicken and her hauntingly beautiful face. A chef, perhaps?
The clatter of a tray broke his reverie. Sophia Alderwood, Evan's childhood sweetheart turned ex-flame, stood there, her plate a sad ode to diet culture. Cameron, cursing under his breath, couldn't help but state the obvious.
"There goes your blast from the past—and girlfriend."
Evan's reply was as cold as the food on his plate. "Ex."
The shock was palpable. "You guys split? Over her study abroad?"
Evan, a man of few words, pocketed his hands and stood up. "I'm out."
He left without a backward glance, leaving Sophia to tremble and eventually abandon her meal, her tray clattering to the trash. The two girls she left in her wake could only exchange confused looks.
Cameron, sipping on his straw, was equally lost. Evan and Sophia, childhood friends turned lovers, now nothing but history. Could love ever be trusted again?
-
The days of team-building were both exciting and punishing. On the bus ride back, Sarah and Wendy were battle-worn, their bodies a map of aches and sun-kissed skin. Wendy, ever the warrior, darted off to her next conquest—a meeting that couldn't wait.
Sarah, her neck a testament to the unforgiving sun, stepped off the bus with the weight of the week heavy on her shoulders. But there was a fire in her eyes, a spark that whispered of resilience, of a life that was hers to reclaim—one bruise, one laugh, one misstep at a time. Sarah Hayes stumbled back into the dorm, her energy levels scraping the floor. Chloe and Celine trailed in, their bodies practically screaming for the sweet release of horizontal bliss. Chloe, the baby-faced energy bomb, face-planted into her duvet with a dramatic groan. "This bed is my soulmate," she mumbled into the softness.
Celine, ever the fitness guru, was already in a domestic dance with her sneakers. "I swear, the gym doesn't hold a candle to the workout we got today," she huffed.
Chloe peeked out, one eye squinting at Celine. "You actually hit the gym? I'm convinced my bed is trying to merge with my body."
Celine chuckled, giving Chloe's cheek a playful pinch. "Girl, we've got to keep it tight and right. We're not freshmen anymore; we're in the big leagues."
The conversation took a sharp turn into eye-candy territory. "Ladies, have you seen Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smoldering in the third year?" Celine plopped onto Chloe's bed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Sarah, mid-face-wipe, turned, confusion etched across her features. Chloe, however, sprang to life like she'd been electrocuted. "Oh, the bad boy with the smoke ring halo? Spotted him by the boys' dorms, looking like trouble dipped in hot sauce."
Celine's eyes sparkled with mischief. "The same one who got a taste of karma's open palm at the admin's office."
Sarah's brain clicked. Her heart did a weird little flip. She knew exactly who they were gossiping about now. Tossing her towel aside, she scooped her hair into a messy bun, her mind already halfway out the door.
Ping! Her phone buzzed with a message that could only be from one person. Evan Parker. "Time to cook, slacking off?"
