Page 93 of Bite Me

My face falls, and I’m too tired, too worn to catch it.

His brow softens. “Emma, I respect you too much to pretend I can just be friends with you.”

All the air rushes out of me, and it’s seconds till I find it again.

“Wait . . . You . . .”

“All right, class, time to set up. Today’s task: a sudden death cook-off.”

I scramble to compose myself as the instructor comes in and rattles off a list of commands. We’re being split into teams according to a list on the instructor’s clipboard.

“Emma Osborne and Luther Lancaster.”

You’re kidding. As if my day could not get any worse.

No, Emma, snap out of it. This is a great opportunity to refocus on what matters, the culinary club. And that’s . . . exactly what I want. I totally signed up for ruthless cook-offs. Not that I’d rather spend the day baking sourdough, admiring the view, and discussing jam and butter pairings or anything. No. Heart pounding competitive rivalry will be great for this tight ball in my chest.

“Think you can keep up?” Luther says.

“Can you?” I say, tightening my apron.

Dacre and Verity are called as the next pairing, and Verity curls her fingers in a cocky wave.

Find the fun, Emma. Find the fun.

We’re an hour in, and I think I might kill Luther if he mutters another command in my direction. He’s technically my superior, but no one this obnoxious or bad at teaching should be able to order me around like the most important person in all Vviveren.

“Hurry up with those scallions,” he calls just as I place the bowl next to him.

“I was going to start on the risotto.”

“No. I’ve got. Just sit there and look pretty.”

He’s the worst. Any other day, I’d give him a piece of my mind, but I can’t stop imagining walking out on the veranda with a glass of wine and people watching. All morning, there have been businessmen and women walking up and down the driveway.

“Dacre’s parents won’t show up?”

“No . . . Uh . . . Dacre’s parents are dead. Car accident a long time ago.”

I gasp. “Oh, he never said anything.”

Dacre’s parents are dead? I have so many questions, most of which I want to save and ask someone who isn’t Luther. Why wouldn’t Dacre tell me? I mean, when he helped me with Mom’s cake, he could have said something. Maybe he didn’t think he could trust me yet.

“I’m surprised you think you’re close enough to get that kind of information out of him. Dacre is an impenetrable safe. I don’t think even a peppy thing like you can crack it.”

“I guess not.” I try to keep myself busy cleaning up.

“Don’t tell me you thought you’d be friends? Dacre doesn’t have friends. He never has.”

Luther keeps his eyes on his work, and I watch, taking any lessons I can from afar. He’s more informative when he doesn’t talk than when he does.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. And trust me, kid Luther all but begged to be his friend.”

“You knew him when he was a kid?”

“Oh, yeah, we went to the same private school. He always kept to himself. I used to think he just thought he was above us all, but I think it’s more about trust. My grandfather and his used to be business partners and best friends, but now they hate each other and think the other betrayed them. Everyone in my family hates him.”