Page 1 of Babydaddy To Go

1

Alyssa

Iplace another folded t-shirt into my already-too-full suitcase. Luckily, it’s the last article of clothing I need to pack. I don’t think I could even fit another sock inside, and it takes all my strength to zip up the dark maroon suitcase. But finally, I get it shut.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I collapse on the bed beside my suitcase. A sheet of paper scratches against my cheek and almost absentmindedly, I pick it up and read it over again, my eyes scanning left and right.

“Dear Ms. Hall,” the letter reads. “We are pleased to admit you to the New York Academy of Culinary Arts for the fall semester. You will be an asset to our student body and we hope you’ll join us at NYACA on the first step of your culinary journey.”

Happy bliss passes over me in a warm wave because my dreams are coming true. When I applied to NYACA, I thought it was a long shot. After all, I have no formal training and most people who get into NYACA went to culinary-based high schools or culinary prep schools. Somehow, I managed to be accepted despite my lack of experience, and I can’t wait to start.

But oh no. My first day is less than a week away now and my nerves are shot. I’m so excited that jitters shake my frame at night as adrenaline races through my system.

My eyes scan the letter again, eating each word up hungrily. The words tell me that this year, classes will be taught by a celebrity instructor. It doesn’t say who it is, but I have some ideas of who I want it to be. One in particular.

After all, I’ve loved cooking my whole life, but there’s one chef who piqued my interest from the very beginning. Nathaniel Glover started from the bottom, just like me. He paid for culinary school with tips from his job as a server, waiting tables at night while feverishly working the stove as a line cook during the day. Once he graduated, he took out a small business loan and opened his first restaurant, and when that took off, he opened a second, and then a third, and then a fourth. Now he’s the most famous chef in the country. On top of that, he’shot. Ridiculously hot.

I pull up a photo of Nate Glover on my phone. His sharp jaw line practically jumps off the screen. I love that he keeps his face clean-shaven to show it off. Then there are his eyes, a striking blue that are both charming and devilish at once. If I were ever under his gaze, I would shrink. I wish I could say I’d become a sassy, charming conversationalist, but who are we kidding? I’d probably become as stiff as a board and as red as a fire hydrant, stammering like a dunce. But this is all fantasy, so I shush the little voice inside my mind. Who says you can’t be irresistible in your dreams?

My eyes go back to Chef Glover. Even in photos, he oozes strength and confidence, and there’s no doubt he’s a commanding alpha male in all ways. His jet-black hair and broad shoulders only make him look more intimidating.

Plus, this is a fantasy, so I start imagining things. Chef Glover may look domineering, but I can tell he has a tender side, too. It’s in the way he cuts vegetables on his reality show. He cradles the knife in his hand as he forces the blade through willing carrots and onions. I know, crazy, right? I’m imputing things from the way a man treats his vegetables.

But I can’t help it. I imagine that same hand holding mine as we walk down the street in New York City. We would walk slowly to take in the sights. He’d stop to show me the site of his first restaurant, which is now a laundromat with a plaque dedicated to Nathanial in the window.

“This is where it all began,” he would say, those bright blue eyes staring down into mine. I’d swoon, looking into the cerulean depths.

From there, he’d take me to the new location of that same restaurant. It’s a bigger space to keep up with the number of guests and unending demand. They serve hundreds of people every day, and the restaurant has gotten rave reviews from the most important critics in the industry.

We’d immediately go to the back, since Nathanial is the chef, and he’d give me an impromptu lesson of sorts, with his staff watching politely, yet not watching at the same time. He’d let me help him prep the food. When he noticed my cutting technique was a little off, he’d come up behind me and show me the right way of doing things. I would turn my head towards his to thank him, but he wouldn’t give me a chance. Instead, his lips would meet mine in a passionate kiss before we got back to making our food.

Of course, once we were done, Nathanial would hold my hand tenderly the whole night. He would be so romantic and sweet and pure bliss sweeps through my frame at the fantasy. But therein lies the trouble. Unfortunately, this is all fantasy, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that real guys aren’t the type to hold your hand like a treasured Cinderella. Instead, they want a roll in the haystack, and it’s then out the door. Real life can be such a downer.

Suddenly, a knock on my door pulls me out of my daydream, and I sit up with a jolt.

“Are you decent?” my grandmother cackles from the other side.

“Come on in, Grams,” I say with a sigh. She saunters into the room, swinging her hips as she walks. My grandma isn’t your average octogenarian. She’s in incredible shape for eighty-eight years old, and she walks five miles a day and lifts weights. Plus, I get my wide hips and large chest from my grandmother. Even at her age, she still has an hourglass figure. Incredible.

“Your face is pink. Are you feeling okay?” Grams looks at me curiously. She places a wrinkly hand on my forehead, but even though I’m flushed, I know there’s nothing’s physically wrong. It’s just my imagination going to faraway places.

“I’m fine, Grams,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just tired from forcing my suitcase closed, hardy har-har.”

My grandma grins, but her voice is tinged with sadness.

“All packed?” she says.

“Just finished,” I say brightly. “I hope I’m not forgetting anything.”

She sits down beside me on the bed, moving pillows out of the way to make room.

“Good, good. Are you ready? Excited?”

I nod.

“I’m really excited. It’s a dream come true, you know?”

“I know, sweetheart, I do. You know, your mother loved to cook, too,” Grams says wistfully.