C2 Two

Zoey's POV

No, I am not excited for the date.

Baking class and a dinner after that? I can never picture Chris in an apron, in the kitchen, squeezing icing onto a cake. He would look way too domestic for his own good.

I hop my way into my closet. I'm not joking if I say that I'm walking on air. I feel like a carefree little three-year-old surrounded by mountains of candies and ice cream. Everything seems right to me.

Within 30 minutes, I am finally done with making myself look at least decent for a date.

I have at least 35 minutes left before Chris comes and pick me up, so I head into my bedroom and start working on my homework.

I was halfway through solving an equation when I sense some movement behind me.

The first thing that comes to my mind is that Chris had probably broke into my house yet again, but then, I glance at the time, it is only 5.46, and I don't think Chris would choose to come over 14 minutes earlier.

Shit.

My stomach lurches. Okay, maybe I'm being paranoid.

But I'm at home all by myself and it's getting late!

This is one of the few times I would be upset with my mother for being constantly absent from home.

Plus, I am all dressed up, I can at least say that there is a higher chance of me getting robbed or kidnapped. This theory makes sense, right?

No one would want to come near me if I'm dressed in a shirt that says, 'Yes, I did actually swallow a watermelon' and some comfy sweatpants. Now that I'm dressed in a decent pair of black skinny jeans and actual clothes, the defence mechanism is lost and so will I be, if I really get kidnapped.

I pick up my newly sharpened pencil to brace myself for any attacks. I can feel the chilling presence of the person. I halt my movements and prepare a good mindset to be ready to stab whoever the person is, furiously with the pencil.

I suppress an evil laugh within me. Not a good time for jokes!

As my hand slowly rises, I became aware of a wave of gentle breathing on my neck. A cold shiver run down my back.

Oh god, what kind of criminal is this? It breathes on people.

My heart pounds faster.

Then, I feel the breathing leaves my neck.

I try to make light out of my situation. Probably the attacker passed out at how good I smell. Ahh, the jasmine shampoo sure worked it's magic.

Without any sort of warning, a piercing, lurid scream erupt from behind me.

In reaction to that, I let out an equally loud and un-ladylike scream as my heart rate speeds up and my body jumps.

What the hell!

I turn around to see Chris standing there, laughing his butt off. His asthma laugh always gets to me, but not this time!

"That was so-", I pause to find the right word, "-so uncalled for!"

"You're such an ass, I'm shock you weren't featured in one of Nicki Minaj's video! Why did you do that? Oh, did my screams give you joy? What are you, a sadist?" I hiss, my arms flying everywhere as I try to find an output for all my anger. I don't even know why I'm so angry.

"A sadist?" He looks at me weirdly, obviously amused.

"Yes, what's wrong with that?" I fold my arms, glaring, though I can feel my anger dissipating.

"A sadist?"

"Yes! A sadist!"

"Do you know what a sadist means?"

I feel affronted, is he challenging my linguistic skills? "Yes, it's a person that enjoys being cruel, which, in another context, means you."

He chuckles, "No. Technically saying, a sadist, is a person that receives sexual gratification from causing pain to another."

"I didn't mean by that!" Did he really just read out the not so nice definition of a sadist from his mind?

"Okay, okay. Calm down. Shall we get going?" He smiles down at me and I easily find myself grinning back at him.

He holds out a hand to me, I take it, and we walk off.

-

"What the hell were you thinking when you thought that a pencil will be a good defence mechanism against attackers?" Chris scrutinizes me from the corner of his eyes as he drives past tall buildings and shiny lights.

The evening light is dimming across the skies. The distracting, neon lights that blink strikingly, whizz by the as the car speed on.

I laugh inwardly as the thought of my so-called 'defence mechanism' pops into my brain. I'm so lame. But in a good way.

"What?"

"I'm so lame," I sigh and giggle.

"Glad you know."

"Oh shut it."

"I was planning on stabbing you in the eyes if you did attack me or something," I laugh a sinister cackle.

"Wow, and I'm the sadist."

"You are. You enjoy seeing me suffer."

"You were screaming like a dying pig, anyone, would laugh. It's not just me." Chris releases both of his hands from the steering wheel and puts them aside his head, in a surrender motion.

My eyes widen. I yell, "Stop! Put your hands back on the steering wheel!" I reach forward and slap his hands down back on the wheel. "You're trying to kill us!"

He winces, "Ow." Then he turns to me warily.

"What?"

"Are you on your period?"

"What the hell?" I try to look for signs of humour, but his face is totally serious as he speaks.

"Are you?"

"No! And that's a very invasive question."

"Are you have troubles completing your homework?"

"No?"

"Then why are you so grumpy!"

"I'm not grumpy!"

"Sure. He raises both of his hands again, my eyes widen again. "You're trying to kill us!" He squeals and slams both of his hands back on the wheel.

I laugh.

"Glad to see you back, Zoey."

"Huh?"

"You've been grumpy the whole night, that was your first laughter since just now."

"Oh." Geez, he's been keeping check.

"And, we're here!" He stops the engine and the car instantly quietens down.

It's a pretty little bakery. Like a typical pastry shop, an enticing aroma is lingering in the air. It's decorated very uniquely, unlike most bakeries that are overly painted in pink and white, it has tall glass windows and a giant sign with the words 'Trevino's Bakery' inscribed on it in cursive.

"Don't you dare touch the car door," Chris warns. I look at him, confused. He steps out of the car and jogs to my side of the car hurriedly, as if I would ran away from him.

He pulls the door open and gestures a hand for me to step out.

"Why thank you, Mr. Gentleman," I feign a British accent and loop my arm with his as he closes the car door.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

We enter the shop, the doorbell jingles softly as it moves.

The interior of it is sleek and modern. Not something that I expect out of a bakery. The walls are made out of dark wooden planks. The floor is glossy and black. To the right of the space, there's a large display counter, with all sorts of pastries aligned neatly aside one another. There's cakes, macarons, pies, waffles, éclairs - basically everything I would die for.

Chris leads me to the back of the shop, not before waving to the lady at the counter.

To my surprise, there's a wooden step ladder at the corner of the area.

"Come."

He starts to climb up the steps, and I do exactly so. When he reaches the top, he pushes open a part of the ceiling, like it's a secret doorway. Wow, I never noticed it.

He climbs through it, then gives me a hand from above to help me up.

"Aye! Chris, you've reached! And you brought your girl!"

I jump at the voice from behind me. Chris shuts the hidden door and looks up, grinning.

"Hey, did we keep you waiting?"

The man laughs, "Eh, no. I was just about to start preparing the ingredients. How 'bout you and your girl take a seat? We'll be good to go in ten minutes." And he disappears into another part of the room.

The room is warm and cosy, the design of it, is simple and decorations are kept at its minimum. There's only two counters in the middle of the room. Each counter has an oven, microwave and stove. The marble table top is clean and smooth.

Chris takes me to the couch and we plop down together. I'm so excited.

"Who is that guy?"

"He's the owner of this bakery, he gives private one-hour baking classes to some frequent customers who are interested."

"What's his name?"

"Nick Trevino."

"So, you come here often?"

"No, only sometimes, Seth does. He would bring Emma here for the apple pies."

Oh, the apple pies. Chris must have bought them from here when Emma was in the hospital.

Nick Trevino reappears into the room, carrying two big trays of bowls and plates. I jump forward and take one of the tray into my hands.

"Thank you, sweetie," he smiles, then scowls at Chris, "Chris why aren't you this sweet and beautiful!"

I study his profile, Nick must be around his late forty's. The skin around his eyes crinkles as he speaks animatedly.

"Shut up, Nick."

Nick sighs, "How do you put up with him, darling?"

"I don't."

Chris cracks a smile at me.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"I'm Zoey." We place the trays on each of the counters and I offer a hand to him. He stares at it weirdly.

After a heartbeat, he seems to understand what I'm trying to do, and offers a hand to me.

"Ah yes, a handshake. I'm Nick, Nick Trevino," he smiles, "Shall we get started?" he claps his hands excitedly, "We're making red velvet brownies today!"

-

After Nick has begin to shoot rapid instructions at me and Chris, we scramble around to keep up with the speed he was going at.

Chris looks extremely funny, just standing there, mixing the batter while yelling at me to 'hurry the fuck up before we fuck this shit up'. Patiently, I prepare the chocolate ganache and wait for him to finish mixing.

"Finally woman, you took long enough to make that ganache."

I scowl at him.

"You were taking your own sweet time mixing the batter."

Chris bends down to preheat the oven while I scoop up the batter into the piping bag. When it comes to baking, or even cooking, I am definitely the untalented one as compared to Chris. Quietly, I squeeze the bag and the batter oozes out from the opening. I was almost done with the last one, when I felt a shove at my elbow, causing batter that was coming out of the opening to dribble onto the counter.

Chris bursts into laughter. How is this funny? I give a hard smack onto his hard, muscular arm.

After clearing up the surface, we wait patiently for the batter to bake. Meanwhile, Nick and Chris entertain me by falling into a banter.

"So Nick, when will you retire? I'm tired of seeing you here every time I need to buy something for Emma." Chris snickers and Nick chuckles.

"It'll take more than you, a little boy, to keep me away from this shop."

"I'm 17."

"And I'm 49."

Nick continues, "This place is my baby, almost literally. It was under construction for about 9 months, back then, it was only a tiny shop. My father used to own the shop, but he passed on ten years later after he started it. I took it under my hands and continued baking." Nick pauses to smile, as if recalling a pleasant memory, "He was like, the funnier version of Gordon Ramsay, he would bark down orders at the helpers, then laugh at his own hostility. He was a very kind father, passionate baker and everyone loved him, not only for his pastries, but for his persona."

"Naturally, growing up with such a enthusiastic baker in the house, I became interested in baking too, Father took that as a golden opportunity and taught me how to bake. The first time I baked, I screwed up, big time. I scrambled the eggs since I didn't temper them before adding the hot cream. It was a total mess, yet I carried on and baked the so-called batter. It was basically crap."

"Father loved his pastry house. He would camp there if he was too lazy to head home. Mother had to drag him the whole way back when it was his birthday but he didn't want to celebrate it, so he hid in the shop. It was comical to see a big, fierce man, being dragged by the ear, yelping 'Ouch honey that hurts'."

"And here I am, the owner of Trevino's Bakery. Little boy, be prepared to see my face often 'cause I'll never be leaving this place."

The oven dings conspicuously.

"Now go bring those beauties out of the oven." Nick stands up, pulling me and Chris up with him.

"That was quite a story back there," Chris mutters quietly as we put on our oven gloves. I nod, can't agree no more, Chris.

Carefully, we retrieve the tray from the hot oven. Excitement blossoms within me.

"It looks good!" I squeal, jumping up and down enthusiastically.

Chris takes me by surprise, squeezing my hand, smiling, "You look like a little child. I like to see you this happy." I blush.

I pick up one of the dainty brownies and starts to blow on it. Then I pop it into my mouth, a little too quickly. The warmth from the brownie invades my mouth. Ow.

"It sho hawt."

"What?"

"It sho hawt!" I try to fan the brownie in my mouth to cool it down.

"What?" Chris asks, but his giant grin tells me that he is laughing at my plight. Such sadism.

"It hawt, darmmit," I slap his arm.

"Spit it out."

"Hwhat? No!"

"Then what do you want me to do?"

By then, the brownie has already cooled down quite a little, I chew it fast and down it goes, into my oesophagus.

"You're really a sadist," I murmur to myself, but seeing Chris' cheeky grin, I know he heard me.

-

We left the bakery with our brownies packed nicely into a box.

"Where are we going?" If he going to tell me it'll be a surprise, I will kick him.

"To a restaurant."

"A restaurant?"

"Yes."

"Restaurants are expensive, why don't you drive us back home and cook up some mac and cheese for us?" I don't exactly think restaurant food is any better than home-cooked ones. And they are really pricey sometimes.

"You'll love the restaurant," he grins.

I open my mouth, wanting to disagree with him, but I hold back. Chris is grinning like a madman, so obviously there is something special going on. Well then, I shouldn't interfere.

We drove in a comfortable silence. Occasionally, I would catch Chris sneaking a glance at me, smiling slightly.

"We're here." Chris exits the car, and before I can unbuckle my seatbelt, he's already at my side, holding the door open.

"You're so courteous tonight," I comment as I exit. Usually, he would slam the car door and just walk off even if there's people in his car.

"Only for you, Zoey. Only for you."

I giggle, thinking that he is playing around, acting like a gentleman again, but immediately stops when I'm met with his intense look.

Woah.

"I mean it."

Holy. The look he's giving me - it's so sincere. He cocks his head a side, flashing a crooked, dashing smile.

"You have no idea how much I like you, do you?"

"No," I whisper, feeling extremely shy suddenly.

Chris only chuckles. "Let's get you into the restaurant, I'm sure you'll love it."

We step into the restaurant. Almost instantly, I feel like I'm being teleported back to the 19th century.

"Wow," I breathe, as I admire the place in veneration and awe, "Chris, it's so pretty."

"I immediately thought of you when I came across this restaurant online, and I knew that I must bring you here one day."

"That's really sweet of you," I say, my eyes still busy inspecting the intricate patterns on the walls. Chris smiles shyly.

The walls of the restaurant are cushioned in beige, and the floor is carpeted, silencing the noisy clicking of heels of the female diners. The whole room is lit, solely by two or three crystal chandeliers. On one of the four walls, a portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is hung. I gasp in surprise and awe.

"What?"

"Anne Morrow Lindbergh," I whisper, "She was the author of Dearly beloved. That was a phenomenal book." I point to the painted portrait.

The ceilings are painted white, but adorned with beautifully inscribed words in black. I try to make out some of the words.

"I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine," I mumble my words, but as it registers in my mind, delight and reverence overwhelm me. "Pride and Prejudice," I breathe, "Jane Austen. Wow."

"You're such a book worm."

"Chris, this is so... so breathtaking."

"Breathtaking?"

"Yes. Thank you so much. I love this place already."

We proceed to our tables and I'm once again taken by surprise.

The menus are written in Copperplate font, the words spatter elegantly towards the right side of the page, while the prices of each dishes are allineated on the other side. As I flip through the pages, it seems that each of the segment of the menu is termed as chapters.

After Chris and I had placed our orders, we fall into a silence as a soft-voiced woman sings in the background.

"Zoey, tell me more about your family."

My head shoots up, alarmed.

"What?"

"Tell me more about your family." His voice casual.

"Why?"

"I want to know more about you."

"My mother works a lot, she seldom comes home. Yeah, that's about it." I pray mentally for him to not probe further.

"Your dad?"

"My parents are divorced." I try to keep it as generic as possible, not giving away too much details.

Chris stares at me for a moment, as if caught off guard.

"Oh," he pauses, "that explains why I don't see your father around."

I smile weakly. It's not exactly a topic I want to discuss on a date.

Chris changes the topic, "What's your favourite subject?"

"I like Math, English Literature and History."

Chris blanches. I grin.

"You?"

"I hate studying, but I guess Sex Ed is fun sometimes." He winks while grinning boyishly. My heart flutters. The tense atmosphere from just now is discarded. Thank god.

"That explains your grades," I murmur jokingly, but instantly regrets it when I see Chris' eyes widen. He looks wounded. Oh shit.

From what I heard from Jacob, Chris actually has pretty good grades, it's just that he's sometimes struggling with his Math and Sciences.

"Wow sorry if I'm not such a bookworm like you."

I flinch from his words, but reach over to clasp his hand in mine.

"I'm sorry," I whisper my apology guiltily. Curse me and my stupid mouth.

"Sorry, please forgive me. Don't be angry with me." I look at him pleadingly.

Then he sighs, almost indignantly and cracks a smile. "I can never be angry with you for more than three minutes."

"Maybe we can put that to a test sometimes."

"Why does that sound like a challenge?"

"Maybe it is."

Chris chuckles.

-

We ate in a peaceful silence after that. Occasionally, Chris would start up a small chat and we would converse freely, sharing shy smiles and adoring stares. No more divorces, no more bad grades.

All the while, I was admiring the beauty of the restaurant. The interior design of it is just really fascinating and gorgeous.

We arrive at the porch of my house after a long drive.

"Thank you, Chris. Today, was really fun," I smile as I hold up the box of brownies.

"You're welcome. I will be more than willing to bring you out more often."

"Okay, good night. It's getting late." I stand on my tip-toes and leave a peck at the corner of his mouth.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"But it's late. You need to rest."

"I need to rest. What about you?"

"Sometimes I don't need much sleep to function. Besides, I still have homework."

In my mind, a voice screaming at me to just let him into my house so that we can spend more time together.

"Okay, I wouldn't disrupt you then. I know how much you love your work."

Chris stares at me intently for a moment, "I think I enjoyed the date more than you did."

"What? Why? I'm the one that is being brought to a beautiful restaurant and a pastry shop for a fun baking lesson. I enjoyed it more."

"But I'm the one being accompanied on a date with you and I get to see the way your eyes light up when you're excited or happy."

My breathing halts at his confession. Oh my.

Chris' eyes are fixed on mine, our eyes locked. With that, he takes a step closer. My heart start to hammer. My eyes leave Chris' for a moment, to admire his profile. Just as the intensity of everything start to make me feel a little lightheaded, I feel it.

Chris' head swoop down, and I can feel his lips on mine. I gasp lightly. A warm sensation sweep through my body.

Do I look like I care about how cliche this sounds anymore?

Too soon, Chris pulls away. I pout a little, but blush furiously.

"Yes, I think I enjoyed the date more than you did," Chris grins.

"Go home, go to sleep."

He leans in once more, and kisses my forehead. Instinctively, I close my eyes.

-

I change out of my clothes and plop myself down onto the bed. My phone buzzes.

*Good night, Zoey. Don't stay up late for homework. I had a great time, and I think it's only because of you. You look beautiful tonight.*

I smile at his message.

*I had a great time too, Chris. Go to sleep, goodnight.*

*Goodnight. :)*

And I close my eyes, with a stupid damn grin on my lips.