“Exactly,” he said, flashing a brief smile. “See. Not a hopeless student.”
“I’m sure your real students would run circles around me.”
“Some would,” he admitted. “But we haven’t gotten to hulling berries yet. The shoestring budget for the cooking program doesn’t exactly allow for fresh berries. Even frozen would be a stretch.”
She frowned. “Is it a state-funded program?”
“No, donor- and community-funded, and the cooking program is in a rebuilding phase. It was inactive for years, but they hired me to try to get it up and running again. There’s not a lot of money to work with since it wasn’t part of the original budget, and we’re in a poorer neighborhood so the parents can’t really help. But I’m working with the kids on some fund-raising ideas so we can get some new equipment and better ingredients, and maybe do a special project or trip during the summer.”
“That’s got to make it tough to teach how you want.”
He shrugged. “I grew up on a shoestring budget, so I can make a meal out of almost anything. But the equipment thing is a pain. We’re down to one oven that saw its best days in 1985.” He set down his knife. “But enough work talk. Your reward for learning how to properly hull is that you can be the first to try this recipe.”
He went to the fridge. Her gaze followed him, and she absolutely did not notice how his T-shirt rode up at the back waistband of his jeans when he leaned inside to get something. Nope, didn’t see the strip of tanned skin either. Not at all.
Ugh. Next she’d be humming the song “Hot for Teacher.” She shifted her focus back to the berry in her hand. “So what are you making with them?”
He spun around, a small container in his hands. “This.”
He walked back to her and plucked the strawberry out of her fingers. “I made the filling ahead of time so it’d be good and cold. For the party, I’ll pipe it in with a pastry bag and make it look fancy, but you’ll still get the flavor this way.” He dipped a spoon into the fluffy mixture inside the container and then stuffed it into the strawberry. “Try that.”
She took the strawberry from him, eyeing the creamy concoction, which looked to have tiny chocolate chips mixed in. She took a bite, the juice of the strawberry running down her hand, and then sighed when the flavors hit her mouth. Tart and sweet and creamy and rich. Decadent.
“Good God, that’s good,” she said, mouth still full.
He smirked, all confidence and sex appeal. “Right?”
The rest of the filling tried to escape the berry, but she quickly caught it with her other hand and licked it off her finger.
When she glanced up, finger still in her mouth, she found him watching her, something dangerous flickering in his gaze, something that made the back of her neck heat. She quickly lowered her hand to the counter. “That’s amazing. What is it?”
“Chocolate-chip cheesecake filling.”
“Ah, I should’ve known,” she said, grabbing a napkin and cleaning her fingers. “All the naughty things.”
He lifted a brow. “Naughty things?”
She cleared her throat. “You know. All the things people who want to fit into their pants aren’t allowed to eat. No wonder it’s good.”
“Not true. It’s vegan,” he said, closing the container and popping it back in the fridge. “This event is animal-product-free. But the fact that you can’t tell gives me the information I need.”
“Wow, really?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
He went back to his cutting board. “Yep. It has cashew cream and dark chocolate, so no dairy. And there’s a little lemon juice, which gives you that tartness you’d get from cream cheese. So really, not forbidden at all. Though I take issue with calling any food naughty.”
She started working on the strawberries again. “Why’s that?”
He glanced up at her. “There aren’t that many things in life that are pure pleasure. Think about it. The list is short—food, sleep, sex. They’re meant to be enjoyed. Why ruin it with all that guilt?”
The comment shoved her mind into a different place, back to what she knew about him. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to concentrate on the hulling. “Right. Guilt clearly isn’t your thing.”
He made a sound of contempt in the back of his throat.
She glanced up. “What?”
“Nothing.” A smug smile touched his lips as he ran his knife through another pepper. “You can’t help yourself. I can feel the judgment rolling off you in waves. You’ve got me all boxed up in the asshole category. It’s as if high school me had just offered you weed and you’re ready to lecture me.”
She set down her knife. “Well, what do you expect, Wes? I was in that courtroom. I can’t un-know that stuff. You did shitty things. And it…pisses me off.”