Chef Cutegirl: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 2

“Richard,” said Pema. Richard was a lanky guy with a bald head and big beard. As his name was called, he balled his hand into a fist and celebrated as another chef patted him on the back.

  “Richard,” said Tim. “We really loved your cucumber crab salad. The grapefruit really brightened it up and the uni elevated it. Who else, Pema?”

  “Emily,” said Pema.

  “What?” I blurted out. “Oh my God!” One of the chefs standing next to me, a guy named Jason, laughed, leaned in, and congratulated me.

  “Emily,” said Tim. “We worried you were playing it safe with your snapper crudo, but the taste was excellent, perfect presentation, we loved the hint of lime zest that just kicked it up a notch. It’s no wonder your restaurant has a Beard Award.”

  “Thank you, Chef,” I said, beaming.

  “And finally,” said Pema. “Raina.” I looked over across the room and saw Raina squeal with delight, her hands covering her mouth as she bent her knees just slightly. She had the cutest little excited face, such clear and fair skin. She was a doll.

  “Raina,” said Tim. “While everyone else highlighted a protein, you took a risk giving us roasted baby carrots with dates, brown butter, and pine nuts. It paid off. Just a superb dish. Really tasty.”

  “Great job everyone,” interjected Pema.

  “But we can only have one winner,” said Tim. “Pema?”

  “The chef who cooked our favorite dish was…” said Pema, her eyes surveying all three of us up for the win. The moment was pregnant with possibility. I felt myself quivering. “Raina,” Pema said evenly.

  Raina squealed again and the rest of the chefs applauded for her. She looked so amazingly happy. While I felt a bit let down that I didn’t win, I still knew that I wouldn’t be eliminated which was a relief. And seeing Raina’s excitement for her win was awesome. She seemed so unassuming, something naive in her face. It was cute.

  “Raina’s dish was risky,” said Tim. “But successful risk really pays off in this competition. If you think you can play it safe and skate through to the finale,” he said. “You’re in for a rude awakening.”

  “Congratulations Raina, you’ve won immunity for the next round,” said Pema, smiling over at Raina. “And now on to our least favorite dishes.”

  The rest of the chefs all reverted to fear. Nobody wanted to go home. The nervousness was evident.

  *

  The chef that was eliminated was a bubbly girl named Candice, taking us down to 16 chefs. She seemed like she would have been fun, so I was a bit disappointed to see her go. Still, I was so glad it wasn’t me. I don’t think I could have walked back into my restaurant and shown my face if I’d been eliminated at the very beginning. Especially being the only Chicago chef on the show this season.

  After leaving the Hot Chef kitchen, the production team took us to our living space for the duration of the show. It was a large, fancy built out loft space in an old industrial building in Chicago’s Fulton Market district. Fulton Market was known for a number of really nice restaurants and being close to the Loop it was a hot spot for people with money to come after work. Although we had a lot of space in the well-lit loft, we were separated into shared bedrooms. It was 3 to a room except that one of the guys rooms had 4 because there were more men as contestants than women.

  Our bags had already been placed in our assigned rooms and on our first visit to the loft, the camera crew accompanied us to film our reactions. It truly was an amazing spot. Huge windows, a private balcony, and a large kitchen with everything 16 chefs would need to cook up spectacular food nightly. They really went all out for this spot. It was much nicer than my small apartment in Logan Square.

  Walking down the hallway of rooms, I found the room that I was told was mine by one of the production staff. I mean, the whole experience still felt so novel and unreal as I carried my small satchel of knives along with me. Emily Gold at the Hot Chef loft, competing for $125,000 and all the accolades that came along with the title. It felt like magic. It felt like some sort of prank was being played on me.

  Peeking inside my room, I was surprised to see someone already inside, unpacking her things, claiming a bed. And that someone was Raina. She was a short girl, small and diminutive, like a cute little speck. Dressed in matchstick jeans and a purple v-neck, she was barefooted and when she caught me looking at her she put her hands on her hips and grinned at me.

  “Hi,” she said in a low, almost sultry tone. But it wasn’t like she was going for sexy in her demeanor. She wasn’t trying to be sultry. It’s just how her words would come out sometimes when she was a little nervous.

  “Hi,” I said. “Boy, you really killed it at that Speed Chop.” Raina chuckled lightly.

  “Yeah,” she mused.

  “I’m Emily,” I said, stepping toward her and extending my hand. Raina took it and we lightly shook.

  “Raina,” she said.

  “I guess we’re rooming together,” I said, removing my bag of knives and setting them on the foot of my bed. I took the bed directly next to Raina.

  “It would seem,” she said.

  I stepped out of my brown leather flats, now walking around barefoot just like Raina, and made a move over to my small suitcase. Lucky for me I didn’t have to bring as much as the other chefs, seeing as I could just take the Blue Line to my apartment if I happened to forget something. Hefting my suitcase onto my bed, I opened it up and started unpacking.

  “Where are you from?” I asked, looking over to Raina as she folded a pair of pants and slipped them into a small chest of drawers.

  “New York City,” she said.

  “Like, originally?”

  “Yeah,” she said. That struck me as odd. She seemed so quiet and docile to have come from such a frenetic place as New York. “I’m sous chef at Latch.”

  “What?” I said, almost dumbfounded. “Latch, like, Hugo Kirshner? That Latch?”

  “Yeah,” she hummed.

  “Dude!” I called out. “That’s insane! He’s incredible.”

  “Yeah,” said Raina, half-smiling, calm and composed. “I’ve learned a lot from him, as well as from the executive chef there.”

  “It’s no wonder you won the Speed Chop,” I said. “Shit.” I just shook my head. Raina’s pedigree was awesome. Anyone working for Hugo Kirshner would go far in a competition like Hot Chef.

  “There’s a lot of good people here,” said Raina diffidently. I could see that she wasn’t really into talking about herself. “Where are you from?”

  “Right here,” I said. “Chicago.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I’m head chef at Maison du Faisan,” I said. “It’s an upscale French bistro.” I almost mentioned that we had won a Beard but with Raina working at Latch, there was really no sense in me trying to brag.

  “Cool,” she said. “We’ll have to go there and eat.”

  I perked up as she said this. Did she really want to go eat at my restaurant with me? Well, that would be cool. Talented and cute, childlike, Raina definitely checked a lot of the boxes of the girls I often found myself into. Looking over at Raina as she continued putting her stuff away, I watched as she bent over and the v-neck line of her t-shirt opened up just slightly, giving me the slightest of peeks down at her small chest.

  “Yeah,” I mused. “Definitely. We’ll have to go.” She looked up to me but if she caught me checking her out, she didn’t let on.

  Once she finished with her clothes, Raina gradually slipped over closer to me, hoisting herself up onto a long set of drawers butted up against the wall with a large mirror behind it. Sitting on the furniture piece, Raina’s feet barely even touched the ground. She watched me in silence for a few moments more before speaking up.

  “Who do you think will be tough competition?” she said.

  “Well,” I said, starting to think. “You,” I laughed. She smiled back at me. “Richard, who did well on the first challenge like us. That girl Maggie seems really talented.”

  “I
think everybody seems pretty good,” she said. “I don’t think they let bad people on this show.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It’s going to be tough.”

  “What made you want to be on?” asked Raina absently.

  “Um, well, it’s just such a huge deal,” I admitted. “The money’s not bad. And the notoriety is serious. People go on from this show to have unreal careers. I really want to win.”

  “I did it on a dare,” she said.

  “A dare?” I reiterated. “Wait, what?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could anyone apply to Hot Chef only because of a dare, make it on, and totally nail the first challenge? This girl was something else.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Henry, the executive chef at Latch, was on the show before and he dared me do to it.”

  “Henry?” I said, thinking. “What season was he on?”

  “Um, I think season 12,” she said.

  “So he just said, ‘Raina, I dare you to do Hot Chef’ and you tried out?” I said. “That’s that?”

  “Well,” she continued. “He said he didn’t think I could make it farther than he went but, I mean, I know he supports me. It’s just a friendly competition. If I go farther than him I’ll get a lot of bragging rights in the kitchen.”

  “Totally,” I said. “And I’m sure Hugo Kirshner is happy to have two of his chefs on the show.”

  “Yep,” said Raina. Sitting perched up on the countertop, swinging her legs, she was so adorably cute. Like a lost little orphan who might blow away in the wind if you didn’t nail her feet down. Her green eyes darted around the room as we talked, though I was unsure if she were scoping things out or if she was just kind of antsy like that. The more I considered Raina, the greater my magnetism to her grew.

  “I should totally show you around Chicago,” I said. “I mean, we don’t have to hole up in this apartment for 6 weeks and do nothing but film the show.”

  “I’d like that,” she said softly.

  “You know, Raina,” I said. “You’re way more demure than you were when you won the challenge.” She grinned shyly and looked down. “You were, like, squealing.” This caused Raina to laugh. Her laugh was sweet, it was like a geeky rolling giggle.

  “I was just excited,” she said. “I guess I am a bit shy.”

  “How you made it this far as a chef being shy,” I said. “Man, I don’t know how you did it.”

  Just then, another one of the chef contestants came in. Her name was Perry and she was a rounder young woman, happy, jovial, with dark black hair pulled back in a bun. She carried her bag of knives by the handle.

  “Ladies,” she said as she waltzed in. “Looks like I’m shacked up with a couple of winners. Maybe some of that will rub off on me.”

  Raina and I looked at each other and smiled. Perry tossed her knives onto the countertop that Raina sat on and surveyed the room.

  “I’m so pumped for this show,” said Perry. “You girls better watch yourself,” she said, pointing at us, looking serious for a moment, and then busting out into a laugh.

  I could tell this show was going to be a lot of fun. And, as I looked over at Raina, unable to push the thoughts considering how beautiful she was out of my head, I wondered if I just might win more than a bunch of money during my time here.

  *

  It was a boisterous evening, with all the chefs sitting around our new digs, sucking down bottles of beer, trading war stories and trying to one up each other. It was an animated bunch with a lot of big personalities. The group of chefs was from all around the country and with differing culinary backgrounds. This first night together was the perfect time to size up the group and see where you stood.

  But although I half-listened and participated in the conversation, I couldn’t help myself but let my gaze drift over to Raina. She was beautiful sitting there, buried into the arm of the couch, smooshed together with the handful of other contestants that sat. With her light brown hair tucked back behind her little elf ears, she had it tied back in a folded ponytail, just a few wispy tendrils falling down to frame her face. When she laughed, she did this little thing with her mouth, like she was trying to stop herself from laughing but was unable to. It made her mouth form a small circle and show just the faintest hint of her teeth.

  “I’m from LA,” said Richard, the bald bearded guy who had been at the top with Raina and I for the Speed Chop challenge. “You aren’t going to find better Baja-style tacos anywhere else.” He leaned back and took a sip of his beer bottle.

  “LA doesn’t have a monopoly on good tacos,” countered Julio, a Mexican chef from Austin. He was a short man with black slicked back hair on the top of his head, the rest of it shaved all around. “It ain’t the place, it’s the chef.”

  “I tell you,” I interjected. “Whenever I leave Chicago, I mourn the lack of good tacos. The Chicago Mexican scene is killer.”

  “Says the French chef,” said Richard, inspiring the group to laugh.

  “Until you’ve had a foie gras taco,” I said. “You haven’t lived!”

  “I think I’ll take lengua,” joked Julio to more laughter.

  “Can you guys actually believe we’re here?” said Maggie, altering the subject. Maggie was young Asian woman, Chinese she had told me, and head chef at a New American style place outside of Detroit in some fancy neighborhood. “This has been a dream of mine ever since I first heard about the show.”

  “Yeah,” said Jason, another one of the male contestants. “It’s insane. I mean, you don’t realize how crazy it feels to be judged by Tim Cicerone until he’s standing there in front of you. It’s serious business.”

  As the conversation went on, I noticed Raina squeeze out from between the chef next to her and the couch arm, slip away from the rest of us, and make her way to the large, beautiful kitchen that was attached to this social living area. Seeing that my own beer was near empty, I used it as an opportunity to follow her and try to find out more about her.

  I made my way to the adjoined kitchen, ambled around the large granite-topped island, and opened up the stainless steel refrigerator door to retrieve a beer.

  “Want one?” I leaned out, holding a bottle in Raina’s direction.

  “No thanks,” she said with a smile. She was picking at a bundle of grapes in a bowl on the counter. “Grapes?” she offered.

  “All right,” I said, stepping toward her to take a few grapes from the bowl. I cracked my beer with an opener sitting on the counter.

  “Are you nervous at all?” Raina asked, the two of us looking out the group of chefs talking and laughing along.

  “I wouldn’t tell any of them this,” I said. “But yes. It’s frightening.”

  “Yeah,” said Raina, with a wry smile creeping onto her face. “I really want to win.”

  “Ha,” I chortled. “The girl who’s here on a dare is beginning to feel the competition.”

  “So?” said Raina, turning to me and giving me a sweet, innocent grin. I knew there was a lot more hiding inside of her, a calculating culinary talent. You don’t get to her position and you sure as hell don’t get onto Hot Chef without having a fire burning deep inside of you.

  “I think there’s more to you than you let on,” I said. “You’ve got this super cute exterior, but I bet you’re a beast.”

  “You might be right,” she demurred, taking another grape and popping it into her mouth. “I’ve got a really good look to fool everyone with.”

  “I knew it,” I said, smiling and shaking my head. “You’re evil.” She let out a rolling giggle.

  “Can I tell you a secret, Emily?” Raina asked, giving me a bit of a serious look.

  “Totally,” I said.

  She leaned in closer to my ear and opened her mouth, releasing her words in a whisper.

  “I can really fucking cook.”

  “Of course you can,” I said. I let my hand move to the small of Raina’s back and give her a soft rub. I could tell she enjoyed the attention. “And no one is
going to suspect you until you’re ripping out their throat.”

  “Watch your own throat,” she said, grinning, raising her hand up to my neck and pretending to drag a knife across it.

  “Do they all know where you’re from yet?” I said. I was immensely enjoying our back and forth. I felt some connection with Raina, some sort of twinkling inside of me, a yearning to be close to her.

  “Nobody asked,” she said. “They all think the meek girl is someone they can ignore.”

  “You mean the girl who won the first challenge?” I said. “Don’t be so sure. I bet you’re on some radars already.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’m gonna try to keep it low-key until some more people get eliminated. I can’t have people gunning for me right away. You won’t tell them I work at Latch, will you?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to,” I said. “We should team up.” I smiled over at Raina who eagerly returned my expression. “It’ll be nice to have an alliance.”

  “Definitely,” she said. She extended her small hand for me to shake, which I quickly shook. “You’re on.”

  I was becoming so smitten with Raina that I couldn’t help but begin imagining what color panties she was wearing. I know that’s absurdly silly, but it’s something I always did when I had a crush. Like, under her jeans and t-shirt was she wearing something utilitarian? Black, nondescript, minimalist. Or did she go for the more girly stuff, like pink polka dots with a little matching bow up front? I really wanted to know. I really wanted to see her without her clothes on.

  “Wasn’t Pema super glamorous?” said Raina absently, leaning on the counter with her elbows, watching the group socialize in front of us. “She’s such a pretty lady.”

  I watched the other chefs along with Raina, seeing a few of them stand up and head to the outdoor deck to have a smoke, like chefs so often do. While back in our little conversation, Raina’s question about Pema struck me as a good opportunity to pry a bit for more information about her.

  “Pema is super glamorous,” I affirmed. “I definitely wouldn’t mind being her roommate.” I grinned at Raina and then nudged my elbow into her softly. She laughed.