She Teaches a Beginner Cooking Class, Unaware That Her Favorite Student Is Billionaire Who Loves Her
The Favorite Student
Gabriella Whitmore wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the clock. Five minutes until class began. The scent of freshly chopped basil and sizzling garlic filled the air, mixing with the light chatter of her students as they settled in.
“All right everyone,” she called, clapping her hands. “Today we’re making homemade pasta from scratch, no store-bought shortcuts.”
A groan came from the back of the class, but it was followed by laughter. Gabriella grinned, already knowing who it was. Everett Palmer was her most eager student, despite being completely hopeless in the kitchen.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly charming, he had a way of making even a disastrous attempt at cooking seem entertaining. Every class, he asked endless questions, his deep voice filled with curiosity. Every class, he failed spectacularly, burning sauces or over-kneading dough.
But there was something so endearing about him: his determination and his easy smile that made him her favorite student. Gabriella made her way over to his station where he was staring at the pile of flour and eggs in front of him as if they were an unsolvable puzzle.
“Everett,” she teased, leaning against the counter. “Please tell me you at least know how to crack an egg.”
His blue eyes met hers, twinkling with amusement.
“I know how,” he said, picking up an egg. “But whether or not it ends up in the bowl is another story.”
Gabriella laughed. “Let’s try anyway.”
Everett cracked the egg too hard. It shattered, sending bits of shell into the flour.
“Impressive,” Gabriella said dryly.
Everett ran a hand through his dark hair, looking sheepish. “I swear I’m good at a lot of things. Cooking just isn’t one of them.”
“And yet you keep coming back,” she pointed out, arching a brow.
He grinned. “Maybe I enjoy the challenge.”
Or maybe he enjoyed spending time with her, but she dismissed the thought before it could settle. The rest of the class passed in a blur of laughter and flour-dusted chaos.
By the end, Everett’s pasta was a disaster—uneven, too thick, and somehow sticking to the counter like glue.
“How do you do it?” Gabriella marveled, shaking her head.
“Raw talent,” Everett said, looking entirely unbothered.
She rolled her eyes. “You need help, Palmer. Serious help.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to keep coming to class until I master it,” he said, his voice softer now.
There was something in the way he looked at her—something warm, something lingering. Gabriella’s heart did a little flip, but she quickly pushed it aside.
“Keep practicing,” she said, stepping back. “Someday you might just surprise me.”
Everett chuckled. “That’s the plan, Gabriella.”
As the students packed up, she caught Everett lingering by the door. He hesitated for a moment before turning back to her.
“Dinner,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “What about it?”
“Let me take you to dinner,” he said, his expression unreadable. “As a thank you for all the patience you’ve had with me.”
Gabriella hesitated. It was tempting. Everett was undeniably charming, but he was a student, and she had a rule about dating students.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said carefully. “But I don’t date my students.”
Everett didn’t look surprised, but a small smirk played at his lips. “Good thing I’m not technically a student. I’m just a guy taking a cooking class.”
She laughed. “Nice try.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll keep practicing, but one day I’ll make you the perfect pasta dish.”
“And when that day comes, you’ll owe me dinner.”
Gabriella shook her head, smiling despite herself. “We’ll see about that.”
