“Abby? What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be at the studio?” I ask, blinking in

confusion. Did I sleep through the whole day or something? Did I miss the cookoff?

She pushes past me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe like a worried

mother as she makes her way into my apartment. “Karl, you’re not sick, are

you? Please, for the love of god, tell me you’re not sick.”

I close the door behind her, my brows knitting in confusion. “Sick? No, I’m just a

bit hungover, but other than that, I’m fine. Why? What are you doing here?”

“You’re sure you’re not sick?” Abby presses, leaning in, her eyes still wide but

now tinged with a sliver of hope.

Enter title…

I throw my hands up in the air. “Would I lie about that? No, I’m not sick, just

hungover, Abby. Now will you tell me why you’re here looking like the world’s

about to end when you’re supposed to be heading to the competition?”

She sighs, the tension leaving her shoulders, but only for a second. “Karl, both

John and Anton have food poisoning. They can’t even stand, let alone be my

for the cook-off

eyes wide with shock.

dish we had at the

her voice tinged with a mix of worry and annoyance. “You didn’t eat

did you?”

my head. I don’t like seafood very

all the days

happen!”

over at my reflection in the

all like the Alpha I’m

myself asking, my gaze sliding back

in the eyes, her gaze piercing. “I need a sous

can think of who might be able to help me

be my sous chef

A

Abby

wide as I

will you be my sous chef today?” I ask, the question hanging in

air.

silence, filled only by the sound of my

of my chest, before Karl finally

not.

once, I feel like I’m about to scream

viable option. I can’t show up to the competition without a

pull out of

I ask, my

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