Chapter 2 - Tiramissu

Vee

“So, your name is Victoria Sinclair.” Professor Hill’s baritone voice was low but firm as the class ended. His piercing gaze made my stomach tighten with nerves.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry if I disrupted your class today. I only arrived in Ashenwood this morning and… the schedule was overwhelming. I haven’t had a chance to rest yet.” I tried to smile, though my face burned hot.

As if to betray me further, my stomach growled—loudly. My cheeks flushed crimson. Professor Hill exhaled, his eyes lingering on me longer than they should have.

“When was the last time you ate?” His tone was flat, yet there was the faintest trace of concern beneath it.

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know… maybe last night, before my flight.”

Without another word, he picked up his jacket and strode toward the door. His tall frame and measured steps sounded steady against the wooden floor. For a second, I just stood there, frozen.

“It’s already six o’clock,” he said at last, his voice deep. “You’re not from Ashenwood, and you haven’t eaten all day.” He glanced back at me, his eyes sharp yet warm. “Come with me. At the very least, you need food.”

My throat tightened. Was this really the same Professor Hill who had been so cold and intimidating earlier? Shouldn’t he be fed up with clueless transfer student like me by now?

But then, my stomach growled again—louder this time. My body betrayed me once more.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

I ducked my head, trying to hide my embarrassed smile, and hurried after him. “Alright, Sir.”

\~\~\~

Tyler

What are you doing, Tyler? She’s a student. And you’re her professor. Well—technically only a substitute; Thomas should be teaching this class. But still, for now she’s your student. And you… you brought her to Laura’s Kitchen.

The only place in Ashenwood where I usually spent quiet evenings with dinner. My comfort place. What was I thinking?

“Thank you for bringing me here, Sir.”

She sat across from me. Her face still carried traces of exhaustion, her hair slightly disheveled from travel. Yet her hazel eyes glowed with life, bright against her weariness.

“Order anything you like,” I said evenly. “But nothing excessive. Only what you can finish. Wasting food isn’t good.”

I turned my eyes back to the menu—one I’d read countless times before. Same choices, same pages. But tonight, it felt different.

From behind the counter, Laura shot me a sly smile, her eyes narrowing with mischief. She approached our table, voice cheerful.

“Good evening. Have you decided what you’ll have?”

“Tagliatelle al Ragù for me,” I answered quickly, “and Carbonara for her.”

She frowned, one brow raised.

“Didn’t you just say I could order anything I wanted? Why are you ordering for me?”

I gave her a sidelong look, holding back a smile. “You seemed uncertain. So I decided for you.”

She sighed, then glanced at the menu. “Fine. But I want a Caprese Salad, Garlic Bread, and… what’s the best dessert here, Sir?”

“Tiramisu. To share,” I replied firmly. “You won’t finish one portion alone. It’s too big.”

“Alright then.”

There was a spark of triumph in her eyes, as though she’d just won something.

Laura scribbled down the order, her mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. “Alright, let me repeat: one Tagliatelle al Ragù, one Carbonara, Caprese Salad, Garlic Bread, and one Tiramisu to share. Drinks?”

“Just sparkling water.”

“Perfect. It’ll be right out.” She turned away, but not before shooting me another teasing glance. I could swear she even winked.

Of course. To her, this probably looked like… a date.

\~\~\~

Vee

Ten minutes had passed since the waiter took our order, and not a single word had been spoken. Professor Hill was absorbed in his book, glasses sliding slightly down his nose. Meanwhile, I was busy pretending everything in the restaurant was fascinating—the dark wooden beams, the hanging lamps, even the salt shaker. Anything to distract me from the awkward silence.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to say something.

“Professor Hill, do you—”

“Tyler.” His voice cut in, firm, without looking up.

I blinked.

“No need for formalities when we’re not on campus,” he added, his tone softer this time.

“So… Tyler.” My tongue felt stiff. It sounded strange to call him by his first name. “How long were you Professor Hunt’s assistant?”

“Seven years.” He half-closed his book, eyes still skimming the page. “From the start of my undergrad until I finished my Master’s.”

I nodded quickly. “You know, I’m a huge fan of Thomas Hunt. I’ve seen all his films. Some of them I’ve watched multiple times… especially The Last Duchess.”

This time, his eyes lifted—straight into mine. The weight of his stare made me want to sink into my seat. “And? Do you expect me to introduce you to him? Do you know how many people claim to be Thomas Hunt’s fans? Hundreds even thousands.”

I forced a small smile. “But I truly came to this town—to Ashenwood University—just to learn directly from him.”

“Oh, really?” His sarcasm was sharp, but strangely, it only made my heart beat faster. “Must’ve been hard, leaving the big city just to chase after your ‘idol.’ Where are you from?”

“Cali. Near the Capital. About a four-hour drive. It’s sunny, close to the beach… You should visit sometime. It might brighten your mood.”

Tyler shut his book with a soft thump. This time, he folded his arms across the table, fixing me with a steady gaze.

“You think I’ve never been to Cali?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know… maybe?”

“I went once. And in my opinion… overrated. Too hot. Too loud. I prefer Ashenwood. I’ve lived here all my life.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Good. I’ve always wanted to get as far away from Cali as possible. I don’t want to deal with people there anymore…”

Oops. I couldn’t believe I’d just blurted that out. Oversharing. I scrambled to change the subject—

But he spoke first. “I wonder… how does a cheerful girl from Cali find the courage to leave it all behind just to meet her idol? There must be another reason, isn’t there?”

My breath caught. Panic flickered. Words stuck in my throat. How was I supposed to answer—

Thankfully, the waiter returned just in time, setting down steaming plates with a friendly smile. “Enjoy your meal.”

Wait—did she just wink at Tyler?

\~\~\~

I dropped my eyes to the food—Carbonara glistening with cream sauce, garlic bread still warm from the oven. My stomach growled again.

“Go ahead,” Tyler said curtly.

I nodded and reached for my fork. As I tried to twirl the pasta, a piece of garlic bread nearly slipped from the basket. Reflexively, I reached out—just as Tyler’s hand moved toward the same piece.

Our fingers brushed. Warm. Unexpected.

I jerked my hand back. “Sorry! I—”

He glanced at me briefly, jaw tightening. Then, calmly, he placed a piece of garlic bread on my plate. His voice was cool.

“Focus on your fork. Don’t let dinner fall apart because of your clumsiness.”

I winced, then chuckled softly. “Alright, Sir—uh, I mean, Tyler.”

He exhaled, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. Almost… a smile.

I tried to lighten the mood. “You know, I once tried cooking carbonara myself. It turned out… inedible. The sauce clumped, the pasta was mushy, and my brother said it tasted like baby food.”

Tyler set down his fork, eyes locked on me. “And?”

I grinned sheepishly. “And since then, I’ve vowed never to torture anyone with my cooking experiments again. Even the microwave gets nervous when I touch it.”

Silence.

Then—something surprising. A low, muffled sound escaped him. A laugh. Short, restrained… but real.

I stared, mouth slightly open. “Was that… a laugh? Oh my God, you can laugh!”

He covered his mouth with his hand, shaking his head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. That was just… reflex.”

But I saw it—the warmth flickering in his eyes.

For the first time that night, the awkwardness began to fade.

Dinner passed in a strange, delicate rhythm. Tyler remained calm, composed, but once or twice I caught glimpses of something softer beneath the surface. And each time I managed to coax even the slightest smile from him, it felt like a small victory.

When Laura returned, she carried a plate of tiramisu, its cream smooth, cocoa powder dusted perfectly on top. “For sharing,” she said with a knowing tone, before leaving us alone again.

I stared at the dessert for a moment, then glanced at Tyler. “Are you sure this is enough for two?”

“Trust me. You couldn’t finish it alone.”

He took a spoonful, sliding the plate toward me. “Try it.”

I reached with my spoon, but the tip clinked against his. The brief touch of metal startled me into stillness. Our eyes met—and for the first time tonight, he wasn’t looking at me as a professor. His gaze was deeper. Different.

I hurried to take a bite, masking my nerves. Sweet cream and the bitter edge of coffee melted on my tongue. “It’s delicious,” I whispered.

Tyler finally tasted his own. He nodded once. “Not bad.” But the glint in his eyes told me he was watching my reaction more than savoring the dessert.

We ate slowly, trading bites, our spoons occasionally brushing again. Each time, my heart raced faster. Around us, the restaurant emptied, leaving only faint jazz music in the air.

And then I realized something.

The walls around Tyler—those cold, impenetrable walls—were beginning to crack.

And me? I was already slipping through them, falling deeper than I intended.

\~\~\~

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