Single Wide Female: The Bucket List Mega Bundle - 24 Books (Books #1-24) by Lillianna Blake Page B

him. We waved goodbye and I hailed a taxi.

    On the ride to the class, I thought about the fact that I hadn’t dated much. To be honest, more often than not, if I was asked, I turned them down. Max was right. I had settled into a slump. I was hoping that the cooking class would help me get out of it.
    I gazed out the window at the people that we were speeding by. Lately it seemed as if everyone I saw was coupled up. It wasn’t the season for romance, and yet it seemed to be blossoming all over the place. Maybe I was just being more sensitive than I should have been. Maybe for the first time, I was feeling a little lonely.
    I was jostled out of my thoughts when the taxi pulled to a halt. I fished around in my purse for the cash to pay the driver. As I stepped out of the taxi, I noticed that the sidewalk was packed with people. They were all walking quickly, as if they had somewhere very important to be. Today I had somewhere important to be also.
    I smiled as I headed inside the building with the best attitude I could muster. I was determined that I was going to have a great time and that I would be one of the star students. How hard could it be?

Chapter 3

    I could smell the food cooking before I even pushed open the door. Inside there were students assembled at various counters. There was a central stove with many burners, as well as multiple ovens. It was easy to see that several of the students were couples. There were also a few single ladies. I hoped I would fit in.
    I tried to make my entrance subtle, but my purse caught on the handle of the door, causing the door to slam shut behind me. All of the students turned to look at me, as well as the teacher—the teacher who could have been carved out of perfection. He had the kind of chiseled chin and big bedroom eyes that melted my heart at first glance. His light brown hair was curly and hung against the back of his neck. The white apron he wore covered a strong frame.
    “Welcome, everyone,” he said, and I sighed with pleasure. His Italian accent was rich and enticing. “Tonight we are here to learn, not just about cooking, but about passion.” He smiled at each of the students, but it felt like he smiled just a little wider at me. I was really looking forward to listening to his voice all evening, and was quite sure that I’d be fine with him teaching me anything about passion.
    “First, we’re going to start with getting things nice and hot,” he said.
    I was still staring at him when he walked over to me.
    “Samantha, isn’t it?” he asked.
    I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak.
    “Would you take it off for me?” he asked.
    My eyes widened. My first instinct was to say yes — of course — where should I start? But I had a sneaking suspicion I was missing something. I glanced around the room and saw that the other students were taking large pots down off the shelves above their stoves. I felt my face get warm as I reached up to grab the pot. When I turned back to apologize, he had already walked away to the next student.
    As he led us through the first step of filling the pot with the right amount of water, I tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the beautiful voice tantalizing my ears. I placed the pot on a burner and turned the temperature up to high. I was sure that I could at least handle boiling water, so I allowed my mind to drift off into a daydream of Vincenzo in nothing but an apron. It was harmless to imagine such things.
    “Samantha,” he called to me. “It’s too hot.”
    “Hm?” I asked, still a bit dazed by my fantasy.
    “Samantha, turn it down or your water will boil over!”
    Only then did I look back at the pot on my stove. The water was seeping out at the edge of the lid. The steam rose in large billows. I cringed as the handle on the metal pan lid singed my skin. I had forgotten to pick up the potholder that lay so obvious in front of me. I dropped the pan lid. It clattered against the floor, drawing the