Chef's Kiss

Would You Rather

Chris

No one plans on getting stuck in an elevator. But if it's going to happen to you, you can only hope it happens with one of the most beautiful girls you've ever laid eyes on, and that she's got character to go along with it.

Not that I'd ever want to get stuck in one. But you know what I mean.

I couldn't remember the name of the girl we were meeting for my life. I didn't care to pay attention to anything we were told about her before that moment because it just wasn't important, but when I realized who she was as we sat across from each other, I wished I'd paid closer attention.

Her long brown hair was pin straight, and shone with every movement. Her wide, dark eyes were surrounded by soft lashes. Her whole face was feminine and gentle. She reminded me a bit of a deer and I smiled internally at the thought. Her movements were careful and slow, and when she'd hinted at being nervous before her meeting, I was impressed at how well she'd hidden it. She'd freaked the fuck out when the elevator stopped, but before that, she stood tall and confident. But man, I'd seen that anxiety creeping up on her when she realized she was stuck in here, and I had to do something. Make a joke, make her smile, anything. My little pregnancy play worked, thank god. If she hadn't taken that well, that would've been awkward as fuck. But no risk, no reward.

I reached my pinky out across the elevator for her to grasp with her own and sealed our pinky promise. The fact that she was worried I'd ask her weird 'would you rather' questions was pretty telling. This girl had encountered enough fuckin weirdos. But that wasn't me. That wasn't any of the three of us, so it was an easy promise to make.

She reached out her pinky to wrap it around mine and I noticed her pretty nails, only a little bit long and baby blue at the tips. We shook on it and she leaned back.

"What's your name?" I finally got to ask her. Veronica? Victoria?

"Violet," she stated. I nodded. That was it. Violet. "What's yours?" She didn't know our names, but we knew hers. That's how this kind of thing worked. Our info was kept private. Hers needed to be known if we were gunna let her into our home.

"Chris," I stated. My name wasn't anything special, but I liked it well enough.

"Christopher," she repeated back, softly. It sounded incredible.

"Yup," I said, blowing past that thought. "Alright, first question. Would you rather..." I thought on that for a moment. She didn't know it, but I knew who she was. I knew she was the cook we were supposed to be meeting. But the thing about those kinds of meetings is that people show the version of themselves that they think you want to see. A watered down or a tapered back version. I didn't want that. I wanted to see who this person was, without all the professional shit. She'd be spending time in our house, I thought, and the image shot a jolt of thrill through my blood.

I pushed that thought away as well. A hundred questions blasted through my mind. Would you rather sweet or salty? Comedy or action movie? Eat dogshit or bite down on a curb? Okay definitely not the last fucking question, that was more of a car video question. The first one seemed an easy place to start.

"Sweet or salty?" I asked, playing it safe and asking about something food-related.

"Hm," she responded. She looked at me for a moment. Maybe I'd given myself away, asking a food question? But then she answered. "Salty." Simple as that. She played her cards close to the chest and it made me curious.

"So you'd rather cook than bake?" I egged on the topic. She sat back against the elevator wall and looked at her hands.

"I love to cook. It's communal, it's tradition and it's creation. It's so many things, all in one," she began, opening up slightly. "But baking is for pleasure." She looked up at me as she said that and I felt my stomach lurch for a moment on that word. "It's all for the fun of it. No one needs cake to survive, but it's a fucking welcome addition to being here," she smiled, sitting up and crossing her legs. "Know what I mean?" She asked warmly. I admired the way she spoke from the heart.