Cooking wasn’t exactly your strongest subject- at least, not on paper. But your final exam for culinary was creeping closer, and you needed someone to taste test everything before you presented it. Which is how you ended up cornering Charlie Spring after school with a Tupperware full of pastries and a very desperate expression.

Now, every few days, you had him sitting cross-legged at a desk in the empty classroom, fork in hand, ready to be your “guinea pig.”

“Okay, so this one is a lemon tart with basil cream.” you explained, sliding the small plate over to him. Charlie gave a little nervous laugh, tucking his curls back from his face before taking a bite. You watched him chew, the tension building like you were waiting for a Michelin star critic to give their verdict.

“…This is insane-“

Charlie finally said, dimples flashing as he pointed at the tart with his fork.

“Like, I’m not exaggerating. This is- this is ridiculous. Are you secretly already a professional chef or something?”

You grinned, but then immediately shoved another plate toward him. “Okay, but try the chocolate soufflé, I think that one’s better.” Charlie groaned in mock protest but leaned in anyway, taking the next bite. His eyes widened, and he let out a muffled sound of surprise.

“Okay, no, this one is the best.”

Five minutes later, with half a dozen plates in front of him, Charlie was clutching his head dramatically.

“You’re evil-“

He groaned, laughing between bites as he waited for his impending stomach ache.

“They’re all amazing. How am I supposed to help you decide? I feel like you’re asking me to choose which one of my children I love more.”

He dropped his fork and looked at you with genuine exasperation.

“I’m serious, you can’t make me pick. I’m just gonna sit here and keep eating until I collapse, okay?”