The Great Spaghetti Cookoff

By Rachel Leyda

I’ll be honest with you.

When I first saw him, I hated him. I hated the way his head cocked when he laughed, I hated how he seemed to know everything in the universe, (and yet nothing at all), and what I really hated. No, what I truly detested!

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

He made a better spaghetti sauce than I did.

Our company had a huge pot luck, and he decides to bring home made spaghetti. Did he not read the emails from our co-workers requesting my spaghetti sauce? I had perfected this recipe over the last ten years of my life! My twenties were dedicated to my job, and making a damn good spaghetti sauce!

And for what! For this chiseled jawline, spunky, dorky guy from my office to ruin it all?!

I’ll be honest again.

I don’t know what came over me.

Or why I decided to email everyone in the company declaring a company cook off. I don’t know what in the world possessed me; I found the best gif I could find of Michelle from Full House eating spaghetti. As well as a huge PNG of spaghetti. I probably should have left off the PNG, or not sent the email at all.

I couldn’t let this go. My grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew that thought dared to cross my mind! Over the next few weeks, I tinkered away at my spaghetti sauce.

He teased me every day in the lunch room, asking me why the hell was I eating spaghetti again? Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? That would be my response as I shoveled a theatrically large bite of spaghetti in my mouth. “I’m going to win.” I’d declare, and he’d laugh and agree with me.

It infuriated me. He was mocking me, wasn’t he?

Now, I’ve been honest twice now, and I’m going to lie to you now.

I invited him over the night before the competition because I wanted to get a sense of his ingredients. Besides, a twenty-five-dollar gift card was on the line!

It wasn’t that I liked him, because I don’t. I hate him in fact.

“You know Zel?” I hated that he used my nickname instead of my full name. Granted, over the last few weeks, we had become close. I think we both enjoyed the banter the competition was giving us; it gave us plenty of excuses to tease.

“Hum?” I quirk my eyebrow up toward him, a little smile on my face. He had a glob of marinara sauce just under his eye for some reason. I felt my cheeks heat up; do I try to rub it off?

“I think you’re going to win.”

“I am going to win,” I puff out my chest, grinning, and against my better judgment, I reach over and rub the sauce off from under his eye. Bad idea. It was too easy for me to get sucked into those intense dark brown eyes of his. He had exceptional eyelashes too, long and full - just like his lips- I caught myself glancing past the stubble. Lately, all I could think about was kissing him, and that was the last thing I needed. Was he thinking the same thing I was?!

Why do you think...” My voice trailed off, my eyes betraying me, damn full lips, his body getting closer to mine, “Why do you think I’m going to win?” I finally ask, swallowing hard. He reached behind me for the basil, my kitchen has never felt smaller. My one-bedroom apartment was maybe 700 feet? And now it felt like 70 feet.

As he stared at me, I realized what was about to happen.

Like two magnets coming together, he pulled me in for a deep kiss. Finally, finally, finally! My arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight, I didn’t want this moment to end. I didn’t want to think about the competition.

Pressing me back against the counter, he lifted me up with ease, his arms wrapping around my waist. Moving my hands up to hold him around the neck, I run my hands down the sides of his face, deepening the kiss.

Before I knew it though, he was pulling back to get some air. Combing his fingers through his hair, he inhaled, “I think you have a better spaghetti sauce than I do.” He finally says. “That’s why I jumped on this competition, I wanted to try and beat you.” He admits, shaking his head. “This recipe belonged to my grandma, and I’ve tweaked it some,” He shakes his head, “It feels so stupid now.”

My cheeks flush, perhaps it was a dead giveaway of my own thoughts. “Neil,” I say his name, and he looks right at me. Threatening to take away my breath, why was he so gorgeous? “I thought your spaghetti sauce was better, that’s why I cooked up this whole competition.”

“What?!” Neil breathed out a laugh, “your sauce is legendary! Everyone in the office talks about how your spaghetti sauce is the best thing! They want you to jar it and sell it to them!”

Which is true, I nod, smiling like a dope. “They’re saying the same thing about yours!” I say, slapping his shoulder lightly.

We both break out into laughter realizing we were both thinking the same thing. And our damn competitive nature got in-between us. All our flour fights, the sauce flinging, and snarky emails between us all blended into our own perfect concoction.

“So, you’re telling me, you started this competition to beat me?”

“Yeah,” I admit, nodding, “Another truth?”

“Go for it.”

“I hated you when you first showed up. I was so worried you were going to replace me somehow, and so... I was sort of trying to embarrass you with the whole competition too.” My cheeks redden, when he kisses me again, I wonder how I could have hated him.

I’ve caught myself daydreaming about being this close to him.

“I never hated you,” He says, leaning in and kissing my neck, “I just hated that you had a better spaghetti sauce than me.” Neil places another kiss a little lower on my neck, “and I hated how you micromanaged me. Maybe I did hate you a little in the beginning.” He chuckles, kissing my collar bone.

I nudge him away, even though that’s honestly the last thing I want to do, “you know you can’t throw in the towel for the competition though, right?”

Neil scrunches his nose at me, “Why would I give up? I’m going to kick your butt. Despite how cute it is.”

“Good luck with that,” I say, dropping back down on my feet. I loved having him close, “I’m going to win.”

We both stood back beside our spaghetti sauces simmering on the stove. Wordlessly, we both pass one another a spoonful of one another’s sauce.

Goddamn it.

That’s my third secret, I swear, his sauce really is better than mine.

And I was looking forward to having him cook it for me, again, and again, and again.

(I still want to win that competition though.)

🩷🩷🩷

Rachel Leyda has been writing for the majority of her life, from starting with fanfiction at a young age to now crafting stories of her own. She practices her writing craft every day. You can find two of her short flash fictions published in Whatcom Writes. Discovery, 2020 Anthology of Stories and Poems, and Reconciliation, Whatcom Writes 2021, an anthology of stories and poems.