Life is not a movie.

Life is not a romantic comedy, setting you up in the most humorous and perfect way to be with your beloved, your best-friend-but-then-you-realized-you-loved-them-all-along. If you expect something like this out of life, then life will most likely do its best to prove you wrong.

Life is missed chances, fleeting opportunities, looming stresses, and scattered disappointments that drift across your perspective until you see nothing but a snowy, jaded picture of what is supposed to be a fulfilling experience.

But, sometimes, things turn out right. Sometimes, those broken fragments that drift into your life are supposed to be there, and they join together to form a masterfully-done puzzle that you could have never completed on your own.

Sometimes, you get it right. In the most wrong way possible.

It was a rare thing indeed to catch Nick Miller cooking. Partially because Schmidt hardly let anyone so much as touch one of his precious kitchen utensils, and partially because Nick ate nothing but ramen noodles and Spaghetti-o's in college and thus his cooking expertise was limited.

However, as of late Nick had been feeling particularly useless, what with his love life in the toilet and his lack of a serious career. While both of these facts were not anything new, the degrading impact they had on his ego was becoming more noticeable. He blamed it on the rest of his loftmates. Schmidt was having regular sex with a beautiful model, Winston had a steady girlfriend and a high-paying job, and Jess was dating one of the most impressive, successful men that he had ever met.

What did he have? Nothing.

So he decided to make some chili.

Not just any chili. His aunt had a special recipe that she used for any and all family events when he was growing up. He was always the one to go back for seconds and thirds and fourths (and maybe fifths), and it was always something about home that he had loved. One day, he had been flipping through channels when he paused on the Food Network, watching Rachel Ray for a moment.

God, this woman is so unbearably cheerful. Jess and her would get along great, he thought, watching her add chili powder to a dish. It reminded him of his aunt's chili. I bet I could make it, he thought absently, then almost immediately shut himself down. I'd have to call my aunt though, and go get all the ingredients with money I don't have, then spend the whole day cooking it probably. I don't even know if Schmidt would let me use one of his pots-…

Then he stopped thinking for a moment. He was always doing this. He thought of things to do, things that would make him feel accomplished or satisfied or happy, and he set up so many obstacles between him and that accomplishment that it seemed unreachable. So he never followed through because it would be such a hassle.

But maybe hassle was good every now and then.

He stood up, determined.

He was going to make this chili even if it killed him. Which he hoped it wouldn't, because that would be such a horribly embarrassing way to die.

He ran into Jess as he was on his way out to the grocery store. They bumped shoulders as Nick brushed past her.

"Whoa there, Speedy Gonzales!" she said, raising a brow at the dogged expression on his face. "Why all the hustle and bustle?"

"I'm making chili," he said gravely, as if it was as dangerous and serious a mission as kidnapping the President of the United States. He grabbed his jacket and left a very confused Jess, who was wondering when chili-making became such a dire venture.

He couldn't believe it. This was working.

He was actually cooking something.

Granted, the whole ordeal was not without its difficulties and casualties. He had to go back to the store three times because he forgot ingredients (he had convinced himself that he didn't need to write it down when his aunt told him over the phone; he always forgot that he forgets everything), he had ask for advice from Schmidt several times, he had to redo a whole batch because he thought ketchup counted as tomato sauce (Jess was the one to spot the giant empty Heinz bottle on the counter and point out his error).

He looked like a blood-splattered warrior with all the tomato juice speckled over the front of his grey shirt. His hands smelled like onions and jalapeno, and he was about to pass out from starvation because the food preparation took up most of his day. But steam was rising from the pot in thin, coiling tendrils that curled around his nose, and his concoction smelled absolutely perfect.

Now was the time for the taste test.

He picked out a large wooden spoon and dipped it into his creation, scooping out a hearty amount. Just as he was lifting it to his mouth, he paused. He wanted to share this momentous occasion with someone, someone who would appreciate that he just made something (almost) entirely on his own, of his own initiative and motivation. That maybe he could be known for something other than his halfway-decent bartending. At least, now, people could say, "That Nick Miller, he's a screw-up, but he can make damn good chili."

It sounded so stupid in his head. But there was one person who took what was stupid in his head and made it acceptable in reality. Not just acceptable, but understandable, relatable. Right.

"Jess!" he called, somewhat frantically, his voice almost breaking from its shrill note. He cupped a hand under the spoon so none of the chili spilled to the floor. Moments later, Jess stepped into the kitchen area.

"What's the matter, Bobby Crocker? Do you need me to tell you the difference between sugar and salt again?" she teased, her hands on her hips.

"No, no," he said with a laugh. "Come over and try this! You're going to be the first one to taste Nick Miller's Famous Chili."

"Oh, well don't mind if I do," Jess said, bounding over to him. He held out the spoon, anticipation bubbling in his stomach. I really hope she likes it. She has to like it. Oh god, what if she doesn't like it?

He tried to shirk all negative thoughts as she leaned forward and opened her mouth, closing it around the entirety of the portion. As she pulled back, he studied her face closely.

But here's the thing. Sometimes, the top part of a food item is cooler because it has been exposed to the air for quite some time, but the bottom of it is actually scalding hot because that was the part that was the closest to the heat source. So even though Jess' lips did not feel the burning temperature of the chili, once it hit her tongue, she definitely felt it. Once she did, her face scrunched up and her eyes went wide.

And she spat it out. Right onto Nick's shirt.

Startled, Nick jumped backward with a yell, knocking himself off balance. To keep himself upright, he swung his arm toward to the counter. But here's the other thing- that was where the pot of chili was. And Nick's hand just happened to catch the lip of the pot, tipping it over and sending its contents splashing to the ground and onto his shoes. It was hot, but he almost did not notice. All he could notice was all of Nick's Famous Chili was now sprayed all over the counter and the floor, all of his hard work was for nothing, and he never even got to know how it tasted.

Jess had shrieked at the accident and hurriedly grabbed a towel, trying to clean while spouting endless apologies.

"Oh god Nick I'm so sorry, it was just so hot, I could feel an actual pillar of fire forming on my tongue, I'm so so sorry, I can help you make it again…"

"No, Jess, stop, it's ok," he said, though it wasn't. It felt like he had swallowed an anchor and it was pulling him down from his stomach. Why can I do nothing right? "It's ok, stop, I'll pick it up later, stop wiping my shoes…"

Schmidt heard the noise and was in the kitchen in a nanosecond. He gasped loudly when he saw his pot on the floor and its contents clinging to many surfaces of his usual spotless sanctuary.

"Are you serious, Nick? I let you cook one thing and you do this? That is a prized, stainless steel stock pot from the Le Creuset cookware collection. Now you've probably put a scratch or a dent on it that I'll never be able to buffer out. Have you no respect for the tools of this art? You know what? You're banned from the kitchen until further notice, you degenerate amateur."

By now, Jess was standing again, holding Schmidt back by the arm, trying to stop his tirade. She kept looking to Nick, watching his crestfallen expression slowly turn to destructive frustration. He could not meet anyone's eyes as he moved back, holding his hands up.

"Whatever, man. It's fine. It's not like this is a surprise, right?" he said with a sad, self-deprecating laugh. "We're all used to Nick screwing everything up. And if you're not used to it, get used to it." For some reason, he was not able to get enough air to his lungs. "Because I'm used to it."

On his final word, he gave the pot an angry kick, causing Schmidt to yelp and bring a hand to his mouth. Nick shook his head, turning around to leave even though Jess called out his name for him to wait. She watched him go.

He heard Schmidt shouting at him as he walked away.

"Nick, you come back here and pick up-…ow! Jess, what was that for?"

"Shut up, Schmidt! This isn't about your stupid pan."

"It's a stock pot, Jess. A stainless steel stock pot."

That was all he heard before he slammed his bedroom door shut.

It was about 10 o'clock when Jess knocked on his door. He had not realized that he had been expecting her until he felt a sense of relief shoot through his chest when he heard her voice appeal to him from the other side of the doorframe.

"Nick? It's me. I know you're upset, but I have something for you."

He rolled off of his bed and opened the door, not exactly knowing what kind of expression he should be wearing. He was embarrassed, irritated, and disappointed. For Jess, he tried to smile, but all that his face could produce was his lips pressed together in a tense line.

"Hey."

"Hey," she replied, her hands clasped behind her back. "I'll leave you to go back to sulking in a minute. I just think you deserve to know- your chili was really, really good."

He sighed and rolled his eyes, looking at his feet.

"Jess, you don't have to do that. You're just trying to make me feel better. You hardly even tasted it."

"I did taste it," she told him defiantly. "Right before…you know. And even though I only tasted it for a second, it was delicious, Nick. You have to believe me. With you, I never say things I don't mean."

He finally met her gaze, and he saw the sincerity she was trying to channel into him. A smile finally came to his lips because he knew it was true. So many people offered platitudes and false, forced comfort, but Jess' eyes never shone with anything but authentic emotion for him. It was what made him gravitate to her when he had an issue or needed advice. At the very least, he knew that she would offer him honesty and understanding, and that was more than what he got from a lot of other people.

"Alright, fine," he said, and something within him lifted. "I believe you."

She grinned, making the internal weightless feeling expand, like a balloon.

"Good. But now you can see for yourself," she said, revealing what she had been hiding behind her back the whole time. It was a very small bowl holding a very small amount of chili, a spoon placed over the top. Nick looked to her in confusion.

"You didn't scrape this off the kitchen floor, did you?"

"No, of course not. Even though, if I did, it'd probably be okay because Schmidt scrubs that floor clean like every day," she pointed out, and Nick nodded in mild agreement. "But no. Chili is actually pretty sticky, and I scraped all of what remained struck to the inside of the pot. It came out to this. Just enough for a good taste. I heated it up for you, too."

He took the dish from her outstretched hand, shocked into silence. All he could manage was-

"Thanks, Jess," he said, cradling the bowl like it was a fragile egg. She gestured eagerly, obviously wanting him to try it in front of her. He was suddenly nervous, because at least before, when the chili was all ruined, he never had to find out if he had failed at making it in the first place. Now he had to find out.

Taking a deep inhale, Nick slid the spoon under the morsel of chili and put it in his mouth.

He blinked.

"It's…." he paused, genuinely awestruck, "...amazing. It's delicious!"

"I told you!" Jess said, jumping excitedly. "See! You don't screw up everything!"

"I don't!" he agreed, reassurance and confident sparking under his skin. "I make damn good chili!"

"Yeah you do!"

Nick pulled her into a tight, grateful hug, then released her.

"Thank you, Jess," he said again, smiling. Jess' eyes were sparkling.

"You're welcome."

They stood there a moment. Then Jess fist-pumped the air.

"Yeah, Nick's Famous Chili! You will be known around the world for the making the best chili ever!"

"Yeah!" Nick agreed, striking a triumphant pose. Then he tilted his head. "Or, maybe just the best chili in the apartment complex. Or…maybe just this apartment."

"Sounds good to me!" she said. "Come on, let's go tell the guys that you're a way better chili cook than they are!"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. He smiled, knowing neither Winston nor Schmidt would be impressed with this news at all, but he didn't mind. Jess was proud of him, and he was proud of himself, and that was all that mattered.

end.