Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  “You don’t have to eat everything,” I assured her. “I want you to try as much as possible. It will be worth it, I promise.” I shrugged, feeling like I needed to add, “Besides, it’s my treat.”

  My dad’s brow furrowed immediately. “Oh, we can’t let you pay for—”

  I waved him off. “It’s not a big deal. I want you to have the full Lilou experience.”

  My mom’s shrewd eyes scanned over the menu again. “Maybe we can split something for the big meal.”

  “Mom,” I groaned. “Please accept that I’m a big deal here. I’m not living paycheck to paycheck anymore.”

  My parents stared at me, trying to pull hard facts from my ambiguous statement. Dad’s curiosity won out. “You’re really top of the food chain here?”

  I smiled. I was. It wasn’t first place, but it was a damn good place to start. “I am. The one and only sous chef. I’m second in command in the kitchen.”

  “Is it stressful, honey?”

  They already knew my title and position, but until this moment, I didn’t think they understood exactly what that meant. It was a word without a definition until they’d seen it in a real-life setting. And they knew that I worked a lot and they probably could have assumed that my job was stressful. But I had never verbally admitted that part to them. I wanted them to get the message of how much I loved this career, this position. If you’d have asked them before tonight what my life was like? They would have come back with some version of rainbows and butterflies.

  “So stressful,” I agreed. “But worth it. This is what I love. And I’m lucky I get to do it in one of the best kitchens on the planet. I don’t take that for granted.” Or I wouldn’t any longer. Starting now.

  Thinking back to my ungrateful attitude over the past ten months, I wanted to hide my face in shame. I had taken my success for granted. I’d disregarded Wyatt’s trust in me and let my entitled attitude nearly ruin one of the best experiences in my life.

  Dad looked at my mom. “We asked her to leave this for the diner.”

  My mom sniffed the air, untouched by guilt or remorse. “I want her close to home. I’m not trying to take her dreams away from her.”

  But that was exactly what she was asking me to give up. My dreams. My aspirations. My future. “There’s nothing for me in Hamilton, Mom. I belong here.”

  Kim approached with two waiters from the kitchen carrying our appetizers, forcing us to drop the conversation until the first plates were set before us. My dad’s eyes widened in awe at the intricacy of each dish while my mom glared at each component as if it were personally responsible for keeping me away from her.

  I started plating for them, letting the argument hang in the air for a few minutes. My parents were cultured, but they weren’t foodies. Besides, this food was fussy and took some explanation for even well-versed fanatics.

  “Is this what you make?” my dad asked after he’d devoured his trout toast.

  “Um, sometimes. It depends on the night and who else is working. I’m mainly responsible for proteins, by choice. But I’m the one that suggested pistachio for the gnocchi.”

  “How’d you come up with that?” my dad asked, scraping his fork against the plate for any straggling crumbs.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s one of those things. I knew it would fit with the flavor profile and I felt the dish was missing an important crunch component.”

  “It is impressive,” my mom conceded.

  Kim came back to check on us and I put in the rest of our order. Our crispy pork belly served over creamy polenta with glazed carrots for my mom. The steak and frites for my dad—Kobe filet served with hand cut duck fat fries and charred broccoli. And I ordered the sweet pea tortellini for me. The tortellini was my favorite dish on the whole menu and one Wyatt made himself. I quickly added the swordfish curry—at least Wyatt’s take on curry—over lentils and root vegetables to share.

  “Kaya, that’s too much,” my mom chastised for the second time after Kim had walked way again.

  I smiled patiently at her. “You don’t have to eat it all. But I promise you’ll thank me later.”

  Her eyes dropped to my midsection. “I thought maybe you’d given up yoga, but now I understand.”

  Used to her passive aggressive cruelty, I changed the subject without acknowledging her dig. “How’s Claire? Is she excited for summer?”

  My mom’s entire face lit up at the mention of my younger sister. “She loves her class this year, but she’s looking forward to the break. She works so hard, you know? Those kids give her a run for her money.”

  I restrained an eyeroll. My poor sister that had to work normal hours every week and got summers and major holidays off. Not to mention all those paid teacher work days.

  Guilt immediately kicked me low in the gut. That wasn’t fair to teachers. I knew they worked hard—harder than most. And my sister loved her students, pouring every bit of herself into their little lives.

  But the scales were skewed at my house. Claire was revered for how hard she worked, while I was pitied because I had no social life. Maybe it was that Claire had achieved better life balance and I was jealous of her summer breaks. I mean who wouldn’t be? Or maybe it was my parents’ refusal to pay attention to what I did while Claire was worshiped, but either way, I knew my resentment for Claire was unhealthy. Borderline insane. Claire was wonderful. And we genuinely got along. I had a frustrating amount of misplaced resentment for my parents.

  “She’s planning to visit you for a few weeks,” my dad added.

  “Huh?”

  “Claire,” he said slower. “She misses you. She told us she’s going to spend a few weeks with you this summer.”

  “She hasn’t said anything to me,” I told them.

  They shrugged. They didn’t care what I thought. If Claire wanted to spend time with me she would. I didn’t get a say.

  “Our air conditioner needed new filters last week,” my mom said, changing the subject in a weird direction.

  I didn’t know what to say to that or why she was telling me about her air conditioner, so I nodded and mumbled, “Oh yeah?”

  “I had to run into town to buy them. Your father wrote down what I needed, but you know what his handwriting is like. I got to the store and couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he’d asked for. I got him to send me a picture of it though.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, demonstrating her exasperation. “Although I still couldn’t find what he needed.”

  At her pause, I tried to sound sympathetic. “That must have been frustrating for you, Mom.”

  She looked at me and reached out to squeeze my hand as if my sympathy meant the world to her. I nibbled on my lip ring to hide my smile. I pictured her harping on my dad all week about his negligence while he ignored her to watch golf.

  “It was,” she said. “Thank you for acknowledging my feelings, Kaya.”

  I smiled at her again.

  “Anyway, while I was wandering around the hardware store, you’ll never guess who I ran into.”

  Oh, man, I had a guess and I wanted to keep it to myself but—

  She lifted her hands in excitement and exclaimed, “Nolan! Can you believe it, Kaya? He was right there. Right when I needed him the most.”

  Swallowing back the sarcastic way I wanted to ask her why air conditioning filters were the things she needed most in the world, I said, “It’s not that hard to believe. I mean, he does live a block away from the hardware store.”

  My mother’s smile pinched. “He was so kind,” she added. “He found me exactly what I was looking for.”

  “Oh, thank God. I was so worried about the air conditioner.”

  “Kaya…” my dad warned.

  My mom ignored me, her tone turning smug with juicy news. “He asked about you, Kaya Camille.”

  It was my turn to glare at the overhead lighting. “Of course, he did. I’m the only thing you two have in common. He was grasping for straws trying to make conversation with
you.”

  “That’s what I said,” my dad grunted. He took an angry sip of his cocktail and I appreciated him more than I ever had in my life.

  He had only barely tolerated Nolan. My mother on the other hand… was his biggest fan. President of the Nolan Carstark fan club. She’d probably make t-shirts if Dad let her.

  Mom leaned forward, her eyes alight with the information bomb she was about to drop. “He wants to know when you’re coming back to town. He said he misses you.”

  I held my mother’s sharp gaze, resisting the eye roll I desperately wanted to unleash because I needed her to take me seriously. “Mom, I know two things about Nolan. And this might be disappointing, but I feel like you need to hear them anyway. One, he doesn’t miss me. Maybe in the generic sense of the word because we share a collection of good, youthful memories together. But he doesn’t miss me. Not really. And I know this because the only time I ever hear from Nolan is after he’s three sheets to the wind and had meaningless sex with a random female whose name he can’t remember. That’s when he tells me he wishes I would move home and marry him. When he needs a name to remember to assuage his guilt.”

  “He’s said he wants to marry you? He’s said those words exactly?” My mother’s selective hearing was astounding. Like, legitimately something medical science should study.

  “Two.” I held up correlating fingers, choosing not to respond to her temporary psychosis. “Even if I did leave my job here, pack up my life and move back to Hamilton, he would only break my heart again. He’s the same kid I graduated with nine years ago. He wants nothing to do with commitment or a wife that has opinions or a mind of her own. And he’d just drag out our engagement for another hundred years because, no matter what he’s led you to believe, he isn’t ready to settle down.”

  Her eyes narrowed, her mouth flatlining. “He said he misses you, Kaya, that means something.”

  I shook my head. “He doesn’t. He misses a girlfriend that loved him. He misses not feeling guilty every time he gets laid. He misses having someone there to tell him he’s amazing and help him match his ties to his shirts. He doesn’t miss me.” I let out a slow breath and tried my best to shield my fragile heart from the next truth she needed to hear. “He’s a narcissist, Mom. He loves himself. He doesn’t love me. He’s never loved me.”

  My dad’s hand clamped down on my knee under the table and squeezed supportively. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he rumbled sternly.

  Mom huffed and tossed her napkin on the table. “You haven’t even given him a chance, Kaya. You left him remember? You left town and never looked back. The rest of us were left to pick up the pieces. That boy was going to marry you and you just… abandoned him. And for what? For this life you claim to love so much? You work a million hours a week. You don’t have a social life or a dating life, or hell, any kind of life. You have no prospects. You’re stuck on this never-ending hamster wheel where you cook all day. This can’t be all you want out of life.” She never raised her voice. Her sense of decorum was too strong to cause a scene, but she didn’t need to. Her words were arrows, aimed directly at my self-esteem and shaky confidence. One eyebrow rose, and I instinctively shriveled back, knowing she was dealing the final blow. “I raised you better than to settle for this.”

  The air behind me turned to static, electrified and sharp. I felt the change all over my bare skin. All the little hairs on my body stood to attention, the back of my neck prickling with warning. The sensation was so strong I hardly noticed my mother’s sneer at all. Although I couldn’t ignore it completely. I mean, it was there. All over her face.

  “Hey there, chef,” Wyatt’s deep voice greeted from behind me.

  My body had been keenly aware he was there for a solid twenty seconds now, but the intense warmth in his voice made me jump. I couldn’t move right away, paralyzed by the intimate way he said “chef” and the five alarm warning bells clanging through my head. The signal was to run, but I didn’t know if it was to run from Wyatt or to him.

  “I hope you’re enjoying the meal,” he said, addressing my parents now.

  The nervous feeling zinged through me evolving from hot tension to cold fear. How much had Wyatt heard? Had he caught my mom’s tirade? Had he heard about Nolan not wanting to be with me? Oh my God, right now would be such a good time for a cataclysmic earthquake. Or super volcano? Surely there was a hidden super volcano buried directly beneath me.

  I swiveled in my seat to stare up at him. He had been waiting for me. His smoldering gaze met mine immediately, the corners of his mouth turning up in that wicked, mischievous way of his. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” I told him.

  “I wanted to meet the parents,” he said evenly, destroying all of my assumptions about him. Or maybe not all of them, since he had been the one to set up the reservation in the first place, but there was an extra layer to his words that made my heart karate kick my breastbone. “I’ve heard so much about them after all.”

  Not wanting to draw this out for longer than I needed to, I jumped to my feet, only tottering a second or two as I adjusted to the height of my stilettos. “I’m going to make you pay for this,” I whispered to Wyatt as I settled my hand on his shoulder to catch my balance.

  His head dipped so he could whisper, “Promises, promises,” against the shell of my ear.

  Hiding my shiver, I faced my parents again and waved a hand in Wyatt’s direction. “Mom, Dad, this is Wyatt Shaw, executive chef of Lilou.” Seeing my mom’s still pinched expression, I added, “And my boss,” hoping to soften the snarling bitch that had taken possession of her body.

  My dad rose immediately to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, chef. Eric Swift.”

  Wyatt offered a firm handshake I knew my dad would respect and said, “Same to you, sir. Your daughter is a real asset to my staff. I’m afraid I’d be lost without her.”

  “That’s true,” I quipped. “He needs me.”

  His hand settled on my lower back, adding pressure to my already tingling spine. “I do.” My breath caught in my throat at the seductive tone to his voice, but he quickly added. “She’s the best sous chef in the city. I’m lucky to call her mine.”

  God, was it me or was Wyatt full of innuendos tonight? Probably just me. Right? One mind-blowing sexual encounter did not a relationship make.

  “You’re who we have to thank for working our daughter to the bone?” my mom asked, not even pretending to be impressed with Wyatt.

  “Yes,” I said quickly, trying to diffuse the insult with sarcasm. “Please blame him. He never listens to me when I lodge complaints.”

  He smiled down at me, taking the bait, but there was something in his eyes that let me know he was only being kind for my sake. There was a gentleness there, meant for me. A sweet question of, “Are you okay?” with a vindictive shark swimming in the background. Wyatt didn’t take shit unless it was from Killian or Ezra. He wasn’t about to let Dana Swift bust his balls. Even if she was my mom.

  “Wyatt, this is my mom, Dana.”

  Wyatt took her hand, but quickly released it, reaching for mine instead. As if we stood like this often. With his hand still on the small of my back, splayed familiarly… possessively and his other hand holding my fingers loosely in his, my body tucked into his like we were a couple. Or two people with zero physical boundaries—the latter probably more accurate.

  “Hi, Dana,” Wyatt greeted brightly.

  She tried to smile, but none of us believed her. “Everything has been delicious so far.”

  Wyatt looked at me, our eyes connecting in another one of his encouraging glances. You can do this, he seemed to say. You’re strong enough for this. And because he believed it, I believed it too. The gaping wound my mom had opened with talk about Nolan and marriage and my priorities began to close, my body ached less, my heart hurt less.

  “Thank you,” he told her patiently. “You won’t eat a better meal in the city.”

  My mom blinked at him, but his confide
nce held strong. I also knew he believed what he said. It wasn’t bravado for the sake of standing up for me. Lilou was the best. It was worth sacrificing for.

  “We see that,” my dad said tersely, saving the conversation.

  I turned to Wyatt, putting my hand on his chest, realizing too late how comfortable we looked touching each other. His arm that was already resting on my back, slid around and tugged me toward him, settling me against his body and holding me there. I focused on his face, stopping myself from glancing around in a panic. It wasn’t only my parents that I was worried about watching us now. His entire staff could see our public display of affection.

  There would be no way to stifle the gossip. This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

  And yet… I didn’t hate it either. Yes, thinking about my career and the implications this would have on my application for Sarita, I wanted to shrink into a tiny version of myself and race out of here like a cartoon Jerry trying to escape Tom’s sinister plans. But, the girl inside of me—the one that controlled my emotions and soul and my broken heart—rested in this touch, this closeness, the way he held me so firmly but so delicately. My heart grew three sizes in his arms, allowing my body to feel comforted and healed and held all at once.

  “You should probably get back to the kitchen,” I told him, even though all I wanted to do was throw my body around his like a boa constrictor and never let go. “I’m not in there to save your ass tonight.”

  He smiled down at me, his mouth a sanctuary of affection and his eyes a temple of desire. His expression was nothing short of adoring. God, how had I caught this man’s attention?

  And how was he still here after everything I put him through? How had he not run away screaming by now? How did he ignore every single word out of my mouth and only pay attention to the signs I was too chicken to say out loud?

  “Don’t remind me,” he groaned. Tipping forward on his toes, he pressed a sweet, slow kiss to my forehead.

  I was momentarily blinded by the riot of butterflies inside me. They started low in my belly, but quickly spread to every extremity, making it impossible to think straight or form words or do anything but melt into a sticky, gooey pile of adoration.