She inhaled now. Offered him a smile. ‘But no, I’m not freaking out.’
* * *
He smiled back, because she was vulnerability wrapped up in fire and he wanted to burn himself so badly. He couldn’t help it. The combination of her traits—traits that were polar opposites in everyone but her, that made her who she was—was so appealing. Fascinating. Intriguing.
Even as he thought it, he shook his head. How could he find her appealing? Fascinating? Intriguing? He’d just thought—seconds ago—that she was vulnerable. Vulnerability meant she would need someone. It put her in the perfect position to use someone. And that someone couldn’t be him.
Mainly because something inside him, everything inside him, wanted it to be him.
He’d been trained for this, hadn’t he? He’d spent years managing his mother’s vulnerabilities. Not that they needed to be managed, he thought with a frown. His mother’s pain wasn’t a problem he needed to solve; he knew that. It was just... He’d had to manage his reaction to it. He had to be the person she needed during her bad times, which meant he couldn’t take over and demand she do what he wanted her to, no matter how strong the urge. He had to support her without overwhelming her. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he’d done it. He was good at it. Maybe that was why he was so attracted to Alexa—he could be good at managing himself with her, too.
‘Good thing,’ he replied, unwilling, or maybe unable, to dive into the mess of his thoughts. ‘If you were freaking out about it, I wouldn’t be able to reassure you.’
She gave him a bland look. He chuckled.
‘There’s nothing wrong with accepting reassurance.’
‘But I don’t need to,’ she said, voice full of emotion, though she was desperately trying to control it, ‘because I’m not freaking out.’
‘A logical reaction to your news.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Not freaking out. Who would freak out, finding out they were going to have two children when they were expecting one?’ He sat down beside her. ‘I’m going to be honest with you: you don’t have to worry about being a bad mother. There’s no way.’
He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but it felt too intimate. Then he did it anyway, because his gut told him to and he wasn’t going to think about where that gut feeling was coming from.
‘It’s okay to feel jolted by this. I think anyone would. But your reaction now doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad mother.’
‘I didn’t think...’ She broke off. Looked at him. ‘I did.’
He smiled. ‘I know. But you’re strong-minded. Kind when it counts. Resilient. You’ll get through having two.’
‘You sound sure about that.’
‘I am. You’ve built a restaurant from the ground up, Alexa. It’s successful because of you. Surely raising two kids can’t be much harder.’
He winked at her, and she smiled despite the emotion running wild over her face. Then it disappeared.
‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing. You were doing a perfectly adequate job of comforting me.’
He chuckled. ‘As long as it was adequate.’
‘Thank you.’
She squeezed his hand. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was over before he could react, the only evidence it had happened the tingling at his lips.
She stood. ‘You can’t see that I’m pregnant, can you? I mean, I know you can, but as someone who didn’t know?’
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Lowered his eyes because what else could he do? He tried to focus on her question. What had she asked him? Oh, yes, her clothes.
She was wearing... He didn’t quite know what. It was a brightly coloured piece of material that was draped over her front from left to right. It did wonders for her cleavage, and he had to wrench his gaze away to answer her question. The material hung loosely over her stomach, and, paired with her tights and trainers, made her look both chic and comfortable. And not pregnant.
‘You can’t tell. It’s loose enough that if I didn’t know you were pregnant, I’d think...’
He broke off, but it was too late.
‘You’d think what?’
He shook his head.
‘You’d better say it, Foster.’
He shook his head again, this time more vehemently.
‘You’re saying that if people didn’t know I was pregnant they’d think I was putting on weight?’
‘I did not say that.’
‘Only because you thought better of it.’
But her chest was shaking, and soon, sound joined.
‘You think this is funny?’ he asked.
‘You’re funny.’
‘Wow. Thanks.’
She shrugged. Patted him on the shoulder. ‘I appreciate that you wanted to preserve my feelings. But honestly, I don’t care what people think of my body. As long as I feel good and everything works like it’s supposed to, weight isn’t important to me.’
He opened his mouth, then closed it when he realised he had nothing to add to that. It was a healthy way to think of the body, and, because he knew how prevalent weight-watching was in their culture, very enlightened.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to worry about being a mother, Alexa. You’ll do fine.’
Her surprised look made the compliment well worth it.
Chapter 11
He’d been cooking his entire life. It started because he wanted to be exactly like his father when he was younger. It continued because he wanted to make his parents’ lives easier after his mother’s diagnosis. She couldn’t work at his father’s business for periods of time, and during those periods his father had been overwhelmed at work. At least until he realised a temp could solve his problems. In any case, Benjamin had taken the opportunity before his father had realised that to make himself useful in the kitchen at home.
He hadn’t known much at that point, and dinner had often been some form of a sandwich. Then he’d moved on to pasta, which had seemed doable for a boy under ten. He began to study his father more seriously, helping with the harder tasks. By the time he was a teenager, he could fry a steak with the best of them. Soon after, he was adding sauces and presenting meals he saw on the cooking shows he’d come to love. When he had to decide what he wanted to do with his life, it seemed natural to go into professional cooking.
Except he didn’t get into culinary school the first year. Or the second, or third. Competition was steep, and he had nothing to give him an edge. He spent the years he wasn’t cooking getting a degree in financial management, thinking he could at least help his father out if he couldn’t have his dream. When he graduated, he’d pretty much given up on the Institute. Until his parents sat him down and told him he deserved to give it one more try if it truly was what he wanted to do with his life.
He spent the two years after that in kitchens of different restaurants, wherever would have him. Sometimes he got work as a kitchen assistant; sometimes he washed the dishes. But he always, always tried to learn from those in charge. And eventually, the fourth time he applied, he got into the Institute.
And not once in all that time, and during all those experiences, had he thought baking was for him.
Today proved that.
‘I didn’t realise the course was going to be about decorating,’ he said casually.
Cherise was beside him, putting buttercream into several separate bowls so she could colour them for her rainbow cake.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I thought it would be fun. And, since it’s the Institute’s only short course, it worked.’ She looked at him. ‘Are you having trouble?’
‘Not at all.’
He’d already coloured his buttercream, which he knew would be the easiest part of his day. He hadn’t done anything more than that because it would have entailed showing his
weaknesses, and he preferred not to parade those if he could help it.
Cherise smiled. ‘This isn’t a test to see whether you can decorate a cake. I’m aware you probably don’t need those skills at the restaurant.’
He took a beat, then realised it was best to be honest. ‘It’s not that I don’t need the skills. It’s that I don’t have them, no matter how hard I try.’
Her smile widened. ‘Well, then, today should be fun for you.’
‘Not sure that’s the word I’d use.’
She laughed and her focus went back to her cake. He sighed and did the same with his. But not before he sneaked a look at Alexa, who stood on the other side of Cherise. She was already on the second layer of her cake, and looked as comfortable with the task as she did with any other. It was part of the problem he’d had with her when they were studying together. Nothing seemed to faze her. No task, no matter how ridiculous, pulled the rug out from under her.
Back then, he hadn’t appreciated how easily she found everything. It had simply seemed unfair that she would have skill with everything in the kitchen. Now, at least, he could admire that skill. Except he saw that Cherise was admiring it, too.
It frustrated him, almost as much as it had in the past—except now feelings were creeping in.
He tried to tell himself he was just a sucker who couldn’t resist someone who needed his help. It was clear Alexa did, even if she didn’t think so. And he could easily be like her brother, using his vulnerabilities, his desires, to get what she wanted.
A voice in his head told him he had it all wrong. He didn’t listen, instead focusing on getting his cake decorated as best he could. It took much more concentration and precision than he would have liked, but when he was done, he was proud of what he’d created.
‘Nice job,’ Cherise commented.
‘Thanks.’ He wiped his forehead with an arm. ‘It was hard work.’
She laughed. ‘Worth it though, don’t you think, Alexa?’
Alexa peered past Cherise, appraising his cake before looking at him. ‘It looks good.’
That’s it. That’s all she said. There was no judgement, no praise. Just an honest statement and yet somehow, it made him mad. He was sure she’d decorated her cake with a fraction of the effort he had put into his own. And now she had the cheek to tell him his looked good?
He wasn’t being logical. A part of him recognised it. But he leaned into the irrationality of his thoughts, letting it fuel him for the rest of the day. He worked through lunch, though he knew it was silly, considering he was there to get to know Cherise. As far as he could tell, though, it seemed as if Cherise was more interested in chatting with him during their working sessions. Alexa was oddly quiet, though when he glanced out of the window during lunch, he saw her and Cherise laughing about something.
He gritted his teeth, did what he had to do, and at the earliest moment he could he walked out of the doors. Seconds later, footsteps followed him.
‘Hey,’ Alexa said. ‘Wait up.’
He kept walking.
‘Benjamin,’ she said, her voice exasperated. ‘I’m pregnant. There are two people growing inside me. Please don’t make me run after you.’
That forced him to slow down, but he didn’t stop. He was afraid of what would happen if he stopped. He was well aware he was in a mood. He also knew his mood was tied up in her, in both good and bad ways, except he couldn’t discern between the two at the moment. It didn’t bode well for their conversation. So when she caught up with him, he decided to stay quiet.
‘Cherise wanted to know what’s wrong with you.’ Alexa rubbed her stomach. ‘She asked me like she expected me to know. But I didn’t know, and I had to pretend to, because we’re together and when you’re in a mood, apparently, I need to be able to explain that.’
‘What did you say?’ he couldn’t help but ask.
‘That you’re competitive. And a perfectionist. When you put the two together, it can be a damning combination.’
‘So you bad-mouthed me.’
‘Not entirely,’ she said easily, ignoring his bad temper. ‘I also said it makes you a hell of an entrepreneur. You want to give your patrons the best. It makes you serious, disagreeable perhaps, but it also makes you one of the best people she could work for.’
He took several moments to reply. Even then, he could only manage a, ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s true.’ She shrugged. ‘Because I don’t blame you for a being a good chef and leader.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Sounds like you’re implying something.’
‘Why would I?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘It’s not like I gave you a compliment, spoke highly and fairly about you to a potential employee, and you’re choosing to focus on the negative in all that.’
All fair points and, consistent with his mood, that annoyed him. He bit down on his tongue. After a few seconds, she sighed.
‘Look, I get that you’re in competition mode, or whatever, but I’m not going to keep defending you for acting boorish. If you want Cherise to get to know you, you should show her who you are. Unless, of course, you are boorish, and the man who was kind to me this morning and this entire time actually doesn’t exist.’
She sounded tired, defeated, and his heart turned. But he couldn’t tell her that he was going through something. How could he? He didn’t understand it himself. It had to do with her, and with him not trusting himself around her, and that sounded like...like admitting that he was still the same fool who had let the people in his past take advantage of him.
‘Yeah, I thought I might have been fooling myself,’ she said softly. She closed her eyes before he could see any emotion. When she opened them again, they were unreadable. ‘Cherise asked if we’d be interested in having a drink with her after work. I said yes, but now I’m not so sure.’
She turned on her heel. It took him a beat before he could move after her.
‘You’re not going to go?’
‘No, I’m going.’ She didn’t stop walking when he fell into step beside her. ‘I’m just not speaking for you. If you want to go, you can tell her yourself.’
It took him all of the way back to Cherise to decide that he would be going, too. In the mood he was in, heaven had better help him.
* * *
‘You’re not drinking?’
‘Oh. Um...no.’ Alexa had prepared for this in the car. But there was something about actually being asked about her pregnancy, even indirectly, that made her freeze up. Probably the fact that she had to lie. ‘I’m driving.’
‘One drink wouldn’t hurt,’ Cherise said kindly.
There was nothing Alexa wanted less than kindness at that moment.
‘She’s a lightweight,’ Benjamin cut in. ‘One drink and she’s about as tipsy as I am after four. So, to answer your question—one drink would hurt.’
If she went by Benjamin’s tone, it wasn’t kindness that inspired his words. But it wasn’t malice either, and he was saving her from having to think about a more intricate lie. She gave him a half-smile in thanks, but looked away before she could see whether he smiled back. He was acting weird, and she didn’t want to be hurt by whatever mood he was in.
Because you’re already hurt.
No, she told the inner voice. She wasn’t hurt by Benjamin’s attitude. So what if he was acting like the old Benjamin? The one who was reluctant and competitive and reminded her more of her brother than of the person she was beginning to think of as more than an acquaintance?
If anything, the problem was that she had begun to think of him in a friendly manner. He wasn’t her friend—she wouldn’t make that mistake—but she’d confided in him and kissed him. No wonder she was feeling a little out of sorts now that he was acting like someone she hadn’t confided in or kissed. She should have anticipated it, and she hadn’t, and that was partly why she was feeling this way.
Benjamin had always been so competitive in class. She hadn’t known him before, so she’d assumed he was just a competitive person. Working with her brother, stealing her head chef... Those things seemed to prove it. Then he’d pretended to be her boyfriend in front of Lee. She’d seen him with his mother, he’d offered to give her Cherise... Those things didn’t seem like a person who was inherently competitive, but simply someone who liked competition.
There was nothing wrong with that. Hell, she was even willing to be in the competition with him. But that was before today had happened. Before she’d seen him watching her as she worked and she could all but feel the frustration radiating off him. He glanced at her so many times that she knew he was comparing. It was common sense as much as it was experience; she’d spent her entire childhood knowing what that comparison looked like. Lee had done it to her. And she had no desire, none, to be a basis of comparison again.
That was what this empty feeling in her chest was. Annoyance that Benjamin saw her as someone to beat. Someone to be better than. She didn’t think better or worse had anything to do with Cherise’s choice; it would be the person Cherise got along with best. Except it was clear Benjamin didn’t see it that way. So she was annoyed. Maybe a little disappointed. But that was it.
‘He’s right,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘I’ve never been able to hold my alcohol well.’
‘Fortunately we don’t have that in common,’ Cherise said, lifting the glass the bartender set in front of her. She downed it, hissing as she slammed the glass back on the counter. ‘I can drink with the best of them.’ She grinned. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell potential employers that.’
‘Why not?’ Benjamin asked. ‘It’s not likely we wouldn’t find out.’
‘I don’t intend on drinking on the job. Or coming in hungover.’
‘The longer you spend working with us, the higher the possibility of a fun night out. Or some kind of event.’ Benjamin shrugged. ‘We would have found out during the second or third drinking game of the night.’
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