It honestly hadn’t even occurred to me that I would have to move.
“So, what do you suggest?”
“Well, wife. Maybe after the wedding, you can move in with me? I have plenty of room. In fact, there is a guest room that we can make your own. If we are going to sell this thing, it has to look at real as possible.”
I can’t say that he isn’t correct, but the thought of letting go of the place I have called home for so long just doesn’t feel right.
“I want to think about it, just for a little bit. And if I do decide to move, I would like to hold on to the apartment. Two years will go by quickly.”
Brock purses his lips, clearly mulling it over.
“If that is what you want, then that is what we will do.”
He picks up his glass and tilts it towards me to toast. I lift mine, and we clink our glasses.
“Happy wife, happy life,” he says with a wink.
We both start laughing.
“And a husband’s love goes through his stomach?”
“True story,” he says as he rubs his belly.
“Staying for dinner then?”
“Clearly.”
I take the two steps toward my fridge to see what I can throw together for us. I grab some ingredients for a simple chicken and creamy pesto pasta. As I start to prep in my tiny kitchen, I realize that Brock is right. This apartment was too small for Chris and me. And clearly, Brock and I are going to need a little more privacy. Decision made, then, I tell myself.
“Hmmm, I can’t wait to cook in my new kitchen,” I tell him as I tap my chin with my index finger.
Brock’s face breaks out in a huge smile.
“So yes, then?”
“Yes.”
I’ve been super busy the last few days, but I have loved every second. There are so many things to do—so many details to tie together. Truly, there doesn’t seem to be enough hours in a day. I’ve been getting down and dirty myself, helping with cleaning and painting the kitchen. Today they’ve finished installing the new walk-in freezer and all the new appliances. While I have had my hand in the painting and cleaning, today I’ve been mainly directing since I have been busy putting away the ingredients I ordered. I am supposed to start trying new things to add to my still non-existent menu. This kitchen is every chef’s dream, and Brock has given me an extremely generous budget, so I’ve been able to get the very best things. I walk through the dining room and admire the work done so far. The walls are already painted a soft grey, and the floors are graced with beige travertine tile. Other than that, it’s still bare. The dining room design is Mikaela’s domain, and she ensures me that I will be blown away; I have no doubt she will deliver. Yes, I have seen her portfolio and heard about her other projects, but the incredible job she has done on my office is above and beyond what I expected.
I walk back into the kitchen and head to my office. It’s now one of my favorite places, probably because it is easily the most gorgeous room I have ever been able to call mine. The walls are covered in hand-painted, red silk wallpaper, and the oak floors are stunning. The large, L-shaped desk is made of reclaimed wood and has a brand new computer on it, and the drawers are stocked with any office supplies I can possibly need. I am not sure how Mikaela got her hands on these, but there are several picture frames on my desk, each a different material and shape, showcasing images I love. There’s one of me, Amber, and some of our friends at my culinary school graduation party. Another of me and my sisters, and even a picture of Brock and me. We have been taking a bunch of pictures lately, to kind of help sell our “being in love” routine. I glance at my watch and realize I need to be getting ready. Amber, who I have hired as my floor manager, will be interviewing people tomorrow with me for the front and back of the house. So I sit down at my brand new desk and go over some of the applications.
“You’ve been busy, I see.”
That wasn’t the voice I was expecting, and I can’t deny that I am a little startled. I look up to find Ashton Walker standing in my doorway. He is the last person I expected to see, and while I want to act all cool and collected, I inwardly pray that my treacherous facial expressions won’t betray me. My heart is pounding loudly inside my chest cavity. The air in the room has suddenly become thick, and I find myself struggling to breathe. Every inch of my body is tingling, every nerve standing at attention.
“Can I come in?”
It dawns on me that he is waiting for me to answer, so I triple my efforts to get it together.
“Of course, come in. What a nice surprise,” I say as I force a smile.
He steps into my office, and suddenly there is an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. My eyes dart to the exit. I can’t be alone with him in here.
“I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I would stop by and say hello,” he says as he reaches my desk.
“That is…so nice of you, thank you,” I reply sheepishly.
His lips curl into a lopsided smile, as if the two sides of his face can’t decide on any one particular expression. We lock eyes, and neither of us speak—at least not with words. I need to say something, do something, anything, I tell myself. So I do the only thing that springs to mind. I rise to my feet and round the desk.
“How about a tour?” I offer. “There is still a bunch to do, but the bones are there.”
“Lead the way.”
I show him the dining room and tell him about the plans we have for it. To my surprise, he hangs on my every word. Ashton is attentive and even gives me some input. We make our way to the kitchen, and I proudly show him every detail.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him.
He purses his lips, considering my question.
“Actually,” he says. “I think I am. I’ve not eaten a thing all day.”
I smile.
“Well, my new kitchen just got installed, and I’m itching to try it out. How about a little lunch? I need a willing guinea pig.”
“Did you just tell me that I am a rodent?”
“I just offered to feed you.”
He grins.
“And I happily accept.”
“You say that now,” I tease in a singsong voice.
“You will need to earn your food though, so please wash your hands over there,” I tell him as I point to the small hand washing station at the other end of the kitchen.
I collect all of the ingredients and kitchen utensils I need. I hand Ashton a knife and a chopping board. He accepts them with a deer caught in the headlights look on his face, which only amuses me more.
“You have seen a knife before, right?”
He rolls his eyes.
“It may be surprising to you, Mac, but I actually know my way around a kitchen.”
I scoff and raise a brow.
“Is that so?”
“It’s a fact.”
“We are making something simple, just a salad with salmon.”
He nods, turns on his heel, and heads over to the sink to wash vegetables. I walk over to the handwashing station, wash my hands, and then start prepping the fish. When I look over at Ashton, I’m actually quite surprised to see he is actually quite competently chopping away. I wasn’t sure if he was just bluffing, but he seems to know his way around a cutting board. While we work, he asks me questions, and I fire them right back. It isn’t long before the salmon is in the oven and the vegetables are ready to be tossed. I start cleaning some of the dishes, washing them by hand. Ashton appears beside me with a towel and starts to dry the dishes I wash. After we are done, I put together the salad, which is ready just in time for the salmon. Since there are no tables or anything in the dining room yet, we decide to eat in the staff room adjacent to the kitchen. The staff room is still bare but has a table and some chairs in it.
“So,” he says as he takes his fork and stabs it into his food. “How did I do?”
“You missed your calling. I am sure you were born to be a lettuce washer,” I deadpan.
“Is that so?”
“Totes.”
“Totes?”
“Yes, totes.”
Ashton raises a brow, and the two of us start laughing. The awkwardness that initially towered over us seems to have evaporated. We finish our meal, and he helps me clean up once more. Conversation flows freely, and we have quite a few laughs. I am genuinely a little disappointed when he announces that he has to leave.
“Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”
“Thank you for helping me,” I smirk as I think of my follow-up sentence. “I have never met a better washer of lettuce.”
He chuckles and turns to leave, but he stops mid-stride.
“Thanks again for today, Mackenzie. My brother is a lucky guy.”
And with those words he leaves me standing here, wondering why his nice goodbye makes my chest ache.
I am excited when I get an invitation from Mikaela to come to an art show. She thinks that we might be able to find some additional pieces for the restaurant there, and on top of that, there is an open bar. What’s not to like? She is picking me up at home in about an hour. I even went dress shopping for the occasion, and got myself the must-have of every woman’s closet, according to Amber. My very first little black dress, a.k.a. LBD. I add a colorful scarf to break up the darkness and wear some fun earrings. I paint my lips fire engine red and wear my red five-inchers to finish it off. I am actually pleased with the result when I assess myself in the mirror, and I am ready about thirty seconds before my buzzer rings.
Mikaela Kingsley travels in style and with an entourage. When I get downstairs, there is a large, luxury SUV waiting at the curb. The door swings open, and a tall man with sunglasses steps out. He scans the area, mumbles something, and then crosses his arms in front of his body.
“Hey, M! Get in!” Mikaela calls from inside.
I eye the tall guy.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s just security. Pretend they are not here. I do,” she says with a chuckle.
“I’m sorry about this. I have a very overprotective brother. I used to have just one, but I ditched him, and the next day it was him and another guy. I then managed to give the two of them the slip, and now I have three of them.”
She rolls her eyes.
“He has no sense of humor, that man. Luckily, he has mellowed since he married Rae. But he wins because I don’t wanna be stuck with four of them.”
I can’t help but giggle at the exasperated look on her face that matches the tone of her voice. We get to the gallery fairly quickly, and I am giddy. The gallery is large and well-lit, and I can’t help but notice the few pieces showcased right when I enter the open concept-entrance.
“I have never been to one of these before,” I tell her, wide-eyed as we walk in. “I feel so grown-up now.” Mikaela smiles.
“I’ll go grab us some drinks. Why don’t you look around?”
I nod enthusiastically and start to wander around the freestanding walls that appear to guide people where to go. I start walking through the obvious trail and stop at the first painting I see. There is a petite redheaded woman standing in front of it, inspecting the painting. I really know nothing about art or what you’re supposed to see in it.
“It’s a very pretty painting, isn’t it?” I say with a smile, as I try to make conversation.
She scoffs, and I am taken aback.
“I mean, the colors are nice,” I add.
“Bless your heart. You really don’t get it, do you?” she says as she saunters off while shaking her head.
“Ouch,” I call after her.
What a bitch. I shrug it off, walk to a random painting, and try to decide what I’m looking at. It’s hard to tell. I cock my head as if that’s going to help the situation.
“The brush strokes are reminiscent of an early Van Gogh, don’t you think?”
Oh great, another one of them, I think to myself.
I turn to find Ashton Walker standing next to me, looking like he has just stepped off a magazine cover, dressed in a suit that was obviously made to fit him perfectly. He peers at the painting, a thoughtful look on his face as he pinches his chin with his thumb and index finger. I have no idea what to say, and not just because I’m finding it hard not to stare at those smoldering eyes.
“Um, I guess?”
He chuckles.
“I’m sorry, I just pulled that out of thin air. I was just messing with you.”
“That was mean!” I tell him as I playfully hit his arm.
“I couldn’t help myself. You looked so adorable and lost.”
I shake my head.
“So, what are we looking at then?” I ask.
He leans in slightly and beckons me closer with his index finger. I eagerly lean in, curious what his answer will be.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers, and he looks around the room before continuing. “I have absolutely no idea.”
I purse my lips and shake my head.
“I must really look out of place here, huh? Not knowing anything about art.”
He smiles.
“I come to these things all the time, and I have no idea what I am looking at most of the time. In fact, half the time they are selling things that are so ridiculous and ugly. It’s like slapping lipstick on a pig and calling it beautiful.”
I laugh.
I tell him about the run-in with the redhead, and he tells me to point her out.
He extends his arm.
“Let me show you how to have fun in a place like this.”
I look at his extended arm and then try and find Mikaela in the crowded room. I’m sure we will find her at some point if we walk around the gallery, so I accept his arm. We walk over to the middle of the room, and Ashton scours the place. I guess he’s found what he’s been looking for because he nearly drags me across to the other side. There is large canvas on the wall, and it is completely blank but for a small black dot in the upper corner.
“Okay, here she comes. Just follow my lead,” he says.
Sure enough, he has placed us in her path.
“Your interpretation is genius. I didn’t think there was anyone brilliant enough to get it,” he says, shaking his head.
“Oh? I am sure I’m not the only one here. Ask anyone,” I reply.
“I am telling you, you’re the only one.”
“Well, actually,” the redhead says. “If you would like my opinion...”
“I don’t,” Ashton says coolly.
“Oh,” she says.
“I’m actually dying to hear your opinion,” I say with a smile. “I’m sure that someone like you—you know, someone who gets it—can explain what the artist is trying to tell us.”
“Clearly, this painting is about the struggle of being different in a world that is full of clones,” she says smugly.
“Or, and I am just spit balling here, but that may just be an empty canvas to replace the painting I bought twenty minutes ago.” Ashton says.
The woman’s face turns bright red.
“I...uh...” she stammers.
Ashton holds his arm out again, and this time I take it with no hesitation. We walk off, as I try my hardest not to laugh.
“Ashton, my hero,” I joke as I dramatically drape a hand across my chest.
He chuckles.
“Did you really buy a painting?”
He throws his head back and laughs.
“Nope. I have no idea what that painting was. Maybe she was right, but she is pretentious and had it coming.”
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“You do know how to have fun in these places.”
We walk around the gallery some more, and by the time I spot Mikaela, she’s in deep conversation with some guy, and it’s almost time to go home. Ashton is super easy to be around; he’s funny, very intelligent, and very charming.
Mikaela spots me and waves.
“There you are,” she calls from across the room. “I’ve found some great pieces for the re
staurant. Come look.”
“I guess I should go over there,” I say, surprised at how disappointed I am. “Did you want to join us?”
He smiles.
“I actually have to run,” he says.
“Yeah, I guess it’s late.”
“I had fun, though.”
I smile.
“Me too.”
I look back over to Mikaela, who is waving me over.
“I guess I’d better go,” I say with a chuckle. It looks like she’s getting impatient.
Without thinking, I throw my arms around his neck and give him a hug.
“Thanks for defending me earlier. I owe you.”
“Hey, I’ll take you up on that. I’d like a whole platter of those appetizers you made the other night next time you have a dinner party.”
“Deal.”
ASHTON
I’ve been wide awake all night, just like I have been pretty much every night for the last week. So here I am at four-thirty a.m., headed to Hudson River Park in an attempt to clear my head. “Till I Collapse” by Eminem is blasting in my eardrums as my feet pound the pavement, my pace punishing. I welcome the blistering cold that envelops my exposed skin. I’ll gladly welcome anything that can pull my thoughts from the one woman I can never have. I have been burying myself with work, so during the day it’s easier to distract myself enough to keep my thoughts away from my future sister-in-law. In truth, I have never been more productive. This week alone, I signed five more clients and am poised to sign another today. But at night, when I am lying in bed, I am unable to get away from her. Those big blue eyes of hers pop into my mind the second I close my eyes. I feel guilty as hell. Mackenzie Hart is incredible; she is easily the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on, but that is merely a small part of what makes her remarkable. She is witty, sweet, intelligent, and an incredible cook—her passion for cooking is a stunning sight. Her smile is bright enough to light up an entire village, and the sound of her laugh is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. She is everything Brock deserves. It’s easy to see why she has my brother head over heels because I am right there with him. I would never act upon my feelings; I could never betray my brother like that. Instead, I try my best to bury them, to squash any fantasy, any illusion that we might have a chance someday. Unfortunately, I can’t ignore her, even though ignoring her would make my life easier. She is marrying my brother and will be a big part of my life; I need to learn to live with that. I continue my run as I try to banish my thoughts from our lunch the other day. Conversation has never flowed so easily with anyone before. Maybe if I spend more time with her and get to know her better, the feelings I have will lessen. I need to spend time with her and Brock together. Desensitize myself. Yes, that is exactly what I need to do, I think to myself. I run the entire five mile stretch and back again. I get back to my apartment and shower, the hot water soothing as it cascades over my aching muscles. For the first time in what seems like forever, I allow myself to relax. Things are going to be better.
The Beard (Haylee Thorne) Page 5
