“I’m pretending it was a heck to the yeah, then.” He gave my hand a squeeze before heading to the back door of the restaurant.
“Fair enough.” I chuckled.
“Be careful when we go in.” Lucas unlocked the door, reaching in and flipping the light switch. “The place is still a mess. We have people making it camera ready.”
Camera ready didn’t sound like a mess at all.
“As opposed to?”
“Real restaurant ready.” He sighed as we stepped over some cords, and he shut the door behind us. We’d entered through the delivery area, and in front of us was the kitchen, or more accurately half a kitchen and half-weird contraptions of lights and stands for what I assumed were cameras all set into tracks.
“It’s all for looks, which was why Vivian was not so impressed. She thinks I should take over the restaurant and stay here.”
I did, too. Not that I was completely ready to admit it yet, not aloud, anyway.
“She’s kind of pushy.” I chuckled. I could so see her going on a tirade over the kitchen, and I hadn’t even seen the dining area. I half expected there to be tables where everyone sat on one side like in sitcoms.
“She’s kind of amazing.” Lucas led me to the kitchen, fully turning on the lights. It was worse than I’d originally thought.
“That, too.” She very much was. Henry was good people, too.
“So, this is it.” He swished his arm in front of the grill like a game show host announcing a prize. “The main area we will film in.”
“Half the kitchen isn’t even usable like this.” I stated the obvious.
“I know.” He sighed, holding my hand a little bit tighter. There was an air of sadness to his voice.
“And you enjoy working like this?” I angled myself so that I was looking directly at him as I spoke. This was important. I wasn’t sure to what extent, yet, but I could feel it.
“I enjoy cooking.” Which wasn’t what I asked. “The rest just means I get to do it on my terms.”
“Doesn’t sound like your terms.” I cupped his cheek. There was something about seeing him like this that made it impossible for me not to offer him comfort.
“Vivian said the same thing,” he admitted. I could totally see that.
“She’s a wise—and nosey—woman.” I rubbed my thumb along his cheekbone.
“So this—us, have you changed your mind?” he asked, more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him.
“That depends. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I don’t want our child to grow up and find tabloid articles about themselves. But I also don’t want them growing up without you. No matter what happens between us, you are their father.”
“What do we do, then?” he asked, his eyes hooded and his voice somber.
“Simple. We get married.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lucas
I grabbed the counter behind me after his words sank in.
“We get what?” I choked out the question.
He smiled that unbeatable gorgeous smile and looked down at the floor. “Not real. I mean, it would be real, of course. But this way, there wouldn’t be a TMZ-worthy scandal, and you would be legally tied to the baby if anything happened to me. It could work.”
“A business deal? Oh, I didn’t know…here I thought we were having a… I should’ve brought a lawyer and a notary along. Stupid me.”
I was butthurt again. It seemed like every time I was around Harrison, he reeled me in and set the hook.
“Lucas, don’t be like that. It’s just a suggestion. I’m not saying you and I can’t continue to date or see each other or whatever. And I’d never deny you time with the baby, but who knows what will happen in the future. I certainly don’t.”
He tried to take my hand again, but I pulled away. I needed space to think.
“When?” I asked, my decision made in seconds.
“Whenever you want. Don’t you need some time to think about it?”
I shook my head. He didn’t know what he was saying, but I knew exactly what my plan would be. He wanted a marriage for show. I wanted to marry him for real.
I had to make Harrison want to be my husband, not for the papers, but because he was as in love with me as I was with him.
We would have, we would be, a family.
I hadn’t been so sure of something since I knew I was born to be a chef.
“I don’t need time to think about wanting to be married to you, Harrison.” I closed the distance between us and covered his lips with mine before he could answer or protest or be grumpy with me anymore. I caressed his neck while he surrendered to me, our mouths moving in a passionate rhythm.
“I need you,” I breathed in his ear before taking his earlobe into my mouth and sucking on it while my hands roamed his chest and down farther to the button of his pants.
“No, Lucas. Not here.”
Not here. That wasn’t exactly a no.
“No one is coming. The place is locked for the night. Please. I need to taste you.”
After he said yes, I kissed and suckled my way down his body, stopping to pay some attention to his growing belly, but not for long. Hearing him groan my name fueled me on, and I desperately undid the button to his jeans and spread the fly wide, determined to get him into my mouth.
“Wait! What’s that?” Harrison pulled my head back. I stood up at the sound of a noise in the back of the restaurant. I dragged him closer to me while he straightened himself and fixed his pants.
“Who is there?” I called out loudly.
“It’s me.” Damn it. Warren.
“What do you want?” I yelled. Harrison chuckled. I assumed he was laughing at my aggravation.
“I need to set up for tomorrow. Is there a problem?” As Warren finished his sentence, he flicked on all of the lights that I had left low on purpose. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lucas.”
Harrison moved in front of me and jutted his hand out. “I’m Harrison. I’m assuming you’re the assistant, Warren?”
Warren blushed furiously. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, Harrison. I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone…”
“It’s okay. I was just about to bring Lucas back to the hotel. Unless you need him here?”
Warren, poor Warren. His eyes bulged before he shook his head. “No, he’s all yours. I mean, he is… I’ll shut up now.”
After a little more awkward conversation, Harrison and I got into his truck. There were too many things swirling around in my mind. I needed a drink.
Still, I wanted things set in stone before he changed his mind. “I’ll get the marriage license tomorrow if you are serious.”
He bit his bottom lip while turning onto the main road. “I was serious, Lucas. Even if it’s just for show…”
“So, you’re taking me home?” I asked, hoping.
“I’m taking you back to the hotel, and I’m going to my house. I’m so tired lately, and all of this is making me anxious. I’m as confused as you are, Lucas. But I’m not ready to give up. I want you to know that.”
I rode the rest of the way in silence while Harrison hummed along to the music. He parked in front of the hotel, and we both sighed.
“I know you mean this to be for show, Harrison, but I want you to know something.” I turned to him in the truck and took his hand in mine, kissing his palm before continuing. “For me, this is not show. I’m going to be the best husband and father on this effing planet. I’d give all up the shows, the signings, all the fans for you if you asked me to, right this minute. All of it.”
“I won’t ask you to do that.”
I kissed his hand again. “I know that. I do. But when I’m not being Lucas the famous chef, I’m yours. And before you know what happened to you, you’ll love me like I already love you. And we will have a real marriage and raise this baby as a family. Mark my words.”
He doubted me. I could tell by his face. I pulled the lever to open the door and looked at him for the last time that night. “See you tomorrow, almos
t husband.”
I grinned while walking into the hotel, already making a list of how I would win him.
Harrison would be mine, and not because some marriage certificate told him so.
Chapter Sixteen
Harrison
I’d slept worth shit. Not even that well. All night long I kept waking up, thinking about the weird situation that Lucas and I had made for ourselves. Sure we were combustible sexually, but how we went from that to my suggestion to fake marriage still perplexed me.
When the words marry me came out, I half meant them. I was a solver and that solved the problem of making the best possible start for our child, as far as the stupid media went. And, truth be told, it also solved the problem I was having with Harrison. I wanted him close. I still couldn’t figure out all my feels, but I knew that when he wasn’t around, I wished he was, and that my real issue with his job was the temporary nature of his location. But if all that was wrapped around hormones and being pregnant, what would I feel if I wasn’t with child? I wasn’t sure yet.
And then, he dropped to his knees.
I swear he was trying to kill me.
And Warren—freaking Warren had to show up. In hindsight, it was for the best. We needed to think rationally, not with our little brains about this, but day-um, I wanted it so badly.
I was putting the kettle on for tea because no coffee during pregnancy stank even if the smell of it made me nauseous, when I heard a knock at the door. It was barely seven a.m., hardly the time for visitors, and Jaxon had long since given up knocking so my stomach fell. The last time I had an off-hour visitor, it was the police saying my grandfather had passed. He’d been sick, and it wasn’t a complete surprise that he was found peacefully at his favorite fishing spot, but that didn’t make the moment easier.
I raced to the door, stomach in knots, wondering what was wrong, only to open it and find Warren holding a stack of bakery boxes. What the heck?
“It’s seven a.m. I thought someone died.” I wasn’t even being a drama king, either.
“I was sent here the first time at five, so I was trying to be patient.”
I just stared at him. Five a.m. Was he serious?
“Can I come in?” He shifted on his feet, looking ridiculous with his burden, and like a weirdo I just stood there and stared.
“Yeah.” I stepped out of his way. “What is all this?”
“Sit down and I’ll explain.” He sighed. There was very much something I was missing. “Table?” he asked and for the first time, I realized he couldn’t really see over the top of the load. How he’d managed to knock was a miracle.
“Here.” I grabbed a few of the boxes. “Over there.” I indicated with my head, the smell of the baked goods tickling my nose.
“Okay, first things first.” Warren plopped the rest onto the kitchen table and sat down. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Why would I shoot you?” The kettle decided then to whistle, and I poured my cup of tea and grabbed an extra mug for Warren who shook his head. Not that I could blame him. Tea was far from my favorite.
Sitting down in front of him, I pushed the boxes out of the way.
“Because,” he began, answering the question I’d almost forgotten about, “what I am about to tell you is as insane as it sounds.”
Of that I had no doubt.
“Go on.”
“I was told to bring you this at five.” He finagled the bottom box from his pile and handed it to me. “I guess your alarm goes off then.”
How had Lucas known that? Ugg, social media, of course. Jaxon thought it funny to post a picture of me all disheveled, saying it was why I shouldn’t set my alarm for five a.m. I usually started my day at five, so he’d shown up a little early to get some candids. I had been up a grand total of two hours that day before I got a call from Vivian asking me why I didn’t sleep enough, which I did, but still.
“It used to,” I admitted. It was six, now, because pregnancy made me tired all the time. I opened the box, which was filled with my favorite treat. “Cookies?”
“Oatmeal raisin.”
“My favorite.” I grabbed one and took a bite before passing it to him. He grabbed one, too, and we both sat there eating and mmmming the yummy goodness.
“This is the five-thirty version.” He grabbed a second box after we had finished our cookie. “Spoiler alert—it’s cookies. Cranberry Chocolate Chunk Oatmeal.”
I succumbed. Because cookies. It was equally delicious to the first one, but the flavor was unique. He didn’t simply swap add-ins. The dough was completely different.
“And the next is six a.m.?” I asked when he pulled out a third box. What had Lucas been thinking. Not that I was complaining.
“You guessed it. Oatmeal chocolate chip.” He pointed to the next one, not bothering to hand it to me since I was still munching on cookie number three like a piglet. “And six thirty—Oatmeal spice. This one has ginger, so it should help your stomach if you are nauseous.”
“And seven?” I asked, not even teasing. How were there so many kinds of oatmeal cookies?
“Oatmeal banana.”
“And why? This is freaking crazy.” And wonderful and sweet and yummy—but crazy.
“Because he was up all night baking all the recipes of oatmeal cookies he could think of, I had to talk the restaurant owner into letting him cook there, and at five, he figured you’d be up so the deliveries could start. I saw your light on at seven, so they started at seven.” He reached into the first box, grabbing a second cookie. They were clearly his favorite.
“Is this the last of them?”
“Ha. You don’t know my boss very well if you think he’d give up that easily.”
For some reason, that had me feeling more secure with things than it should have. Baking was just that, baking. There was no reason for me to read so much into it, but he was providing for us in a way he knew I liked, thanks to Vivian’s meddling. Not that anyone needed that many cookies, and most certainly not at that hour, but still.
“No one would call this easy.” I took a sip of my tea, washing down the last of my cookie, swearing to myself I would stop. It was a lie. I was going to eat at least three more. They were amazing. “How many more?”
“By my count, you have packages coming until at least noon.”
My jaw dropped as I calculated how many different types of cookies that was.
“You can freeze them.” He shrugged. “Maybe not the banana ones; you’d have to ask Lucas that. You should ask Lucas that.”
There were a lot of things I needed to ask Lucas, but I wanted to hear Warren’s thoughts because he knew Lucas better than I did, which saddened me in a way it shouldn’t have.
“Because?”
“Because it’s driving him nuts not knowing how all this is going to play out, and when he gets stressed, he ‘fixes’ things, and in this case that means baking all night long.”
“And if I talk to him, he will stop?”
“Probably not, but you will each know where the other stands. Speaking of which, where do you stand?”
And there it was. The reason he didn’t deliver and go. He was looking out for his friend. Good. Lucas deserved someone to look out for him even if it wasn’t me. Although, I was beginning to think it soon would be me.
“I’m pregnant.”
“This I know,” he scoffed as if everyone knew, which in a town this size, they all did the second I got the prenatals. “But, do you want more with Lucas, or was that all about your child’s well-being? Not that I think that would be a bad reason. A dad needs to think of his child first, but still there can be more than that.”
“I want more.” That became clearer with each passing second.
“Does he know this?” And Warren gave him the stink eye, the one that said he sure as shit knew I hadn’t told him, not in an effective way anyway. He was right. I was a chicken-head loser like that.
“Because he’s all flustered and covered in flour, trying to p
rove he can—I don’t even know what. He’s a good man.”
I nodded because that much I’d already figured out.
“I know the fame is your worry, but he doesn’t do it for that. He’s all about the cooking. He would kill me if he knew I told anyone this, but he picked Mapleville because he remembered you were from here, and he thought maybe he could turn the show into more.”
My jaw dropped. I’d not even allowed myself to conjecture anything about his location other than the tidbits he gave me.
“Like build a restaurant for real and not the ones that have his name on them and make money but don’t hold a piece of him other than his branding. I’m not sure what you did to him that night. I mean, I know you did that because baby, but something else. You touched him where no one had. Give him a chance.”
“He’s at the restaurant now?” I needed to get to him. This wasn’t a conversation I should be having with his assistant. I needed to discuss it with Lucas.
“He is. And do me a solid and maybe leave off that I delivered these all at once. He was trying to do a romantic gesture like the flowers in some movie he liked, only with cookies. Food is his love language and all that.”
I jumped out of my seat, grabbing three more cookies, this time from the ginger box, for the road.
“Can do.” I snagged my keys off the hook, practically out the door, not caring that Warren was still sitting at my kitchen table. “And, Warren?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
I was probably out of the driveway and down the road before he made it to the door. I had an alpha to find.
Chapter Seventeen
Lucas
“I need candied orange for the next batch. And did you really think that this was enough cinnamon?”
I’d hired Jaxon, Harrison’s photographer and assistant, to help me for the day since he’d mentioned when he stopped by to take pictures of the set for Harrison’s Instagram account that he had the day off.
Tasting His Omega: A Mapleville Celebrity Chef Novel: MM Non Shifter Alpha/Omega Mpreg (Mapleville Omegas Book 4) Page 6
