by Maggie Way
“Come on, I saw your handled that corporate event in Cancun for—”
“Turn the stove on, will you?” He says dryly. Fine, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’ll pry the information out of him later. I turn the gas stove on, walking towards the pantry. He’s just hungry, that must be the reason for his cranky mood.
“Do you have soy sauce?”
“Why?”
“Do you or not?”
“Yeah, it’s in there,” he nods in the direction of the pantry I’m headed toward. I open the door, peering into the barely stocked shelf until I spot the bottle at the bottom.
“You do the coffee and I cook the food,” I order.
He raises an eyebrow. “Hey! I’m the cook out of the two of us.”
“Trust me, you’ll like what I make,” I tease with a grin. He’ll like what I make, my mom always made this for him whenever he was over. “Now, step away from that chopping board.”
“You’re cute when you’re bossy,” he smirks and I turn around so he avoids the sight of my face warming. He was just teasing, surely.
Eventually the fruits of our labour become a reality and the breakfast is plated up on two large blue plates. I bring the plates, cutlery and juice to the black, marble dining table near the large windows I get a little panicky at view of the Harbour Bridge and Port Jackson to my left so I grab a chair with its back to the window. Tristan follows shortly with the coffee.
We eat in silence, but it doesn’t matter. I inhaled it to satiate my growling stomach. Tristan, on the other hand, eats slowly, leisurely, and rather elegantly. He surprises me at every turn. The guy who dresses like a lumberjack, eats with such finesse.
“So, how have you been, – other than your wedding planning and all?
Besides getting jilted at the altar and getting dumped by my sorry-ass fiancé, I could be better. “Fine and dandy. This coffee better be strong,” I mutter.
“Trust me, I do a strong coffee.”
I take a sip and widen my eyes. My heart is palpating already. “Damn, you’re right.”
“Yeah, told you. Your eggs are good, your mom used to make them just like this.”
“Yeah, told you too.”
He shakes his head, grinning at my assertiveness.
“Thanks. For doing all of this,” I say.
“Fancy that. It’s not every day I cook breakfast with a woman without sleeping with her.”
I stare down at my plate. If I didn’t know better, I would think he is flirting with me? I just wish my body would get with the program and realise he’s just teasing. That’s what he does. Tristan and Hansley used to always go out to find girls to pick up, and I’ll bet they will continue to do so now that he is back.
“Come on, tell me what happened. What was Miss Straight-laced doing to get that smashed. It can’t be that bad, right?” His eyes flash with a wicked gleam. “I could just charge you for the room and breakfast service.”
“It’s not all that interesting,” I mumble.
“Surprise me.” He’s the one surprising me, if anything. He actually wants to listen to my problems? I sit up, taking one more sip of my strong-ass coffee in preparation for this.
I tell him everything, the short version, at least. It actually feels therapeutic and despite any judgments I had about Tristan, he’s a really good listener. Not just nodding along every now and then, but he really listens and makes me feel comfortable enough to open up more than I had anticipated. It’s ironic that the whole reason why I’m here is because I wanted to confront Adam, and now he feels like a total stranger. To think I’m supposed to be getting married today, but instead I’m here, hanging out with Tristan and actually having a good time.
Tristan pours me a second glass of orange juice. The food absorbs the effects of my hangover, and the reality of my situation seeps in.
“Man, he is such a pussy. If I had been there, I would have beat the crap out of him. I assume Hansley did a good enough job?” he growls, his eyes full of quiet rage.
I shrug my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done. I just have to move on. I still believe my soul mate is out there. Obviously, it wasn’t Adam.”
Tristan frowns. “Do you believe in soul mates?”
“Of course, I do! I wouldn’t be a very good wedding planner if I didn’t believe in true love. Everyone is supposed to have that one person they’re destined to be with, you cross paths with them for a reason. It’s fate.”
He seems displeased with my response. “I suppose it’s endearing that you can still believe in love. I can respect your ideology.”
He said it so callously, I have to press my lips together from debating this. Respect my ideology, what the hell does that mean?
“So, what are you going to do with yourself now?” he asks gently.
“Do what I do best, plan weddings. Other than my own,” I giggle, my attempt at a terrible joke.
“Already? You should take some time out for yourself. Chill out,” he says it like an order, not a suggestion. He reclines in the padded chair, his eyes lingering on my tired ones across the large wooden table.
“And what would I do? To chill out, as you suggest?”
“Go to a beach.”
“I only burn and crisp in the sun. I’ve come to accept that I will always look like a vampire.”
“Go to the snow, go skiing.”
“I can’t carry those skis, they’re so heavy!” I rib, having fun with this.
A frustrated sigh leaves his mouth. “Go shopping then, isn’t that what girls do?”
“And what, walk around buying useless crap I don’t need?”
“I forgot how lame you were,” he mutters under his breath.
“What did you say?” I narrow my eyes at him.
His lips twitch up in a half smile. “I said you’re lame. Happy?” he says louder, deliberately.
I cross my arms “After all this time, how can you be still so…annoying!!” I raise my voice slightly, rolling my eyes. Tristan sits there with an amused expression on his face but remains as cool as a cucumber.
“I bet you missed me, huh?” He’s laughing at me again, that bastard. How is it possible that he can rile me with just a few words, when nothing ever fazes him? He’s still that carefree clown who played really bad guitar with Hansley all those years ago.
I take my last sip of juice and scan the clock. 10am. Crap. I would be doing my hair and makeup right now, not sitting here having breakfast with the last person I ever thought I would have breakfast with. Not to mention I haven’t checked my phone since last night. God knows how many missed calls and messages I may have.
“I should probably go. Thanks so much for letting me stay. I owe you one.” “What’s the rush? I thought we were having a good time. Stay.”
He tilts his head to one side, running his index finger across his lower lip…oh my. He wants me to stay. Why does the idea make me giddy? “I haven’t checked my phone, so many emails to read.”
“Oh, the horror of it all!” he says mockingly. “Come on, you’re hung over. I think the last thing you should be doing right now is thinking about that.”
Not to mention it was supposed to be my wedding day, which I had temporarily blocked out of my mind. “I can’t trouble you more than I have.”
“Usually, I’m the one asking the woman to leave,” he says, an amused smirk on his face.
I scoff loudly. “What a charmer you are.”
In a hurry to leave, I stand up and pick up my plate and stroll over to the kitchen to place it in the sink. I better get back to Gabe’s. He’s probably wondering where I am, and where his car is.
Suddenly the chair squeaks loudly against the timber floor. I can hear him tread loudly towards me. “Believe it or not, I’m actually having a good time with you.”
“Surely you have things to do—”
“I have a business proposition for you,” he says, completely serious. “You said you owed me, didn’t you?”
&
nbsp; My ears perk up.
Maybe I can stay here a bit longer after all.
Chapter Eight
“Business proposition?” I place the dishes in the rack and turn around, backing up against the sink. He strolls towards the kitchen with his plate, with total relaxed swagger. He’s really confident, I’ll give him that.
“Aha, I knew that would get you interested. Care to hear more?”
I do. I need to know why he’s back. He can’t just show up out of the blue, discussing business with me without divulging what his situation is.
“Fine. But only if you tell me why you’re back,” I challenge quickly.
He raises an eyebrow, his face illegible. “I don’t think so. Obviously, you’re not interested enough.”
“I’ll put in a good word to Hansley.”
“What do you mean?”
I’m having fun with this. “Well, I could either say you took me here when I was at my most vulnerable and looked after me. Or I could say you took me here when I was at my most vulnerable and messed with me.” I can see a trace of panic across his face.
“You wouldn’t dare.” He knows how protective Hansley is of me, especially when it comes to guys like him.
“Obviously you don’t remember me much.”
Without warning he walks up to me, towering over me to put his dishes in the sink, leaning down slightly. That vanilla scent is there again, the same one from the sheets. The top of his singlet falls down and I get a glimpse of his toned chest with a generous smattering of hair on it. I can see that long scar on his sternum, which he got when he and Hansley were playing with a metal sheet when he was sixteen.
My face goes warm at his close proximity. Instantly, an odd shiver runs through me. Strange, it must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. I’ve known him my whole life but this feels completely new, this dynamic brewing between us and I can tell he feels the same way. He’s so close, his face just inches from mine.
He’s gazing at me, concentrating hard on my expression and I hear his breathing hitch. Why is he having this effect on me? I don’t understand it. “What do you want to know?” he asks. That low rumble does something to my insides.
“Everything.” His nostrils flare loudly and he stares at me, dark eyes blazing. I almost forgot that in the light, his eyes have these gold flecks that make them almost hazel, it’s nice.
“You play hard ball. Deal.” He reaches out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
I offer my hand and he practically envelops mine with his like a baseball glove. Rough, warm and smooth all at once. His thumb strokes my knuckles, up and down, and I inhale swiftly at the sensation of his skin on mine. What’s wrong with me, he’s just shaking my hand.
“You have beautiful hands,” he stares at me, intently, a soft expression on his face.
Before I get a chance to react he quickly releases his warm grasp and paces back a few steps. “We’re going to need more coffee. Sit down on the couch,” he dictates, turning around to head towards the fridge to grab the milk.
What was that? He was his usual self one minute, and abrupt the next. I make my way to sit in the middle of the spacious leather couch, curious to know what’s going to happen next.
As he boils the kettle, he throws on a flannel green plaid shirt, which further enhances his muscular build. It’s hypnotising; how he moves - it’s fluid, effortless, and rugged all at the same time. He’s like this hot lumberjack – minus the beard, which is totally not what I usually find attractive at all. I like guys in pressed shirts, tailored trousers, and loafers.
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’ve been checking him out all morning, despite my efforts not to. I think I get a concession for my situation, right? Tristan catches me staring at him and I quickly look down at my nails. Dammit. He comes back with two large mugs of coffee and sits close to me on the couch and I breathe quietly. Get yourself together, it’s just Tristan.
Placing my mug on the table, he holds onto his.
“Before I go into the details, can I ask how you got into wedding planning? You were never the girly type growing up, more of a nerd actually.” He lifts his feet on the couch and turns to face towards me.
“Oh my gosh, that was in high school! I’ve changed since then.”
He glances over my black dress, his eyes lingering a bit longer where my décolletage sits. He’s doing it again, looking at me like that. Is it just my imagination or is he checking me out? Surely not. “I suppose you have,” he mumbles to himself.
“I was always a girly girl, what are you talking about? And I was so not a nerd.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Your nose was always stuck in a book or a jigsaw puzzle,” he recites it so quickly, like he knows it like the back of his hand.
“Not to mention a scrapbook, a journal, romance novels…,” ticking the list off my fingers, enjoying the banter. Hmm maybe he’s right. Is it possible to be both?
He sneers, mocking contempt, “Sorry I asked.”
“Anyway, do you want my answer or not? I’ll give you the short version, it’s rather girly.”
His lips hint at a smile. “No, long version this time.”
I reach forward and grab the mug of coffee, still too hot to drink. “It all started at Uni. Once upon a time, I worked at the frozen yoghurt shop down on Kent Street. I got along really well with this other girl that worked there, Amelia.”
“You and this girl eh…” he raises his eyebrows in full interest as he takes a big sip of his coffee.
“Not like that!” I slap his foot gently. “Anyway, so one day she tells me her sister is getting married and they wanted extra caterers. So, she asked me. Cash strapped, I said yes, naturally.” I pause to peek up at him, sure that he wasn’t really engaged in the story. “Are you sure you want me to keep going?”
“Please,” his voice cuts in with amused impatience. Adam always hated it when I talked about work, and always nodded quietly when I know he was really more interested in what was on television. It’s a refreshing change, having a straight male give me his undivided attention.
“The wedding was beautiful; overlooking Rose Bay, about 60 guests. Anyway, I started talking to the wedding planner when she kept coming back for the salmon and mascarpone blini’s. One thing led to another and before I know it she asked me to come to her office the next week.”
A mischievous smirk appears on his face. “Ooh I like where this is going.”
My belly flutters suddenly. Why am I feeling a secret thrill that he is imagining me in these situations? “She asked me to come in for an interview, you sicko!” I blow on the piping hot coffee, desperate to avoid his glance. Somehow he manages to make me feel right at home, and then hot and bothered the next. How is that possible?
“Anyway, so it started all from there. I just took the job because it was better work experience than scooping low fat dairy and sprinkling toppings, but I didn't expect to love planning weddings as much as I did. The run sheets, the in-laws, the chaos, even the bridezillas. And I've dealt with them all, believe me. I decided to start my own practice after a year - with her full blessing, of course. And the rest is history, as they say.” I smile at him. “It’s sort of ironic, really.”
“What is?”
“I never got the hype around big, fancy weddings. My parents got married on the beach with five of their closest friends and they are still as happy as ever. I used to think that big weddings were bogus. But then, I got to see it first hand for myself and how magical it all is. It really makes a difference in their lives, and suddenly I didn’t feel right to judge them. Whatever they wanted wasn’t ridiculous or silly because it was the way they wanted to celebrate their love. Every couple is different. They all have their own love story. My job is to just help them tell it, and…” I pause trying to find the right word, “it’s quite a privilege. I’m really lucky to do what I do.”
He looks impressed as he strokes his lips. Either that or he’s trying to process the lo
ng winded speech I just gave him.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t too corny, was it?” I squish my nose, cringing at my flowing tongue. I take a sip of the coffee and my heart races. It’s even stronger than the first batch he made!
“No, not at all. You love what you do, and you work hard for it. I love your passion. Love of the job is why I went into event planning myself. It doesn’t matter about how much you charge them, if you create the perfect day its—”
“Priceless,” I blurt out.
He looks at me appraisingly. “Precisely.”
“I’m glad somebody gets it, Adam always thought—”
“Adam is a fucking dumbass,” he growls, his voice hostile.
“What?”
“Adam is a fucking dumbass, letting go of someone like you.” His eyes blaze at me.
I laugh shyly, flattered by his sincerity. “I wasn’t perfect either—”
“Are you kidding me? If you were mine, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” That low grumble emerges again, those whiskey coloured eyes stare at me heatedly. My heart races and I don’t think it’s the coffee. How can he be so sweet and so damn sexy at the same time? Oh my! Stop these ludicrous thoughts.
He quickly resumes a straight face.
“Ahem, what I meant was you didn’t deserve to get hurt like that, Straight-laced,” he adds tersely.
How does he do that? The way he looked at me just now, he made me feel like the only girl in the world. Then the very next second, he’s back to his usual self and he's just that annoying boy who would come over every Friday night in that ugly, ratty hoodie. It’s unnerving.
He clears his throat, resuming a steely resolve. “Anyway, that business proposition I had for you. Are you ready?”
