by JD Hawkins
“So?” she says. “Go on. How was it?”
I take a deep sip of water and look up at the wall as I try to find the words, a decent point to start at.
“It was…fantastic.”
“Oooh!” Asha squeals, tucking her feet up under her and leaning toward me even more eagerly.
“I mean, it’s hard to believe that it was only two days. It feels like we’ve just spent a month together. I…it was just…really great.”
“Wow…” Asha says, smiling warmly.
“I mean the restaurant is amazing, the food he’s planning is incredible, and it was really awesome helping him decide on—”
“Pfft! I don’t wanna hear about the work! I wanna hear about you two! Did you…”
“Yeah, we did,” I say after a little pause. “In the hotel suite, on the floor, in the shower.” Asha’s eyes widen. “In the back of the new space, the public bathroom of this classy bar…”
“Whoa,” Asha says, fanning herself a little. “Did you even get a chance to talk?”
“Oh yeah. We talked about everything. Food, ourselves, what we want out of life…”
Well, I mostly told Cole what I wanted out of life—leaving out a few key details when I mentioned my ‘future’ dream restaurant. I trail off into silence and start chewing my lower lip as the nagging reminder of Tony’s recent hustling and our maybe-possibly-but-probably-not-about-to-happen restaurant comes flashing into my brain. There’s no way it’s going to happen. Not this soon. But if it did, and I kept it from Cole this whole time…no. I can’t afford to think that way. The chances of it all coming together so fast are basically nil.
Asha shakes her head and smiles as she throws herself back on the couch.
“What a whirlwind. That sounds so romantic.”
“It was. Kinda,” I say, staring into the distance as I recall all those conversations again, tapping into what I actually feel as if I’m in confession. “He’s different than what I thought. I mean he’s exactly like you’d suspect: Confident, meticulous, kinda stubborn, but…there’s more to him. He can be really sweet. Like at lunch today, he switched our desserts because I tried his and liked it more. And I noticed that whenever I would talk about food his eyes would linger on me for a second before he spoke—as if he was really, genuinely thinking about what I’d said. Most guys just glaze over when I start talking about food. I mean I know Cole’s a chef too, but it’s really nice to have someone just…get it.”
When I finish talking I turn to Asha and see that she’s got a knowing grin on her face.
“What?” I say.
“You’re falling for him. Hard.”
“No!”
“You are, Willow. I’m not blind. You sound a high-schooler talking about the MVP of the basketball team.”
I look down, unable to really deny it.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Pretty much,” Asha smiles.
After a little silence I take a long drink of water and sigh deeply.
“I’m just on a high from the trip, it’ll probably pass as soon as I’m back at work—real work.”
Asha frowns and sits up. “Why are you so intent on not having fun?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re seeing a guy who’s incredibly hot, rich, and—according to you—pretty charismatic, not to mention fantastic in bed, but you act like you wish you were single again.”
“It’s not that…I just don’t want to delude myself. I’ve been burned before—not just by men, but by being optimistic, expecting things to work out, hoping for the best. I don’t want to let my emotions out and suddenly find them being trampled on. This could be nothing, you know? Just fooling around. I don’t want to go thinking that it means something when I don’t know if it actually does.”
Asha sighs, and I can’t tell if she’s feeling pitiful or unconvinced.
“The guy just took you on a two day trip to a fancy hotel in Vegas so that you could help him with his new business and screw you silly. And before that he took you to a private beach spot and opened up about his deep, dark past. He’s giving you everything he’s got. What more of a sign do you want, girl? Are you still gonna be calling it ‘nothing’ when he proposes?”
I laugh nervously, half imagining Cole on one knee before quickly pushing the image away. “Everybody and their grandma knows Cole Chambers likes sex—and like I said, he spent a hell of a time getting it while we were away. Maybe that’s all he wanted? Maybe that’s all I am to him? A business trip where he can get a decent second opinion while getting his rocks off at the same time.”
Asha’s expression is dismissive now, and I can tell she’s losing patience, though she’s sweet enough to keep trying.
“Quit asking what you are to him and ask yourself what he is to you. Didn’t you ask him at any point how he felt? About what exactly you two had between you?”
I shrug, feeling naïve as I do so.
“It seems kind of quick to be asking. Do people really do that?”
“I do,” Asha says, swinging her head as she says it, and emphasizing the words in an almost musical way. “See: Men love it when you don’t know where you stand. Especially men like Cole Chambers. They’re like predators. It’s all good when they’re hunting you down, got you in their sights, doing everything they damned well can to get your panties off, but once they finally do, they don’t know when to stop playing and decide to commit.”
Asha gets up and nods for me to follow as she moves to her bedroom.
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I say, as she starts moving around the room. I notice the dress laid out nicely on the bed, the handbag emptied on the dresser.
“Of course it’s that simple,” Asha says as she peels off the bathrobe to reveal her underwear, and checks her body in the mirror before pulling her braids back to clip them. “You know, Cole might be waiting for some sign from you that this is more than just sex.”
“I doubt it,” I say, as I sit on the edge of her bed. “Cole doesn’t wait for anything, pretty much.”
“Well you need to ask him outright what’s going on, what he wants, and make damned sure he’s on the same page as you.”
“You make it sound so easy…hey, where are you going?”
Asha smiles as she peels her dress from the bed and holds it out in front of her.
“I don’t just talk a good game,” she says, winking. “I’ve got a date with a heart surgeon who’s been turning up to my classes for a couple of months now, chatting me up after class—although he’s already got the body of a middle-weight.” Asha pauses to delicately zip up her dress and check herself in the mirror again. “I’ve spent the whole week driving him crazy with sexy pictures, and I figured it’s about time both of us got what we wanted.”
“Lucky guy.”
“If he plays his cards right. What do you think of this perfume?”
I watch (and occasionally help) Asha get herself ready, enjoying the sight of her confident, well-practiced routine. In a funny kind of way, nothing has felt more ‘L.A.’ than what Asha’s getting herself into; two confident people who know what they want, going for it no holds barred, and no doubt getting it. It’s a long way from my teenage experiences, wearing my lucky pair of faded jeans to go out with guys in shirts that were crisp from underuse. Sipping sodas at a diner where the truck drivers and farmers would grab quick lunches. Maybe parking at that spot in the woods to fool around clumsily. Maybe she’s got the right idea. Maybe it is that easy to just put yourself out there.
“Listen, honey,” Asha says when she’s finished dressing, putting her hands on my shoulders so that she can look me in the eye sincerely. “I know it’s cheesy but you’ve got to follow your heart. Your head will stop you from doing anything, and your body will make you do things you regret—but your heart will always lead you to happiness—even if the path there is a little bumpy.”
I smile, suddenly feeling a warmth in my chest and a little flicker
in my eyes.
“I’m a chef. I know how good a little cheese can be. Thanks, Asha.”
She pats my cheek gently, grabs her bag from the bed, then walks out of the apartment with an elegance and speed that’s incredible for the height of her heels.
I go to my room to get ready for bed, head still spinning from everything.
Maybe Asha’s right, maybe I should forget the things that keep walling off my feelings. Maybe I should forget Cole’s reputation, the fact that he’s my boss, the unlikely possibility that I may have to tell him I might be leaving soon to start my own restaurant. Maybe I should quit telling myself that the sex between us is just too good to pass up, that it’s only his body making me go weak, that it’s just lust and desire drawing me back to him again and again.
Maybe I should let go of the way Nick used and hurt me, release the restricting chains of the past that keep me from dipping more than a toe in the future.
Maybe I should just admit it: I’m falling in love with Cole.
15
Cole
I’d never heard of puppy chow before Willow mentioned it while talking about comfort food, her hand going to her chest and her eyes closing over that half-smile the way she does when she talks about something she really loves. The satisfied look imprinting the words on my memory, a detail I knew it would be smart to remember. One of the many details I learned on our trip to Vegas, along with the almost-imperceptible freckles across her nose, the birthmark behind her left thigh, the ever-so-slightly odd way she pronounced the word ‘aromatic.’
I had to look up what the dessert even was: Chex cereal mixed with melted chocolate and peanut butter, powdered with a layer of confectioner’s sugar. It made me smile, thinking of the chef for whom no béarnaise sauce was quite good enough, having an affection for sugar-coated cereal. It felt like both another page revealed in that complex character, and another mystery to unfold.
I wondered who had made it for her during her childhood that she loved it so, whether it was the mom she missed, or some beloved grandparent or aunt she had stayed with on weekends. I wondered if that simple snack reminded her of something, of late nights watching movies with her sister, perhaps, or of being treated after doing her chores. Maybe it had been comfort food for the sake of emotional comfort, an easily made sugar hit that dulled the pain of some sad event, a comforting sweetness when she wanted to wallow in self-doubt. A food like that had to have some emotion behind it, some memory, and I wanted to know, to understand, so that I might get even closer to her.
That’s why I decided to make it for her as a surprise—if only to see that half-smile again.
It’s late when I get home, around nine, carrying a grocery bag of cereal and the other ingredients. Willow would be at her shift now, so I leave her a text asking her to come over when she’s done. It wouldn’t surprise me if she said no—nobody understands better than I do the need to rest after a hard shift in a place like Knife, plus it’s only been a couple of days since we spent every waking second within grabbing distance of each. But she texts me back just a short while later.
Sure. But I’ll smell like the kitchen.
I feel a rush inside of me, lust already stirring at the answer, then quickly type back.
You can shower here.
Her reply is quick.
I’ll bet I can.
I spend the next few hours tidying up—not that the place is messy, but more for something to do with the sense of unfulfilled action tingling in my muscles. I rush order a few flowers to soften the man-cave look of the vast apartment, put some chairs out by the pool, in the perfect spot to look over the city, and spend way too long trying to figure out what kind of drink might go with puppy chow. Then, I poor myself a glass of whiskey and try to relax.
Around midnight I open the door to a surprised-looking Willow and try to hold back the smile that seeing her brings out of me.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her toward me for a kiss. When she pulls away her eyes are still wide and shocked. “You ok?”
“Yeah…” she says, looking around. “I just…I thought I had the wrong house. I thought maybe this was a modern art museum or something. This place is huge.”
I laugh gently as I close the door behind her.
“You should see the one in Spain. Come on,” I say, putting a hand on the small of her back, a little closer to her ass than it needs to be, “I’ll give you the tour.”
For the next fifteen minutes I lead her around the house, giving her the backstory to the artworks that adorn the walls, the different reasons I love each of my sports cars, talking her through the custom designs of each handmade piece of furniture. Willow coos and smiles throughout like a kid in a candy factory. Usually I take a little pride in showing things like this, the things I’ve worked for all my life. It satisfies my ego. But this might be the first time I’m showing these things simply to make Willow smile, simply because that face she makes where her lips part and her eyebrows go up to show she’s impressed is impossibly cute.
“Why are those shutters curved like that?” she asks when we’re in the dining room.
“Oh, well see, this is the western side of the building. The thing about California evening light is that it has this really precise, clear quality, coming from over the Pacific. So when you have straight shutters it kinda cuts through in a really direct, harsh way, and I was concerned the house would be too angular as it is, so I had these shutters custom-made with a slight bend and rough edges to make it more—why are you looking at me like that?”
Willow laughs a little and shakes her head.
“I know how you are in a kitchen, but I didn’t realize you were that particular about everything.”
I laugh as I move my hands around her waist, pulling her toward me a little to look right into the brown swirls of her eyes.
“I just know exactly what I want,” I say, staring as deeply into her as I can.
She blushes a little before glancing down.
“Well, I kinda feel like a mess, standing here in my dirty work clothes surrounded by all this engineered perfection.”
“If you’re a mess, you’re a beautiful mess. The kind of beautiful mess a guy like me needs,” I say, before taking a long, slow kiss from those rose petal lips. When we break apart her expression is soft, tender, and I can tell her mind is working overtime to try and read between the lines of what I just said. I decide not to let her dwell on it. “Come on,” I say, taking her hand, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I lead her back through the house, her curious pleas only making my playful expression more gratified, until we’re out at the pool. Willow scans the skyline, the glowing blue of the water against the darkness of the night, until eventually she sees it and half-gasps.
“You cooked for me?” she says, as I lead her to the small table at the edge of the railing, beyond which the drop of the Hollywood Hills merges with the twinkling city lights.
“Not sure you would call it cooking,” I say, flaming her curiosity even more.
I pull out a chair and she sits down, eyes focusing on the silver dish cover as if she might see through it if she concentrates hard enough. I light the candles I set out and then make an elaborate gesture of putting my hand on the bell, enjoying her eager anticipation one last time before pulling it away dramatically.
“Oh!” she squeals, mouth opening wide with delighted disbelief. “Puppy chow! Are you kidding me? This is the best!”
I shrug nonchalantly and sit on the chair beside her, facing the skyline.
“How did you know?” she asks, surprise turning to bemusement. “I mean…I never told you…”
“You mentioned it while we were in Vegas—offhand, but you mentioned it,” I say, still enjoying the wonder in her face.
She pulls the bowl near, taking in the smell a little like it’s a gourmet broth, then delicately takes one and puts in her mouth, finally showing me what I wanted to see all the while I was making it. That semi-orgasmic, almost
spiritually satisfied look she gets when she’s tasting food she likes.
“Oh my God…” she says, chewing slowly. “You have no idea how good this is; how many feelings this brings back. Did you try it yourself?”
She picks another up and holds it out for me. As I take it from her fingers and pop it into my mouth I nod, unconvincingly.
“It’s…um…yeah.”
Willow laughs.
“God…I can’t believe the Michelin-starred chef Cole Chambers just made me puppy chow.”
I laugh along with her and put my arm on the back of her chair, hand on the soft curve of her shoulder. “I wasn’t sure what we should drink with it,” I say, drawing the cooler beside the table closer to us. “Is beer ok?”
“Beer’s great,” Willow says, as I twist the top off a bottle and hand her one.
I grab another bite of the food and open a bottle for myself, turning my gaze out to the cityscape and feeling my soul fill at having Willow beside me.
“So how was your shift?”
Willow finishes swallowing and tilts her head.
“It was good. Hell of a crowd tonight, and apparently the highest tip count this month. Although we did get somebody sending back the gazpacho soup because it was cold.”
I laugh and say, “Been a while since that happened.”
“I think Leo still hates me, the Basque burgers are selling great, and the success of escargots continues to confuse the hell out of me even though…” Willow trails off, then turns to me, her face a little anxious now. “Listen, Cole…I know this is probably awkward, and sudden, and maybe kinda…soon. And maybe your head isn’t in the same place as mine, or you feel like it’s not the right time, or…I don’t know. But I just…can I ask you something?”
For a moment my stomach lurches, like my body is already expecting the worst. Is she quitting Knife? Did she get offered a job at another restaurant, or something back home in Idaho where her family is? Or did Leo say something awful to her at work today? If he did, I’ll fire his ass so fast it’ll make his head spin. My fist involuntarily clenches and I have to work to relax my hand, clearing my throat and forcing my expression to remain calm.
