A Night to Forget

by Jessica Wood

  “Wow, that sounds amazing. So how do you, uh, let this meat sleep?” he asked.

  I giggled. “You mean rest, not sleep. Fifteen minutes should be enough time.”

  He laughed at himself. “And this is why I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

  As if in response, we heard his stomach growl in contempt. “As you can see, I cannot wait for this meal.” He smiled at me. It was warm, genuine, and alluring. I smiled back at him, realizing that I could never get tired of seeing him smile at me this way.

  “Anything else?” he asked eagerly.

  “Well, the French string beans with almond slivers are done. I’ll put it in the oven to keep it warm. I think the only thing we have left is to make the Guinness au jus dip for the prime rib and the mash potatoes,” I said as I ran down the checklist in my head.

  “Ok, just tell me what to do.”

  “Let me start the au jus dip, and why don’t you get the mashed potatoes ready? I’ve already cubed them and boiled them. We just need to mash them up and add in some ingredients. Do you mind doing the mashing?” I asked.

  “I’m on it,” he said as he looked at the pot of potatoes.

  I turned away from Brandon towards the stove and began making the au jus sauce with the pan drippings from the prime rib and a full can of Guinness.

  A few seconds later, Brandon asked, “Just one question though.” I turned back to him. “How do you actually mash potatoes?” His innocent confusion was endearing and made me laugh.

  “I believe I saw a masher earlier,” I said as I went through his kitchen drawers. “Here it is.” I pulled out the potato masher.

  “Oh,” Brandon looked at it sheepishly.

  “What?” I asked, confused by the expression on his face.

  “That’s a potato masher?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah. What did you think it was?” I looked at him with amusement.

  “Well, I thought it was for the grill. I’ve been using it to press the hamburger meat while it’s cooking over the grill.”

  There was a slight pause as we looked at each other, and then we broke out in laughter.

  “Okay, well, do you want to try out your potato masher for the first time then?” I asked as I handed him the masher.

  “You bet I do,” he said with a chuckle.

  As he mashed the potatoes in the pot, I went to check on the au jus dip simmering on low on the stove. Then I turned my attention back to Brandon and helped him with the mashed potatoes by adding in some crushed garlic, butter, milk, sour cream, salt, and chives.

  As he moved, I could not help but notice the muscles of his arm flex against his light blue shirt. We were inches away from one another, but our bodies did not touch. I could feel the heat of his body and his breath against my face. For a few minutes, we worked in silence, which seemed to intensify the tension that grew between us.

  I grabbed a spoon next to the pot and he watched me as I scooped up some of the mashed potato concoction into my mouth.

  “How does it taste?” he asked as he eyed my lips.

  “Not bad, it may need a touch more salt.” I felt my face blush as he looked at me.

  “Can I try?” he asked. I waited for him to reach for the spoon. He didn’t.

  “Um, sure,” I scooped up another spoonful and fed it to him. Our eyes locked as he took the spoon into his mouth.

  “It tastes amazing,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, I felt his hand next to my face as he brushed his thumb across my lips—the roughness of his finger sent a chill down my spine. “You had some sour cream on your lips,” he said as he licked the sour cream from his thumb.

  At that moment, we leaned forward towards each other, our faces now inches apart, and I could feel his deep breaths tickle my face.

  “It really does taste amazing,” he said in a near whisper, “In fact,” he paused as he pulled me closer towards him, “I’d like to have some more.” He then leaned down towards me, and I closed my eyes, anticipating the touch of his lips on mine.

  Just then, a burning smell hit my senses and I jumped away from Brandon and run towards the stove. “Shit, the au jus dip.”

  But it was too late, the sauce pan of au jus dip was now a crisp brown layer of residue stuck on the pan.

  I removed the pan from the heat and turned off the stove. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have any au jus dip after all,” I said.

  “You might be right. That does look like any dip I’ve ever seen,” Brandon said with a chuckle. “And here I thought you were good in the kitchen,” he teased.

  I made a face at him, “Well I don’t usually have too many distractions in the kitchen,” I shot back. Definitely not one that’s as distracting as you, I thought as I met his gaze.

  “Fine, if you need someone to blame, I’ll gladly be your punching bag and take one for the team. I suppose that’s what a team leader is supposed to be,” he said with a wink.

  I smiled at him and wished that we hadn’t been interrupted moments earlier by the au jus dip.

  “Okay, well I’m starving,” he said, interrupting my thoughts, “We should start eating this feast you’ve prepared. My fat pants will fall down if I don’t eat soon, and you’ve caught me right before laundry day, so I’m wearing my embarrassing Batman boxers.” He chuckled, “So let’s eat so we can save me that embarrassment, okay?”

  I laughed. “Okay.” Brandon possessed a power over me that I couldn’t resist. Just being in his presence made me insanely happy.

  “I’ll move the prime rib, mashed potatoes, and string beans to the dining room table—here I am, doing all the heavy lifting,” he teased. “Can you set the table? The silverware’s in the top drawer next to the stove and the place settings are in the drawer below that.”

  “Sure,” I said as I watched him move the prime rib into the dining room.

  When I got to the dining room, I saw him standing there waiting for me. A boyish smile spread on his face as he met my gaze. Then he lifted his hand up in front of him and I saw that he was holding a small paper bag.

  “Pièce de résistance,” he said in an animated French accent.

  “You went to Miette!” I exclaimed. I did not need him to tell me what was in that cute pink bag. Miette was an adorable pastry shop in San Francisco that made colorful and almost too-cute-to-eat cakes, cupcakes, tarts, and confections. It was one of my favorite shops at the Ferry Building.

  “I did.” He smiled at me proudly.

  “How did you know I have a weakness for Miette?”

  “I didn’t,” he began. “You mentioned at lunch that you love to bake and I had a feeling you’d love this place.”

  I was touched and a part of me wanted to run into his arms and kiss him. He was the man for me. Even if he seemed to have forgotten about Cancun, I knew that this Brandon, the one standing before me, could make me happier than I ever thought was possible for me.

  “I love … it, I love it.” I love you, I said silently. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he said as he took the silverware from me and helped me set the table. “It’s the least I could do. You’re the one that slaved away in the kitchen.”

  “—and luckily, I didn’t burn it down,” I joked.

  He laughed, and a rush of warmth spread through me as I looked at him. I wanted desperately for him to be mine. I wanted to be this happy forever with him.

  “Well, let’s eat,” he said as he eyed the food on the table.

  The meal was perfect, and I smiled with pleasure when I saw Brandon going in for his third round of everything.

  “Emma,” Brandon said between bites, “everything tastes phenomenal. I can’t believe you made this.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at him. “I’m really happy that you’re enjoying it.”

  After dinner, we sat down on the couch in his living room going over some of the charts for the Imperial Hotel Project.

  “So after my meeting with the CEO of Imperi
al Hotel this morning, it looks like they’ll want us to pitch them a new branding idea for their new line of hotels they plan to build in the next couple of years,” Brandon said.

  “Oh, what do you think they’d want?”

  “Well, these hotels will all be located in honeymoon locations, so I think they’ll want something that screams luxury and romance.”

  We spent the next hour going over potential ideas and reviewing the materials the Imperial Hotel provided us for the pitch.

  “Oh, we almost forgot about the cupcakes,” Brandon said during our brainstorming session.

  “I didn’t,” I said with laugh.

  Brandon got up and went to get the Miette bag from the living room. “So I got several different ones because I didn’t know which ones you would like.”

  “I pretty much like all of their stuff, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  He came over with the bag and pulled out two pretty boxes from the bag and a sheet of paper. “Help me open these. I think there are four cupcakes in each—”

  “—you got eight cupcakes?” I asked in astonishment.

  “Well, I kind of got carried away,” Brandon said sheepishly.

  I giggled, “Just a little. At least I know we won’t be fighting over the cupcakes. So what are our options?” I asked.

  “Well, we’ve got a two gingerbread cupcakes, two chocolate vanilla cupcake, two old-fashioned cupcakes, one carrot cupcake, and one yellow strawberry cupcake,” he said as he read from the paper.

  I smiled at him, “Did you write them down?”

  He laughed, “Yeah, I didn’t think I could keep them straight if I didn’t.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  He smiled. “Oh, and coincidentally, I just remembered that the woman at the shop said that their gingerbread cupcakes are one of their most popular because they are made with Guinness beer. So we’ll have some Guinness after all.”

  “Well that’s a relief.” We laughed at the irony.

  “So what would you like to try?” Brandon asked as he held out one of the boxes towards me.

  “The gingerbread cupcake, of course. To get my Guinness fix,” I joked as I pulled out a chocolate colored cupcake topped with cream cheese frosting and a candied pink flower from the box.

  “You talked me into it, I’ll have the same.” He grinned at me as he took the other gingerbread cupcake. “Cheers,” he added as he bumped his cupcake against mine.

  I giggled as I peeled away the cupcake wrapper and bit into the cupcake. It was delicious—the moist, spiced cupcake worked perfectly with the sweet cream cheese frosting.

  I looked over at Brandon and he had already devoured the entire cupcake. I saw some leftover frosting on his lips and without thinking, I held my hand against his face and gently whipped off the frosting with my thumb. His hand reached up and held my hand against his face, and I felt his afternoon stubble under my palm.

  He moved my hand towards his lips and licked the frosting off my thumb. I inhaled sharply at the unexpected rush of pleasure caused by his lips. Our eyes met, and I saw the need I felt for him reflected in his eyes. He leaned down towards me and I felt his lips envelop mine.

  His lips were soft and sweet, leaving sparks of electricity at their wake. I kissed him back, moving my lips and tongue in unison with his.

  Abruptly, he pulled me away, his eyes blinking as if he was coming out of a trance. “Sorry.” He slowly leaned away from me. “Sorry about that. I’m not sure what got into me.” He shook his head as if trying to shake off a thought.

  I sat there, frozen in place, I was both excited from his unexpected kiss and devastated from his sudden change of heart.

  “Do you not like me?” I heard myself blurt out. A part of me winced at my bold and hasty words, but yet, another part of me—tired of being toyed with—needed answers.

  He looked at me. His eyes were gentle and his lips broke into a smile. “Emma,” he began softly, “how can you even ask that?”

  I looked at him in surprise, and felt a tinge of outrage by his statement. “Why shouldn’t I ask that? Brandon, you just kissed me, and then pushed me away? You may be my boss, but you can’t push me around like that! You can’t toy with my feelings like that.”

  He moved closer towards me, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t comprehend. “No, that’s not what I meant, Emma.” He looked deep into my eyes, and I found it more and more difficult to focus on anything but his close proximity to me.

  “What did you mean then?” I tried to sound demanding, but it came out soft and pleading.

  “I meant, you must be crazy to think that I don’t have feelings for you. Haven’t I been pretty transparent about how I feel?”

  “I … I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I thought you were a little flirty, but then you were cold,” I began.

  “Emma, that’s what I was trying to avoid. We work together, and I’m your boss, and I’ve been trying really hard to keep things professional. Plus, I have a lot of personal things I’ve been trying to deal with, and I just don’t think I should involve myself with anyone right now, and certainly not someone like you.”

  His last few works caused me to flinch. The hurt I felt must have shown on my face. “Emma, please don’t misunderstand. What I meant was that I’m not sure I’m ready to be with anyone serious, so especially not with someone like you, because … quite honestly, you’re trouble.” He chuckled. “When I’m with you, it’s hard to imagine not wanting to spend every waking moment with you. I’m my happiest self when you’re around. And—”

  He paused as he violently combed his hands through his hair, “—this is just crazy. I barely know you, but,” he closed the distance between us again, “when I think about you, I can see a forever with you.” He looked at me, waiting for me to respond.

  But I couldn’t. I’ve wanted to hear those words from him for so long, but for some reason, they seemed to be all wrong. He wasn’t saying them as a confession of his love for me; he was saying them as if these are not feelings he wanted to have. I looked away from him so that he wouldn’t see the hurt in my eyes, and silently willed him to explain himself further.

  As if reading my mind, he slowly tilted my chin up towards his face with his index finger and gently glided his thumb against my lips. “Hey,” he said softly, “you’re gorgeous, charming, and real, and any guy would be a fool to not want you in his life. Please believe me when I say that. Tell me you believe me?”

  His eyes were sincere and pleading, and I gently nodded. “You’re not a fool,” I said in a whisper.

  He smiled at me warmly. “I try not to be, but I’m far from perfect.”

  “I beg to differ,” I retorted.

  “Emma,” he began. For a moment, we stood there in silence, and I could tell he was deep in thought.

  Finally, after an excruciating minute, he broke the silence, “Okay,” he said firmly as he nodded his head once.

  “Okay,” I repeated tentatively, ending the word as a question.

  “I’m not going to deny that there’s something here—something real.” He paused. “But my life is complicated, and—,” he began, “—and the fact that we work together complicates things further.”

  I felt hope rise within me, but quickly forced it away—something inside me told me he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted.

  “So, what are you suggesting?” I asked. I kicked myself for feeling so hopeful.

  “Let’s just try to get to know each other—as friends—for now.”

  I felt my body sag when I heard his words. He waited for me to respond, but I couldn’t speak.

  “I want to spend more time with you and get to know you, and I don’t want a romantic relationship to complicate that right now,” he explained.

  I looked down towards our feet, trying desperately to think of something happy—something unrelated to Brandon—that would stop the tears from forming in my eyes.

  “Hey,” Brandon said softly, his hands gent
ly held my arms. “Please look at me, Emma.” Something sad and honest in his voice made me tilt my head up towards him.

  “Please don’t cry,” he said as he wiped the tears from my cheeks. “What I’m suggesting is by no way a rejection. Trust me, if I had my way, I’d forget about dinner, rip off that dress from your body that has been taunting me all day, and have my way with you in my bedroom.” I saw a flicker of desire light up in his eyes, and images of our night on that canopy bed in Cancun flashed through my thoughts.

  “—but,” he continued, wrenching me away from my memories, “that wouldn’t be fair to you—“

  “Why not?” I interrupted.

  “Emma, we work together. I’m your boss, and the son of the founding partner and CEO of F&M. I don’t want us to rush into things and do something we’d regret. If we were to start a romantic relationship, a number of things will change for you. We’d have to disclose this relationship to our legal department, and you would have to go to another project group because I wouldn’t be allowed to be your direct supervisor.”

  “Oh,” I said. I realized that I had never considered the consequences that would result from a relationship with Brandon. When it came to Brandon, it seemed like all forms of rationality evaded me.

  “I care about you, Emma. More so than you can imagine—more than I thought possible for a person to care for another—and that scares me.”

  “Why?” Again, I interrupted him.

  “Because I don’t want my feelings for you to rush you into something that might be a mistake.”

  “A mistake?”

  Brandon sighed. “What I mean is, I want to take things slow. I want you to get to know me before you make a decision that may change things for you at F&M. I know you worked really hard to get this job, and I don’t want to be the person to take that away from you. I’m not worth it—”

  “You are,” I interrupted a third time.

  “Emma,” he said softly, “that’s just it. You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about me. And … and I want you to get to know me first before you make any decisions. I’ve been selfish in the past and allowed my desires and needs to come first, and I’ve hurt people in the process.” His words trailed off as he looked away from me.