by Amy Vastine
Why did he just stand there looking at her like that? Say something!
He looked hesitant for the briefest of moments. Picking up the ring, he tucked it into his pocket. “Yeah. I guess we would.”
CHAPTER 3
Aiden slapped her hand as she reached for another handful of dried cranberries. “Number one rule of cooking-stop eating the ingredients.”
“I’m starving…” she mumbled through a mouthful. Starving and exhausted. Sleep had eluded her the night before as she’d tossed and turned, trying to understand what had happened in the restaurant.
So far that morning, neither of them had broached the subject and it seemed as though he’d forgotten all about it.
She wished she could forget that easily. But all night, the biggest thought plaguing her was whether or not she would have said yes.
“Kayla!”
“What?” Lost in thought, she’d missed something.
“I said get down off the counter. You wouldn’t sit on your design board would you?”
“Never.” She jumped down and forced herself to put the night before out of her mind. She had to get this meal right. She wanted to make a good impression the first time she met Angela Marcus. Jeremy adored his mother and raved about her cooking all the time. Dating an Italian, she should have known she’d be forced to demonstrate her domestic skills sooner or later.
She’d been hoping for later…to have more time to acquire some.
“Okay, what are you making first?” she asked.
“We. What are we making.”
“That’s what I said.”
“First, you need an apron,” he said, grabbing one from the stack of supplies he’d brought to the B & B that morning. He unfolded it and draped it over her neck.
Normally, the gesture would have passed almost unnoticed, but when their gazes met and held a fraction too long, he moved away abruptly, leaving her to tie it.
Thank God. If his arms had gone around her…
As she tied, she read the words upside down. “The only reason I have a…kitchen is because it came…with the house.” She raised an eyebrow. “Where’s your confidence in me?”
Aiden grinned. “You’ll have to earn it. Okay, let’s start with the turkey stuffing so we can get the bird into the oven.”
She nodded, relieved that things seemed to be back to normal between them. “Makes sense.”
“Here are the mushrooms. Start chopping, while I get the sausage from the fridge.”
“Mushrooms and sausage?” In stuffing?
“Yes. We’re making a traditional Italian stuffing.”
“But I don’t eat red meat…and I hate mushrooms.” The stuffing her mother made was simple and delicious: bread crumbs, celery, onion and apple. Sausage and mushrooms inside a turkey wasn’t something she could easily get on board with. “Why can’t we just make a plain stuffing like the one you make at the restaurant?” There would also be less ingredients to remember, she thought scanning the various spices he’d lined up.
“You want to impress the mother, right?”
She sighed. She’d been dating Jeremy for less than a month and the idea of meeting his mom so soon was a little odd, but he’d told her how finding someone who fit in with his family and friends was important to him. They’d met her first night on campus. He was a film student working on his first short and their shared passion for art—though in different fields—had formed a quick bond between them. He loved seeing her new design concepts and she enjoyed watching him at work. Living in the small-town, it had been difficult to find someone as interested in art as she was and she wanted to see where this new connection could lead. At twenty-five, she was looking to find something real, something that might last.
“I just won’t eat the stuffing,” she said.
He took a box of risotto from the bag and handed it to her. “We should get this boiling as well.”
“For the stuffing?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” After opening almost every drawer in the kitchen, she located a pot, added water, salt and butter as the package said and set it to boil. “What’s next?”
Turkey in the oven half an hour later, she scanned the list of side dish recipes. “Sweet and sour roasted beets and onions? Roasted Pumpkin and Pear Soup?” Whatever happened to mashed potatoes and green beans?
“I purposely chose colorful fall-themed dishes. It’s all about the presentation, right?”
That was one concept she understood. “I guess I hadn’t really thought of cooking as an art-form before.” She leaned over his shoulder as he added chicken broth to a pot and took the baked pears and pumpkin pieces out of the oven and added those as well. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, she was really going to impress her guests.
Though she was more impressed with Aiden. She’d seen him work before, hanging out in the kitchen at the Riverside Grill, but there he had sous-chefs and a set menu, pre-made items to make the job run smoothly and a tight, often frantic, schedule to deliver meals on time. Here, he was relaxed, at home in the foreign kitchen, his hand landing on things as if he instinctively knew how the B & B kitchen should be set up. Thankfully the kitchen was so well stocked he hadn’t yet needed to use any of the extra pots or pans he’d brought along. Which was good, as she’d need them to make all of this herself. She bit her lip. She hoped she was getting all this. “It’s a lot of work.”
“Don’t worry. None of it’s hard. Just time consuming,” he reassured. “I’ll leave all of the recipes for you and the ingredients.”
“Couldn’t you just come make it all again?” she asked, only half-teasing.
“No. In fact, you should be doing more of this. Come here,” he said, grabbing a cutting board and several onions. He reached for a knife from the cutting block and handed it to her. “We need finely chopped.”
“Okay,” she said, peeling the first onion and starting to cut.
“Too big. Here like this.” He stood behind her and covered her hands with his.
Her knees weakened as he guided the knife in a quick slicing motion, followed by a fast, rhythmic chopping. His chest was against her back and the smell of his cologne—yet another gift from her—clouded her mind.
Learning to cook for your new boyfriend, remember, she thought fighting the crazy urge to lean against him and just savor the feel of his chest and arms while he did all the work. She had no idea what was happening to her right now.
This was just Aiden.
* * *
What had he been thinking by helping her chop those onions? His arms had gone around her and his hands had covered her tiny, soft, perfect ones as though his body had switched to auto-pilot. But the feel of her resting against him, allowing him to guide her in a skillful show of culinary technique, had nearly driven him insane. There was a reason why he limited their physical contact and tried to hold his breath whenever she got too close. Kayla Dawson was dangerous. Last night was the perfect example. He’d laid everything on the line and she’d thought it was a joke. She held his heart firmly in her clenched hands and she didn’t even know it.
Okay, so maybe the proposal had come out of nowhere, but he’d set the scene, bringing her back to the restaurant where he knew they’d both felt something for each other. Okay, maybe he should have dropped to one knee and made it perfectly clear he was serious, but he was still cautious. Her thinking it was joke had given him an out. Too bad, there wasn’t a way out of these feelings.
Right now she was staring at him in puzzlement. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked what a food processor was,” she said with a sheepish grin.
He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Right. Over there—the thing that looks like an oversized blender.”
He watched as she added the onions. She has a boyfriend. Keep your hands and feelings to yourself or you will get destroyed. Last night should serve as a warning.
As if to reinforce the point, her phone chimed with a text message on the count
er in front of him. He glanced at the picture of Jeremy on the display and couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Kayla saw in him…or any of her previous boyfriends.
Watching as she reached for it, he saw her skim the words and go as white as the apron.
“Everything okay?”
“He’s bringing the entire freaking family,” she said in pure disbelief.
Was now the time to maybe point out that this guy might be coming on too strong, too fast?
This was none of his business. He’d had his moment and he’d blown it. “No worries. We’ll just double the recipe,” he said, then hearing the pot of soup bubbling, he grabbed a spoon and stirred, the smell of pears and pumpkin filling the kitchen. The meal, at least, was a success. “Soup looks great,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder to look at her.
She didn’t seem to be listening, as she stared at the phone in her hand.
Maybe he didn’t need to say anything. Maybe she’d come to her senses on her own.
* * *
His grandmother, two aunts, three uncles and two cousins. Was he freaking serious? She struggled to breath with an overwhelming sense of doom closing in around her. She liked Jeremy and she’d been looking forward to spending the holiday with him—see where things went—slowly. Meeting his mother so soon had thrown her a curveball she hadn’t been prepared for yet…but she’d rolled with it. This whole family thing was just crazy. Especially if none of them wanted to meet her family in their own town at Thanksgiving, a time when families gathered to give thanks! She had a whole lot to make up for at Christmas, she decided.
She set the phone aside, unsure how to respond. Aiden’s casual response hadn’t exactly been what she’d been hoping for… Though what she had wanted from him, she wasn’t sure.
She picked up the knife she’d abandoned and started chopping more onions. This was just sudden that’s all. Didn’t mean it was a bad thing…
Aiden came toward her, one hand under a spoon. The smell of warm pears and spices she couldn’t name made her mouth water and all other thoughts evaporated on the steam escaping the mixture.
“Taste,” he said, holding the spoon to her lips.
She blew gently then tasted. “Mmmmm.” Closing her eyes, she savored the fresh fruity combination of the pears mixed with a hint of cinnamon. “I am a good cook,” she said with a smile, licking the spoon again. Maybe she could pull this off.
She opened her eyes and the look on Aiden’s face made her smile and all coherent thought disappear. The intensity in his dark blue eyes dialed the heat up in the kitchen to broil.
He moved closer and tugged on the front of her apron, drawing her toward him. The intent was clear, but what the hell was he thinking? They were best friends, she was seeing someone, he’d never once in their five years of friendship said one single word about wanting to kiss her, but then he’d kinda, maybe, sorta proposed? This was ridiculous.
Ridiculously tempting…she wanted to kiss him, too.
His head lowered toward hers and his eyes were silently asking…
She stood on tiptoe to close the gap between their lips and closed her eyes in anticipation.
An unexpected yelp a second later made her reach for the counter for support. Her eyes flew open. What the…?
“My foot,” he said, also gripping the edge of the counter.
She frowned as she glanced toward the floor. A stupid foot cramp had interrupted… “Oh no!” The knife she’d been using to cut the onions, the one she’d forgotten she was holding was standing straight up, sticking out of his shoe. She felt woozy. “I think I’m going to faint.”
“You’re going to faint? I’m the one with a knife in my foot,” he said, slowly lowering to his knee. He reached for the handle.
“Stop!”
He glanced up. “What?”
“Are you sure you should pull it out?” Oh no…the room spun around her at the mere thought that blood might make an appearance.
“You have a better idea?”
She swallowed hard. “I can’t look.” Turning away, she covered her ears. Why, she couldn’t even begin to guess, she just thought blocking all receptors might help to make the ground feel a little more steady beneath her feet.
A long second later, he touched her shoulder. “I need to get to the clinic.”
She uncovered her ears. “What about the turkey?”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry. Yes, let’s get you to the clinic.” She moved closer and took his arm to wrap it around her, but remembering the look in his eyes moments before as he was about to kiss her made her pause. “You can manage on your own? You don’t need me, right?”
His gaze locked on hers and her breath lodged in her chest. “That depends,” he said. “Are we still talking about my foot?”
CHAPTER 4
“So that was…odd…right?” Kayla asked as they sat in the examination room at the Brookhollow medical clinic twenty minutes later.
His foot throbbed and he was terrified about what they would see once they removed his shoe, but not as terrified as he was of this painful conversation about to happen. He knew he should agree with her that it had been odd, make some sarcastic joke or claim he’d been messing with her—again—and then they could go back to being best friends and he could return to the slow, torturous death caused by unrequited love.
But maybe it was adrenaline caused by the pain in his foot or maybe it was the way she’d lifted her lips ever so slightly toward his that gave him stupid confidence. “I would say it was overdue.”
She looked confused. “What are you saying—that you’ve had the idea to kiss me before?”
“Only every other thought since we met, yeah.” There. Truth was out. There was no stopping the train wreck that was sure to follow, but he no longer cared. Staying quiet about his feelings all these years had gotten him nowhere. Correction. It had landed him the role of her tutor in preparation for a meal with a different man—one who didn’t deserve her, one who hardly knew her and one who couldn’t possibly love her as much as he did.
Across from him, she sat staring, disbelief on her pretty face. “So…that proposal…?”
He nodded. “Was real, yes.”
“But I…”
He nodded. “Had no idea how I felt, I know. But I’m tired of sitting by and watching you with the wrong guys.” Climbing down from the table, he moved to sit next to her, his foot momentarily forgotten. “Look, I know that keeping this to myself was a stupid idea…proposing the way I did last night an even worse idea, but I lo…”
Her phone chimed with a new text message and he stopped. Of course. The most current Mr. Wrong had impeccable timing.
She hesitated but looked relieved by the interruption as she reached into her coat pocket for the phone, just as Dr. McCarthy and Lindsay Harper, the nurse, came in. “Hello,” Lindsay said brightly.
“Hi,” they both mumbled.
“So, what brings you both in today?” the doctor asked.
“She dropped a knife on my foot,” he said.
“Only because you tried to kiss me,” Kayla protested.
His cheeks flamed.
“Remind me to never try to kiss you,” Dr. McCarthy said, approaching the examination table. “Okay, let’s get the shoe off and see what we’re working with.”
He ignored the doctor and turned to face Kayla. “You know, before you dropped the knife, you weren’t exactly fighting me off.” He hadn’t imagined the way she’d leaned toward him, ready to accept his kiss.
“Should we come back?” Lindsay asked.
“I was in shock,” Kayla said, standing. “The last thing I expected was my best friend to try to kiss me when he knows I’m seeing someone.”
“Yeah, someone who’s making you be something you’re not to impress his family,” he countered, getting to his feet. When would she realize that the best man for her was standing right there in front of her? Had always been standing right there.
“
We’ll come back,” Dr. McCarthy said.
“No, don’t, I’m leaving anyway,” Kayla said, moving past him toward the door. “Sorry about your foot,” she muttered, not sounding the least bit sorry.
“Be sorry about my heart!” he called after her as she disappeared.
* * *
Slamming the door of the Brookhollow Inn later that evening, after she’d walked all around town trying to make sense of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Kayla shot an apologetic look to the group of women sitting near the fireplace in the living room. “Sorry,” she mumbled as the Wednesday night book club (really just an excuse to drink wine club from what she’d observed) all glanced up from the books she suspected no one had read in advance.
“Everything okay?” her sister-in-law asked, as she refilled several glasses with red wine. Victoria waited for her to answer.
“Yes…no… Men can be so stupid sometimes,” she said whipping her scarf off and hanging it on a hook near the door.
“Oooh, this is so much more interesting.” Leigh Norris, the woman who owned the daycare next to the B & B closed her book and moved over on the couch to make room for her.
“Are we talking about Jeremy? The guy coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow? I thought things were going well between you two,” Victoria said, filling a glass with white wine and handing it to her.
“It’s not about Jeremy.” In truth, he’d barely crossed her mind all day…except for the incessant text messages asking her what time dinner was the next day…and whether there was anything with nuts in it because his cousin James was allergic… After the third time his assigned ring-tone had chimed in her pocket, she’d stopped reading them.
The texts were stressing her out, but the insane temptation to return to the clinic and resume what she’d started in the kitchen with Aiden was the real aggressor to her emotions.
“Then who are we mad at?” Bailey Sheppard, the town’s mechanic, asked in female solidarity.
Seeing Lindsay come out of the bathroom, she shot her a puzzled look. “You’re here, yet they don’t know what I’m upset about?” Lindsay’s track record for gossip was second to none.
