Simmering Love (Slow Burn Book 3)

by Jacie Lennon

  While I was growing up, cooking with my grandma was my favorite thing to do. I think it’s what made me fall in love with food along with how putting ingredients together in different ways could make your taste buds explode with flavor. She was my best friend, and I know if she were still alive, she would be so proud of me for going to culinary school. It hurts that my parents don’t understand how important my dream is.

  I quickly write down what I need from the store before darting into the bathroom for a shower. I get ready and decide that I’m going to make a trip to all the places I collected job applications from and turn those in and then stop by the culinary school to pick up my welcome packet since I accepted so late. I press my hand to my stomach to quiet the butterflies bouncing around, wreaking havoc on my insides.

  I’m doing it. I’m getting a job, and I’m going to school to do what I love.

  I love all kinds of cooking, but my passion is pastry. I can remember standing in the kitchen with Grandma as flour floated around us, trying to make the absolute best chocolate chip cookie. We perfected it, and our secret recipe now rests in my box, where no other eyes are allowed to view it. I can’t even think about the mystery ingredients; that’s how secretive it is. I decide that I’ll make my favorite brownies to go with the lasagna, and I rush into the kitchen to include the ingredients on my list.

  I’m on a high as I run my errands. Each time I hand over an application filled out with all of my information, I swear my smile gets bigger. I probably look like the Joker now, but I don’t care. I’m so excited. I keep checking my phone as if they would call me immediately and tell me I had the job. All five places.

  After checking at the school for my welcome packet and dashing through the grocery store—cleaning the aisles out of noodles, tomatoes, and dessert ingredients—I head home with my haul.

  I smile as the door opens a little later, Ben walking through as I’m laying a cooked lasagna noodle in a pan. He stops, looking at the disarray of his—our—kitchen.

  “Hey.” I smile, giving him a little wave, flinging tomato sauce everywhere and then wrinkling my nose. “Sorry.” I lean over with a towel and clean a dollop of sauce off the wall.

  “What have you got going on?” he asks, walking in the kitchen and looking over my shoulder.

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickle at his nearness, and I suppress the urge to shudder.

  “Making lasagna for dinner tomorrow. I’m just going to have it ready to go in the fridge.”

  “Looks yummy,” he says, resting his shoulder against the wall where I just cleaned off the sauce.

  “It will be. Speaking of, would you like to go eat said yummy lasagna with me at Jules and Mason’s house tomorrow night?” I stop what I’m doing and expectantly look at him.

  “If food is involved, I’m there.”

  He smiles, and I grin back, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest.

  “Perfect.”

  Ben helps me finish preparing the lasagna, quiet while I chatter, filling the room with sound as I talk about nothing.

  His arm bumps mine every once in a while, and I bump his back, sending a smile his way. When his eyes meet mine, I can sense the attraction. It’s like a song and dance, where we tiptoe around each other, no one wanting to make the first move. He jerks his spoon a little, flicking tomato sauce on my hand, and I lift it, smearing it across his cheek with a giggle.

  “Oh, it’s on,” he says, jumping back, holding the spoon out as a weapon, waving it slightly, keeping me from advancing.

  I reach out, swiping my finger in the leftover sauce, and jump toward him, the mirth in his eyes spurring me on.

  He moves back, hitting the wall, and I manage to swipe the sauce on his other cheek. He drops the spoon, and his hand comes around my back, holding me to him as we stand there, breathing heavily. His cheeks are pink, and the sauce drips down one side to slide along his chin. I reach to wipe it off before it drops onto his shirt.

  “You had a little sauce on your face,” I whisper as he stares down at me, eyes bright.

  My heart races, and I want to push up on my toes and press my lips to his. Before I can, he pulls his arm away, letting go of me, and I move back a little from the sudden release.

  “We should have food fights more often,” he says with a wink, looking unaffected while I’m a huge ball of emotions. Namely, the sort that causes you to jump into bed with someone. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

  With another smile, he walks down the hall, and I spin, trying to busy myself with covering the lasagna dish before I race down the hall and jump on his back, tackle him to the floor and have my way with him.

  9

  Ben

  The next evening, I walk into the kitchen, where Pepper is up to her elbows in chocolate, an adorable patch of flour smeared on her cheek, while a timer is going off. The kitchen looks worse than the day before.

  “Benjamin,” she says, looking up with a smile, “could you help me here?” She jerks her head to the side where the timer is screeching, and I reach over to silence it. “The lasagna is ready to come out. Will you grab it from the oven?”

  God, all of this food smells amazing.

  I can’t help but sniff the air as I pull the bubbling lasagna out of the oven. I lean back against the counter and watch Pepper pour some chocolate mixture into a pan. She lightly runs a spatula over the top of it and then sets the mixing bowl in the sink. She has an apron tied around her outfit, and it’s coated with splatters of chocolate and tomato sauce. She’s not a tidy cook, but if the food tastes as good as it smells, I couldn’t care less.

  “Thanks,” she says as she finishes closing the oven on the pan and dusts her hands off on her apron.

  “You got a little …” I point at my cheek, showing her where the flour smudge is on her face.

  I don’t trust myself to clean it off on my own after yesterday and our small food fight. One touch would lead to two, and I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of her. I mean, as long as she wanted it too. But I can’t go there. She’s made no indication that she wants to take things further. Usually, I would just go for it, but it’s different when it’s someone you live with.

  “You clean up well,” she says, running the back of her hand across her cheek and smearing the flour more than cleaning it off.

  I give her a nod before running water in the sink. Anything to take my mind off of getting my hands around her luscious curves. I don’t know why I’m torturing myself by staying in this tiny kitchen space with her.

  “Oh no, you don’t have to clean the dishes,” she says with a laugh as she tries to hip-bump me out of the way.

  “I want to,” I say, my tone coming out more gruff than I intended, and she stops.

  She looks at me, her lips pursed, head cocked to the side, before she shrugs and starts to wipe down the counters. We work in silence for a bit, which feels strange. There’s only a brush of the arm here and a side-step there, which keeps my senses on high alert, causing me to adjust myself behind my jeans several times.

  “Okay, the timer for the brownies should go off in a few minutes,” Pepper says, checking her phone. “I’m going to go change, and then we should be ready to go.”

  I felt like something was off this whole time, and now, I realize it’s because Pepper wasn’t talking. The chatterbox always has something to say. The girl can talk to a wall, but she was quietly cleaning the kitchen beside me, and that’s weird, right?

  Right.

  I remove the brownies from the oven as soon as the timer goes off, and then I sit down to wait on Pepper. She enters a moment later, wearing a light-green dress that fits her perfectly, some sort of heels that wrap around her ankles, and a purse placed across her body, the strap going directly between her breasts. I don’t stare at them. I don’t.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  I stand and take the container of lasagna while she grabs the brownies.

  “As I’ll ever be,” I tell her with a smile.r />
  I watch her cheeks turn pink, and she gives me a little grin back.

  Interesting.

  Pepper

  My heart is in my throat the whole way to Mason and Jules’s house. The scene in the kitchen of Ben and me having a food fight last night and then him helping with dishes and being in my space tonight amped up the tension that I’d tried to get a hold on.

  Ben knocks on the door while we stand on the front porch, food in hand. His scent wraps around me, and I try to hold my breath and not let it in, not let it have any part of my feelings or emotions.

  “Hey,” Jules says, swinging the door in, motioning for us to come inside.

  She gives me a long wink once Ben walks past us, and I roll my eyes, prompting her to giggle and the guys to look over at us.

  “Cut it out,” I hiss behind my teeth, which only makes her laugh harder.

  I want to karate-chop her in the throat when Mason asks what she’s laughing about.

  “Inside joke,” she chokes out.

  I really do reach over and pinch her then, almost dropping the lasagna. I paste a smile on my face and walk to the kitchen, setting the food down beside the dessert Ben placed on the counter.

  “Smells delicious, Pep,” Mason says as he leans over my shoulder to get a good look at what I brought.

  “Thanks, May. I made Grandma’s special recipe.” I watch his eyes light up as he licks his lips.

  “Get ready, Jules. This lasagna will ruin you for all other lasagnas,” Mason says over his shoulder to Jules as she places Ginny in her high chair. “Has Pep cooked for you?” he asks Ben.

  “Not yet. This is my first,” Ben says.

  Jules snorts. I glare at her and make a slicing motion across my neck when she glances up at me, her eyes filled with mirth. I might have told Ben my culinary-school secret. But I told Jules my other secret. My big secret that I haven’t told anyone else. I’ve never rounded home base with a boy.

  I told her in confidence during a drunken girls’ night shortly after Ginny was born.

  I came to stay with Mason and Jules to help out during the fall break of my senior year of college, and one glass of wine led to another, which led to me spilling my guts to Jules about my virgin status. I swore her to secrecy about what I call “the situation.”

  It’s not something I was conscious about in high school. I knew people were doing it, I knew my friends were doing it, but it wasn’t on my radar when I didn’t have a serious boyfriend and I was constantly doing extracurricular activities that made it hard to have one. There’s just never been anyone I’ve wanted to go down that road with—well, maybe until now.

  Don’t blow my cover, Jules.

  She quickly turns the conversation around by asking me about my cooking, and we chatter as I help her set the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Mason and Ben talking, my gaze trained on the easy way he stands, reclined against the counter with his arms crossed. I watch his neck as he laughs, wanting to touch it to see if it’s as strong as it looks.

  Does his skin feel as hot as mine right now?

  “Dinner is served,” Jules says, pulling me from my thoughts and the guys from whatever they were talking about.

  We all take our seats, and I hold my hands out, grasping Mason’s on one side while waiting for Ben to grab my other hand.

  “I’ll say the blessing,” I tell them.

  I feel a little tingle shoot up my arm as soon as his palm touches mine. I suppress the shiver it sends through me, not wanting Mason to feel it. After the blessing, the only sounds are silverware hitting plates as food is dished out and shoveled into hungry mouths.

  “Oh my God, Pep. This is delicious,” Jules moans, and I smile. “We usually only have frozen lasagna, but you can definitely taste the difference in this.”

  After Ben mutters an agreement, I can feel the flush rise in my cheeks.

  “Thank you. It’s made with all fresh ingredients,” I say demurely, staring down at my plate.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mason asks around a mouthful of food.

  I want to sink into the floor as I feel every set of eyes pinning me to my chair. “Nothing.”

  “You’re acting weird,” Mason continues, not dropping it.

  “Mason, let it go,” Jules gives voice to my exact thoughts.

  “Okay,” he says before turning to Ben. “You still going to pick up Danger this weekend?”

  “Yep. Tomorrow,” Ben says with a nod.

  “Oh, you should take Pepper with you. She doesn’t have plans. Do you?” Jules turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh no, Ben. Don’t feel like you have to invite me to go with you.” I chance a look at him as he continues to eat. I think his eyes have narrowed just a bit. Maybe it’s just the lighting.

  He clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his napkin before he looks at me. “I don’t mind. Do you want to come?”

  Yes, please.

  “Yes, sure. I can’t wait to meet Danger.” I give him a smile.

  “Great. Okay, cool.” He nods again, and I imagine him as a bobblehead.

  “Perfect. It’s a date.” I feel my hand come up in slow motion and slap against my mouth as sweat breaks out across my forehead.

  It’s a date? Could you be any more desperate?

  “Oh.” I bark out an awkward laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I hear Jules giggle, and Mason is staring at me like I just grew another head on my shoulders. Maybe I did. Maybe that’s the head that just said the stupid thing. I refuse to look at Ben, and I glance at the clock, hoping it’s an acceptable time to end this dinner party from hell and make a dash for it.

  “So, Pepper, when do you start graduate school?” Jules asks, trying to save me from myself, but I just sigh and sink down in my chair.

  This lying stuff is for the birds. I can’t do it anymore. I’m not made to deceive. I’m a people-pleaser, and lying definitely doesn’t please people. I hear Ben chuckle, and I glance at him as he raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Yes, Pep, when do you start?” he asks, and my eyes widen.

  That little … he’s supposed to be my accomplice. Also … did he just call me Pep? Swoon.

  “Oh, you know, like, in a week … or so.” I shovel a bite of food in my mouth and chew as I feel Mason’s gaze penetrating me.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” he asks, sighing and laying his silverware down before leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

  “Okay.” I take a drink of water and clear my throat, nervously glancing around the table. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell my parents.” I pointedly look at Mason.

  He lets out a long groan and wipes a hand down his face. “This sounds like a clusterfuck.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Aunt Sophie won’t pry it from my cold, dead lips,” Mason says, and Jules shoots him a look that says not to talk about death at the dinner table.

  “Pep here is going to culinary school, not graduate school,” Ben says, pointing at me with his fork, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Gotta rip it off like a Band-Aid.” He gives me a wide grin.

  “Loose lips sink ships, Benjamin,” I growl at him.

  “What a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive,” he shoots back.

  “Who are you, Mother Goose?” I throw my napkin on top of my plate and sink back in my chair.

  “Aunt Sophie is going to die,” Mason says, pulling us out of our standoff and back to where everyone is sitting at the table.

  “I just don’t want to take over Stratten Enterprises. I don’t want to be the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company. Too much pressure.”

  “Why not tell your parents that?” Jules places her hand on top of mine, a concerned look on her face.

  “I tried. They wouldn’t listen to me. You know how they are, Mason,” I say with a shrug, glancing at him and hoping for reassurance.

  “Yeah, but you still shouldn’t try to hide this from them.
It’s only going to end badly.”

  “Exactly what I told her,” Ben says with a nod of solidarity toward Mason.

  Why are they ganging up on me?

  “Look, I get that it’s an awful idea to try and hide something like this from them, but right now, I have peace and quiet over my own decisions. Or I did have peace and quiet before you two got involved in my business.”

  “I didn’t get involved. You told me,” Ben says, sitting forward, his brown eyes pinning me to my seat.

  The look of concern—or maybe anger—that flashes across his face leaves me speechless.

  Why does he care so much?

  “Maybe so, but you weren’t supposed to go blabbing it to the first person who asked,” I hiss toward him.

  He doesn’t look fazed.

  “Don’t blame this on him,” Mason says.

  I glare at him.

  Since when did this become a witch hunt?

  “I know. It’s a mistake. Ben has told me that much. And I guess I’ve always known it, but for some reason, it’s just easier to lie. But I made my bed, and now, I have to lie in it,” I say, not looking at anyone at the table anymore.

  “So, how is it, being roommates?” Jules asks, a grin on her face and a devilish gleam in her eye.

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “Good,” Ben echoes.

  “Ah, this has been a very enlightening conversation,” Jules mutters.

  The rest of dinner passes with everyone avoiding the topic of school or living situations, much to my relief. We help clean up, and after I play with Ginny a little, we head home.

  The ride back is tense, unspoken words hanging between Ben and me, and I don’t breathe easy until both of our bedroom doors are slammed shut, leaving me wondering what went wrong. Sometimes, food can’t fix everything.

  10

  Pepper

  I wake up, bleary-eyed and with a fuzzy, pounding head, thanks to tossing and turning all night. Ben and I left the situation in a weird spot. I wasn’t really mad about him spilling the beans to Mason and Jules, but I thought there would be some kind of code. Roommate code maybe? Now, I get the joyous experience of traveling with him to pick up Danger from his parents’ house. His parents. I have to meet his parents today.