Rachel laughed. “Oh, a man who likes gossip, huh? Henry and I are together, if you must know.” She was shy telling someone else about it. There’d been little discussion about it with anyone except Lori and her parents. Even Josh hadn’t pressed her for details, once he stopped punishing her at work.
“Really? That’s so great!”
“I’m sure you can impress Jordan with that information later.”
“Oh, that won’t be happening,” Luke said with a frown. “She doesn’t know I work here, so I won’t be able to tell her I saw you.”
“Where does she think you work?”
“I have no idea. She’s never asked. She has this crazy list of stuff she said the perfect man has to have. She saw my pushbike one day and decided since I don’t have a car I’m not in the running. No matter how much we laugh together or how well we get along, I’ve been friend-zoned.” He walked back around the counter and Rex lay down under the desk.
“That sucks. You don’t have the monopoly on secrets, though. Want to hear something crazy?”
“What can be crazier than being in love with someone—and their dog—who doesn’t love you back?”
She laughed and leaned against the counter. “Let me amaze you. It turns out that Henry is a fairly well known chef. I found out from the newspaper, and I’ve been waiting for him to tell me, but he hasn’t mentioned a word about it.”
“Geez, he and I could be brothers!”
“There’s more: I’ve pathetically kept my own secret from him.”
“You’re not in the witness protection programme, are you? Hiding out from mob bosses, watching over your shoulder every minute?” He grinned and she was reminded of the funny faces he made at Jordan the day they went skydiving. How could Jordan resist that smile?
“I can’t cook. It’s my secret shame. I can barely make toast or spaghetti bolognaise without burning down the kitchen. Henry thinks I’m a great cook, though, and I haven’t found a way to tell him the truth.” She rested her chin on her hand. “When he finds out, he might be upset.”
“He won’t be upset. He’s hidden a whole career from you!”
“Like you have from Jordan,” she said the words before she thought about how they might offend him. Luckily, he grinned at her, instead.
“Exactly. I didn’t want the fact that I was well off to factor into us getting to know each other. I’ve been burnt before when I told people about that too soon. Amusingly enough, downplaying that side and riding my bike instead of driving a car has backfired, and now she’s out of my reach.” The sadness was evident on his face.
“You obviously care about her. I can see why, too—I remember that she’s gorgeous.” Guilt claimed her as she said those words to Luke. The exact words she hated to hear other people say about her. She laid out the bait, because she wanted to know what his answer would be. It was selfish, but she was seeking more validation that looks weren’t everything to everyone.
“Jordan’s looks are not the reason I like her. We clicked straight away and I could tell that she was fun and willing to take a risk. Unfortunately, those risks have been with everyone but me, so far. I just have to wait for her to realise I’m a risk worth taking. You’ll find that, too.”
“I think I already have.” She smiled, feeling like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. “I’m glad I saw you here, Luke.”
“Me too. There’s nothing like a natter with a complete stranger about deep and meaningful topics.” He grinned and handed back her paperwork. “You’ll want to keep these, in case there’s a problem.”
She shoved them into her bag without looking at them. “That won’t be an issue. After all, I know the boss!”
He laughed as she moved toward the door. “Bye, Rex. I hope you get to have Luke as your dad soon.” Luke laughed again and called Rex over for another pat. When she looked back, the dog was in his arms and licking his ear.
They’re so cute. Jordan must be crazy not to see that.
Chapter Ten
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“Have you missed me?”
“Maybe. I missed our call.” Rachel had planned to let it go. She wasn’t going to nag or bring up that it had been three days since she’d heard from him, but then she’d worried it would seem strange if she didn’t. It was best to get it out of the way at the start.
“I’m sorry. We’ve worked until two in the morning and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“That’s a crazy schedule. No time for fun, then?”
“Nope, not a moment. I haven’t even been to a restaurant while I’ve been here. Everything has to be eaten in my room early in the morning or late at night. They serve food on the—” he paused and Rachel smirked.
He nearly dobbed himself in.
“There’s plenty of food at work,” he corrected himself, “but not much time to eat it. I didn’t call you to discuss food, though. I wanted to let you know I’ll be home at the end of the week.”
Rachel let out an involuntary squeal. It was childish, but she didn’t care. “Finally! Should we go out to celebrate?”
“We should, but can we catch up at your house first?”
“Of course!”
“I have a five o’clock flight, so I won’t be at your place until around seven.” His voice lowered, as though he had an audience, “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too.”
“Could we make it a special celebration?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Could you make me one of those chocolate tarts I stole that day you went to the baby shower?”
Her heart sank to her toes. He wanted her to cook for him. He wasn’t going to take the news of her kitchen aversion well when she told him the truth. “Sure, I can manage one of those for you.” The words stuck in her throat. She’d never told so many lies in her life.
“Awesome. I’ll see you on Friday, then.”
She hung up and stared at the phone. She could manage to get the hazelnut tarts on Friday; all she had to do was get to the store before they closed. She tapped out a text message to Josh:
I NEED TO LEAVE A LITTLE EARLY ON FRIDAY.
***
Rachel watched the minutes on the clock tick by as she tapped her fingers on the desk. She needed to get away from work by two if she was going to make it to Acland Street in time to pick up the tarts. The IT guy tinkering with her computer was excruciatingly slow.
“Sorry to nag, but do you know how much longer you’ll be?”
“I do not know. There does not appear to be anything wrong.” His strong accent was hard to understand, and she leaned toward him to make sure she got it all. “Why don’t you go and leave it with me?”
“I’d like to, but it’s Friday. I need to take it home with me, so I can do work on the weekend.”
“I don’t think that is going to be possible this weekend.”
“You don’t? Well, then I’m going to cut my losses and go. I can still check email on my phone, right?” he nodded. “That will have to do, then. Let me write down the password for you, so you don’t need to call me.” She jotted the details on a coloured sticky note and grabbed her bag.
On the way out, she stuck her head into Josh’s office. “I’m leaving now. My laptop is broken, so I won’t be able to log on this weekend. I have my phone, though, so you can email me if you need anything.”
“Okay, have a good weekend. See you Monday.” She smiled and continued down the hall, shaking her head. She remembered the last time she had to leave early all those months ago. He’d been highly amused to see her delayed by the fire alarm that day.
As she was leaving, Sarah pulled her aside. “Hey, Josh asked me to go to the conference with him!”
“That’s great.” She pushed the button for the elevator.
“I’m excited, but do you think it’s okay, since we work together?”
“I personally don’t have a problem with it. You’ll have to be pr
epared to make changes if it becomes a problem for you later on.” The elevator door slid open and she rushed inside to push the button. “Have a great time!”
So, that’s why Josh was so damn happy!
***
Rachel cranked up the music in her car and joined the busy line of traffic making its way home on a Friday afternoon. Her good mood was amplified by the fact that she’d see Henry in a few hours. The cake store was a little out of her way and always had crappy parking, so she’d made sure to leave plenty of time to complete her errand.
This is the last time I’m doing this. I have to tell Henry the truth, even if he said we should wait.
Finding a parking spot proved even harder than usual, and she drove around for more than ten minutes before she found somewhere to leave the car. She paid for her ticket and placed it on the dashboard before crossing the road and walking down the street. There weren’t many people around due to roadwork. Both ends of the street had been closed to traffic, and Rachel remembered the tramlines were being torn up and replaced.
She picked her way over the pedestrian walkway and rounded the corner to her favourite store, gasping as an empty window greeted her.
No, no, no! This cannot be happening!
A white poster taped to the inside of the glass confirmed her worst nightmare: the store was closed for three weeks due to the roadwork.
Oh shit!
Other cake stores lined the street—it was iconic for a reason—and she moved further along the row of shops. Crossing her fingers that the others would be open, she peered into the windows, worried about what she would find. They didn’t all sell the same cakes, but there was an outside chance the hazelnut pies would be on show elsewhere. She sighed in relief when she saw the first store still operating, and she rushed inside to get her prize.
Minutes later, she stepped out, her brow creased. The store didn’t make those particular tarts. She felt sick as she tried the next one with the same result. They had nothing even close to the hazelnut treats Henry wanted. She walked the entire section where the cake stores were located, but not a single one had what she needed. She stood there, torn over what to do, when the sign for the supermarket caught her eye.
God dammit, I’m going to have to cook again!
***
She’d convinced herself that, if she could buy pastry cases and make a filling, that would be enough to pull off another lie. The supermarket stocked a limited selection, though, and they didn’t have the pastry cases she needed. Once again she was thwarted.
I’m going to have to tell him.
She didn’t want to tell him, though. Rachel wanted to know that his secret was the one Lori had stumbled across. What if he had something worse to tell her? Giving in to the inevitable, she pulled her phone from her bag and searched the internet for a recipe for hazelnut tarts.
With a loud sigh, she grabbed a shopping cart and walked the aisles, grabbing ingredients from the shelves. Her misery was complete as she paid the bill and returned to the car to find a parking ticket plastered to the window. She peered at the times on the fine and her prepaid ticket in the window: she was only ten minutes over, and it had cost her seventy-nine dollars!
The trip home had lost the earlier joy she’d experienced. The radio stayed off, and she worried what she’d gotten herself into.
Why, oh why, am I doing this again?
Rachel didn’t even know, anymore. It seemed the harder she tried to get herself out of this, the more the universe pushed these events toward her. Someone had once told her that you had to learn life’s lessons for yourself. Until you learned them, the same thing would keep happening to you over and over. She was sure that’s what this was, and it was a process that would keep repeating until she came clean and stopped pretending with Henry.
I will. Right after Christmas.
She spread out her purchases on her table and switched on the air-conditioning. It was time to get serious. She had flour, butter, sugar, and salt all in new, clean packages. The recipe had said she needed ice water, and she opened the fridge with a grimace, praying the water jug was full. It sloshed at her as she shook it and she sagged with relief.
Phew! Something has gone right today!
After washing her hands and kicking off her shoes, Rachel noted that it was close to four o’clock. Pulling the recipe up on her phone, she grabbed a silver mixing bowl from the cupboard and ran her eye down the instructions. A strangled squeal escaped her lips as she read through the first step.
“Put everything in the food processor and process until it resembles fine bread crumbs.”
Oh no! I don’t own a food processor!
What now? She thought about giving up, but an idea came to her and she opened a high cupboard where she kept the items that were never used. There, in pristine condition, was a hand mixer, still in the box—a gift from her mother.
When will she give me a useful gift, like an Amazon voucher?
She opened the box and pulled out the beater. It was perfect. It might not have been a food processor, but it was all she had. She set it over the bowl and measured out each of the ingredients, worried now that the bowl she’d chosen was a little small for her purposes.
Her bigger one was still in the fridge with yesterday’s salad in it. Without time to wash it and transfer the flour mixture, she pressed on. She cut up the butter and added it to the bowl, measured out the salt with a wry smile, and was ready to mix. She flicked the switch on the mixer to high and plunged the two whirring blades into the flour and butter.
Rachel could not have predicted the mess that followed. In fact, if she’d seen it in a video online, she’d have told you that special effects had been used. As the blades touched the flour, the spinning metal pieces picked up what seemed like every grain of flour, and sprayed them all over her. The cubes of butter leapt out of the bowl, some landing on the splashback tiles, one hitting her in the chest, and another lodging in her hair. She squealed and closed her eyes as a cloud of fine, white particles exploded all across the kitchen. She fumbled for the off switch and silence descended around her.
Worried about getting flour in her eye and making this worse than it was, she felt around for a space on the counter to put the mixer down. When she’d done that, she took a step toward the sink to get a cloth to wipe her eyes. Her elbow connected with the open box of cocoa, and she heard it fall to the floor. The loud puff that followed told her the cocoa was no longer inside the box, and she cringed and hurried to wipe her eyes.
She opened them slowly, not wanting to look at the mess she’d made. The sight that greeted her was so much worse than she could have imagined. The powder of the flour and cocoa had spread across the entire kitchen and the floor was covered in a fine layer of white and brown, as was Rachel. She looked down to see butter sliding down her shirt and collecting particles of everything on the way down.
That was all it took to undo her; she held onto the bench with one hand and sank down to her knees in the kitchen. As the tears started, she flicked a pile of flour away with an angry swipe. Her face was soon on the floor as she bent over and cried. It was no good—she was done with this whole charade of trying to impress Henry. He’d either accept her for what she was, or they would finish it. Either way, she told herself, this was the last time she would try to be someone she wasn’t. From now on, she wouldn’t need to live in a house with a kitchen.
As if the mess and her misery weren’t enough for her to handle, she heard a quiet click through her sobs. Someone was coming in the front door. The clock glowed next to her ear as she sat up: it wasn’t seven, yet, so who had just let themselves into her home? Before she could get off the floor, Henry rounded the corner from the hallway. He carried a beautiful bunch of red roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The sight of Rachel sitting on the floor, surrounded by the mess and crying, had him hastily dropping his gifts and rushing to her side.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay?” He knelt beside her wi
th concern etched on his features. “Are you hurt?”
“No, only my feelings. I made this mess.”
“Are you sure? This looks like it took three wild animals an hour to do this. Was there a stampede?” He glanced around again, convinced someone might jump out of a cupboard and start throwing more ingredients around.
It was time to explain. Rachel stifled to sob as she tried to speak. The words came out jumbled and partly muffled as she put one hand over her mouth and waved the other at the mess. “I tried to get you hazelnut tarts, but I couldn’t and it’s clear by now that I can’t make them. So, I’m sorry, Henry. I know you probably want to be with someone who’s not a danger to herself in the kitchen, but that’s not me. I’m not the one.” She waved both hands now, emphasising each word. “I set off the fire alarm when I make toast—I certainly can’t make fancy cakes, curry, soup, or even boil rice properly, if you must know. I understand if you want to leave.” The mess surrounding her had even spread under the cupboards, she noticed, as she waited for Henry to speak.
“I know you’re not confident in the kitchen, Rachel.”
His words surprised her and she almost laughed. “That could be the understatement of the century.”
He grinned at her. “Okay, let me rephrase that. I know you can’t cook.”
“Better,” she sniffed, feeling sorry for herself.
“I’ve known for months.” She frowned up at him. “No one makes their own mango chutney.” He smiled and touched her face, brushing away a white streak of flour. “I also saw the takeaway packets in the rubbish bin that first night.”
A fat tear slipped down her cheek and blended with the flour on her shirt. If she kept up the waterworks, she’d be able to make dough out of her clothing. “You’ve known all this time? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to feel bad. As far as I could tell, you’d been honest about everything else. I thought it was sweet that your parents didn’t tell, either.” He paused while she took in what he’d said. “It’ll be safe for us to follow each other on social media, now.”
Married This Year 2: Simmering Love Page 11
