by Olivia Luck
“They are amazing. You’re seriously breaking my diet.” Tucker groans in mock annoyance.
“You’ll have to share them with your teammates.”
“Hell, no. These are mine.” Tucker takes the plate and moves it into the pantry away from prying eyes. “Don’t try anything funny, Alexander. There are cameras in here,” Tucker jokes.
“I wouldn’t dare. Eve, would you direct the guests to the dining room?” It’s then I notice the bombshell hanging out near the end of the kitchen island. With platinum hair loose around her shoulders in waves, a tight black pencil skirt cut well above her knee, and a silky white blouse, she’s alluring.
“Sure thing, boss,” Eve says. Even her voice is sexy.
“I’ll help.” Tucker winks at me and follows Eve from the kitchen, eyes stuck on her behind.
“Hold on a second, Iris,” Oscar says when I move to leave.
“Yes?” I hate the tremor in my voice.
Oscar’s full attention is on me. His stare makes me visibly shiver. Brown eyes darken with desire. My mouth goes dry, and my breathing increases.
“Sneak me one of those cookies. I want to sample the goods.” He winks at me suggestively.
Oh, God. My stomach quivers.
“T-tucker won’t like that.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Are we still talking about cookies?” Shoot. I said that out loud.
Oscar whirls to the sizzling stovetop hiding what I’m sure is a smirk. “Who would have thought Aurora had a mischievous side?” I almost don’t hear him through the symphony of sounds as he cooks.
“Oh, I–” No matter how hard I fight, a coherent string of words will not form. Wordlessly, I extract a cookie, find a paper towel, and place it near Oscar. He glances my way again, smiling innocently.
“Thanks.”
Words are still difficult. I nod and turn on my toes, following the sound of voices to the dining room. Everyone is sitting; I notice an empty spot for me next to Tucker, who sits at the head of the table.
“Date, come sit next to me,” he says boisterously.
My stomach plummets. I had no idea this was a date. Nervously, I throw a look at my sister who rolls her eyes. “He’s teasing, Iris. Tucker knows you’re way too good for him.”
Tucker nods with faux humility. “Absolutely. But you’ll pretend to be my date for the night, won’t you, Iris? Take pity on a single guy surrounded by a bunch of boring, wifed-up teammates.”
“Funny how you’re the only one at the table whining while the rest of us have no reason to complain.” Cameron looks at Tucker pointedly. Another server, this one male, unobtrusively offers wine to each of the guests. When the server arrives at my side, I quietly decline the beverage and request mineral water.
“It’s like you’re trying to convince a room full of Scrapers fans to convert to Detroit. Never going to happen,” Tomas adds. His wife, Anna, rewards him with a gooey smile and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “Nothing better than love from a good woman,” Tomas concludes.
Tucker hooks a hand around the arm of the chair I’m sitting in and yanks me to his side. I have to grip the table to steady myself. “All I need is a woman for the night. Right, Ris?” The pungent smell of whiskey permeates from his mouth and against my cheek. I try to hold back my frown. No one had called me Ris before or treated me this intimately.
The mood at the table strains toward wary. Violet knits her brows together, studying Tucker with hard eyes.
“Allow me to start the first course.” It’s not as if he offered to rescue me, but having Oscar interrupt this moment sends a calming wave of relief through me. Eve and the waiter begin placing dishes at each place setting.
Oscars strides across the room to my seat and tugs the chair in front of the original spot. “You’ll want to sit in front of your own seat to eat this one, Iris,” Oscar says. Through lowered lashes, I flash him a look of gratitude. If he sees my response, I’m unsure because his jaw clenches in obvious displeasure. Standing only a few inches away from me, I feel protected. Hopefully, Oscar’s presence will ward off any more flirtation from Tucker.
“This evening, we’re starting with creamy curry, jellied carrots, and coconut orbs.”
A matte, large-lipped black bowl sits on the thatch-workplace mat. I hold back the involuntary gasp at the sight of the dish. The yellow curry is a base for what looks like coconut meringues, and the tiny jellied carrots mimic fish eggs. The presentation is flawless. Glancing to my left, I catch sight of Oscar’s strong, steady hands. The design is precise.
“Please enjoy.” Oscar gives a slight bow and makes his way to the kitchen. What I wouldn’t give for that confidence. He doesn’t even look back to see if we’re enjoying or savoring the meal. He knows the food will undoubtedly wow us.
And wow, it does. When the first bite of the appetizer hits my taste buds, my eyelids fall shut in pleasure.
“Are we ready for Indiana?” This comes from Cameron.
“Fuck, I don’t want to be out in the middle of nowhere,” Tucker groans. “This time between summer and camp is always like a ticking time bomb.”
“Sounds like you don’t want to play,” observes Rick, the other Scrapers player in attendance.
“No, it’s not like that. I’d rather be in season than sleeping in shitty dorm beds away from the action in the city. It’s almost a relief that we have an eleven o’clock curfew. There’s nothing to do in bumble, Indiana,” Tucker complains.
“As someone from small town, Illinois, I’m not sure whether to be offended or join your cause. You lived in Winter longer than I did. What do you think, Iris?” Violet tries to pull me into the conversation.
“Well, er, I wasn’t much of a partier back in Winter.” The entire table looks at me as I talk, and my cheeks go hot. Pinpricks of anxiety tickle my fingertips because I hate the attention. “Although there wasn’t much to do in a city with two stoplights. We had to drive two towns over to a movie theater.”
“Ris knows what I’m talking about.” Tucker swings back a gulp of red wine.
“Well, I’m ready to get back on the ice,” Cameron says.
“Have you given any thought to how many more seasons you’ll play?” Tomas’ wife, Anna, asks.
Cameron grimaces. “It’s a perpetual question. The Scrapers have been very good to me, allowing me to make the decision one season at a time. Meanwhile, I’m mentoring the new guy. At some point, I’ll be too old.”
“Until then, we’ll all still support you,” Violet says loyally.
“Okay, okay, enough with the mushy shit,” Tucker says when Cameron presses his lips to Violet’s. I train my eyes to my now clean dish.
On some level, I know it’s all in my head, but the feeling of exclusion still threatens to overwhelm me. I can hardly follow the hockey conversation. Only when it turns to city politics and restaurant openings do I have some inkling of what’s going on. Shame keeps me silent since I don’t know how to make small talk. It’s like that part of my brain is frozen. Instead of contributing, I focus on the courses as they arrive. The courses are small—a few bites of porcini mushroom, crab, short ribs. I lose count of all the plates served until the last dishes finally arrive. Small pieces of a flourless chocolate cake sit artfully in the center of a white china dish. Even though I’m so full I can hardly imagine eating another bite, a sense of loss washes over me at the end of the meal.
“If I could, I would eat Oscar’s cooking forever.” Violet voices my thoughts as she leans back in her seat. “I might give birth to a food baby.”
“Sorry about earlier. Serves me right for pounding a whiskey. In the off-season, I unwind more than when I’m playing. Forgive me?” All the food has sobered Tucker up. When he speaks the words softly to me, I give him my full attention and smile.
“All is forgiven. But don’t do it again. You practically gave me a heart attack.” Relief is evident in my tone. Apparently, I’m not ready for overt flirtation.
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Tucker shakes his head. “Last thing I want to do to a darling like you.”
I’m comfortable with this friendly, brotherly version of Tucker and speak freely. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t call me Ris. It reminds me of a walrus.”
Tucker laughs. Loud. Again, the whole table turns my way. This time, I offer a sheepish smile. “Doesn’t Ris sound like an oversized mammal with tusks?” They laugh! They actually smile, and my remark causes Tomas to affectionately tease Tucker. A little fissure of pride flickers inside me.
Oscar chooses that moment to enter the room. Immediately, I start applauding—it seems like the right thing to do—and the rest of Tucker’s guests join me. Oscar’s full lips curl upward, his smoldering eyes twinkling when they land on me.
“Was it passable?” He knows darn well it blew all of our minds. There’s no doubt he heard us raving about the food from the kitchen.
“More than passable and you know it, you big lug.” Violet rolls her eyes.
“Pull up a chair,” Cameron invites, but there’s a disruption.
“We’ve got to be on our way,” Anna says rising to her feet. She explains that they are taking their young children to visit family in Poland tomorrow and need to get home and finish packing. After a shuffle of movement, I somehow find myself standing near the back of the room next to Oscar.
“You have a gift,” I tell him sincerely. “No one word comes to mind to describe how truly wonderful that meal was. Thank you for sharing your talents with us.”
His brow furrows as if he’s attempting to uncover a mystery. “Thank you,” he drawls. “The same could be said for you. The kitchen sink cookie would fit in nicely at any bakery or sandwich shop.”
“It’s just–” The words die on the tip of my tongue when he stares at me hard, defying me not to accept the compliment. “Thank you. The raspberry coulis was the perfect match for the chocolate cake.”
Oscar crosses his arms across his chest, drawing my attention, again, to his hands. His fingers are long, the nail and beds spotless. Just the right amount of dark hair dusts his skin. Not one inch of this man isn’t gorgeous.
“It was simple. I’m not much of a pastry chef,” he whispers as though it’s a confession.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I joke.
Our eyes meet, and a jolt runs through my veins. This foreign awareness—could it be—is it—no. Yes.
Desire.
I don’t want to blink, afraid that if I close my eyes for even the slightest instant, this moment will disappear.
“You’re much more than an Aurora,” Oscar murmurs, almost to himself.
“Does that mean the nickname goes?” I mean to ask the question playfully, but it comes out breathlessly.
He doesn’t answer.
“Sister, sister, you ready to go?” For the second time, Violet interrupts my conversation with Oscar. This time, I’m decidedly disappointed.
Oscar probably doesn’t feel anything like the sensations surging through my veins, and that’s okay. I would prefer to have his attention—the kind of attention a male gives a female he is interested in spending time with—but that isn’t in the cards for me. Men like Oscar go for women like Eve—gorgeous, available women. Even if it’s nothing more than eye contact, I want to luxuriate in the vibrations of this moment.
Violet hugs Oscar, mixing praise with gratitude for the dinner. Cameron appears and gives Oscar a man hug, mimicking Violet’s comments.
And then it’s my turn.
Oscar has to stoop slightly to hug me. He’s by no means a giant, but I’m on the shorter side of the ruler. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until my chest touches his. It may be my overactive imagination, but it’s as if our bodies fit together. There’s a spot for my cheek to rest right against his heart. “It was a pleasure as always, Iris.” His breath tickles my ear when he murmurs the words, and shivers erupt down my spine. My fingertips tingle, but it’s with excitement, not anxiety.
Darn it, I don’t want to stammer, but the nearness of Oscar is dizzying.
Come on, Iris, get it together.
I slip out of the embrace and meet his gaze. “Thank you for a wonderful meal.”
He tweaks my nose with a crooked finger. “See you around the forest.”
When a witty reply doesn’t magically form in my mind, I lift my hand in a little wave and turn toward my sister. She links her arm through mine, practically dragging me through Tucker’s house. At the front door, we say good-bye and thank him, too, before walking outside, Cameron following close behind.
The front door is hardly closed when Violet starts talking. “Me thinks there’s something boiling between you and Oscar.” She yanks me closer and croons, “I see it now; things heat up between two chefs in the kitchen. Romance lit by a gas stove.”
“You are a goof.” Though, when I say it, I’m grinning. “There is friendship simmering, as you say. I like him. He’s straightforward, and we have similar interests. Nothing else to it.”
Except the screaming desire coursing through my veins.
Violet looks at me critically. “If you say so,” she grumbles.
A big, muscular mass worms its way between Violet and me. Cameron stretches his arms over both our shoulders. “A nice girl like Iris doesn’t need to get involved with Oscar.”
Defensiveness spreads in my chest. “What do you mean by that?” I try to hide the edge in my voice, but it’s difficult. Naïve? At times. A child? Not at all.
“Look, I don’t have a problem with Oscar. He’s a damn good cook and chill to hang with, but he’s never brought the same woman to an event twice. And both my Harper girls are invaluable. That’s all I’m saying.”
I soften with his explanation. Other than my sister, not too many people truly want what is best for me. “I appreciate you looking after me, Cameron, but in this case, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Disappointment hangs on Violet’s expression. “For the right woman, he’d stick around. I’m sure of it.”
“And you know Oscar Alexander that well?” Cameron asks.
“This is weird. We need to stop talking about him when he’s a few feet away in the house. Let’s all agree Oscar is a nice guy and a friend to all of us. Nothing more,” I insist.
My sister frowns as if she wants to say something more, but she stops herself. “Cameron’s staying at our place tonight,” Violet tells me with the telltale signs of weariness in her tone. “We’ve got an early morning. Jana will be here before the sun rises.” Even my sister, the patron saint of event planning, gets flustered with the demanding Jana Sterling.
“I’ll follow behind you two. Drive safe.”
The trip to our apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, but before we part, Cameron dips down to plant a kiss on my sister. She sighs. Literally. I spin away to give them privacy and ignore the little jealous zing to my heart. I’m happy for Violet. Thrilled she’s in such a loving relationship.
One day, I promise myself, you’ll have this too.
“We have to cap the list at six hundred guests.” Violet pulls her readers off her nose and sets them down next to her notebook. The movements are smooth, unruffled, but I know better. Violet’s patience is waning.
“But there are six hundred and fifty people I want to invite.” Despite being a native Chicagoan, Jana Sterling’s cultured voice has no Midwestern twang. She makes no mention of her husband-to-be’s wishes because the man is not present. We’ve met the mother of the bride and the groom’s publicist. As the son of the mayor, Nathan Williams is quite busy with his many responsibilities—that came from Jana, the socialite-slash-art dealer.
Ever the client whisperer, my sister does not demonstrate a shred of annoyance. “I understand, Jana. Believe me, I do. This is the most important day of your and Nathan’s lives. Of course, you want to share it with as many of your loved ones as possible. However, the Starlight room simply cannot hold mor
e than six hundred. We could look at the Stonewall Museum again, but if you decide to switch venues, you will forfeit the security deposit.”
I sit at Violet’s side, hiding behind a laptop while I pretend to take notes. Really, there’s nothing new to take notes of, aside from Jana’s desire to invite an additional fifty guests than what she had originally agreed upon. My job is the note taker and general support. Violet knows how to smooth over ruffled feathers and answer any questions the client may toss our way.
All the Botox injections make it hard to read Jana, but from the tiniest pinch of her lips, I think she is upset. “You know I hated Stonewall. Too low brow for the wedding of the year.” Somehow, she conveys displeasure and disgust in one drawn-out sigh. “The mayor won’t like this, but he would like it even less if his only son’s wedding was at Stonewall. All right, ladies. Do you have anything else for me?”
“The contract with the band is finalized. I’ve scheduled the first flower showing in two months’ time, and your hair and makeup team are scheduled to be on call for the entirety of your wedding week. Everything else is smooth sailing for the time being. Questions?” Jana already knows this. Both Violet and I sent her a status report yesterday with this information.
Jana flicks her to wrist to study the stainless steel timepiece on her wrist. “Nothing now. I’ll be in touch if anything comes up. Oh, next week I’d like to address the community service project we are tying in with the wedding. Forgive me for not staying to chat, but I’m in a rush to meet with a prospective buyer. Have a nice day, ladies.” Jana rises to her feet with us clamoring to stand as well. Jana lifts her Birkin bag (my sister told me it probably cost six figures!) to her wrist and strides out of the office to where her driver idles.
When the door is safely shut, my sister collapses into her chair with a groan. “That one is the definition of high maintenance.”
“Considering she is the only client who demands weekly meetings with an event still nine months away, I’d agree.” Leaving my sister at the conference table, I head to the kitchenette to brew us cappuccinos—a drink I never tried until moving to Chicago. Now, I am addicted.
