by Olivia Luck
I jog into the kitchen and find my wife of a year standing over the stove, mixing vegetables. She looks over her shoulder to flash me the megawatt smile I’ll never tire of.
“Hey, baby.” Dropping my phone on the countertop, I bend down to scratch Minx, our German Shepard mix, behind her ears. Then I make my way to Iris; I close my arms low around her waist and press a kiss to the spot behind her ear that always makes her giggle. “Lower the heat,” I whisper into her ear.
She lets out a mock sigh. “Will you ever let me cook without critiquing?”
“Will you ever let me bake without critiquing?” Nuzzling against Iris, I inhale her unique scent. Then I gently bite her earlobe.
“Stop distracting me. Your parents are going to be here any minute.”
I press another kiss to her neck, unwilling to let her go. “What can I do to help?”
“Dress the salad.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I set off on my task, my wife (God, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of calling her that) flits around the kitchen like a pixie. She moves with a casual grace, as if each movement is choreographed. But Iris doesn’t have an ounce of insincerity in her. This is how she moves naturally.
“What’s going on at Caroline?”
“We’re booked tonight.” There’s no denying the satisfaction this brings me. “And for the rest of the month.”
Iris pauses next to me, rises to her tiptoes, and smacks my lips with a kiss. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this lately, but I’m proud of you.”
All the accolades, Michelin stars, and positive reviews from critics mean nothing to the praise I see shining from Iris like a brilliant light. It sounds ridiculous, but Iris is my sunshine. She is the light of my life. To think I was living in the dark . . . Nah. I’m not wasting my time thinking of negative memories.
“Are you sure you want to come in Sunday morning? If it’s too much–” When the restaurant holds brunch events, Iris often comes to the kitchen to do the pastries. For other private events, she’ll bake upon special request. It’s not a full-time job, but it keeps her connected to the restaurant and me.
“I love that you’re concerned about me, but I’m doing fine, honey.” She interrupts me deftly, squeezing my waist with both hands as she floats by on another mission to extract wine glasses from the china cabinet.
“Violet stop by today?” I ask.
“Yes. She brought Rocky for a play date with Minx. I’m glad she’s slowing down with Expertly Planned while she’s pregnant with the twins.” Iris shakes her head but smiles. “Technically, Cameron forced her to limit the number of events, but at least she listened to him. Ever since the Sterling wedding, she’s been at the top of the call list for elite events in Chicago. Thanks to you, I might add.”
Chuckling, I set the wine bottle on the countertop with a clink. “A day’s worth of work and I’m getting credit for it?”
Iris pauses in her works and moves to me. She rises to her tiptoes and presses her lips to my cheeks. “I’ll never forget you offering to take my place, Oscar Alexander. I’ll never stop telling you that you’re a good man—the best man.”
Still unused to the lavish praise my wife showers upon me, I yank her closer and cover her lips with mine. “And you are my good woman, Iris Alexander.” She giggles, places a hand on my chest, and gently pushes me away.
The doorbell rings, ending our discussion and sending Iris gliding to the front door. Minx follows dutifully, more protective of her mistress than ever. When we moved into a lakeside home less than a mile from Caroline, we gave my parents the keys, but my mom still doesn’t like using them. Says she wants to respect our boundaries. What she doesn’t quite grasp yet is that my wife loves my parents as though they were her own. The sounds of jovial greetings drift into the kitchen. I finish with the salad and make my way to my family.
“There’s my boy,” my mom says as though I’m still a child. She opens her arms, and I go into the embrace. I weave my arm around my wife’s trim waist once the greetings are finished and lead them all into the kitchen where Iris has laid a platter of appetizers.
“Honey, do you want to serve the salad first or at the same time as the main course?”
“Whatever you want,” I say obligingly. The rules of the elite restaurant don’t exist in this house. Iris rules the house with a relaxed hand. At first, I had to bite my tongue, but now, I recognize all the merits of the laid-back atmosphere.
“Okay.” She fills wine glasses for my parents and me, continuing to move fluidly.
“How are your students?” Mom asks Iris.
“Wonderful,” Iris gushes. Backed by Mentoring Chicago, my wife launched a daily afterschool program for students interested in baking and cooking. They only cook once or twice a week; the other days they gather to talk, work on homework, watch movies, or learn bigger concepts. The program is Iris’ pride and joy.
Mom and Dad continue to pepper Iris with questions while she directs me to finish setting the table. I can’t help but smile to myself as I set to the task. Iris is the only person I allow to order me around, and frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This life works for us.
Once we are seated at the table, Iris passes around a breadbasket, and I serve the salad. Minx settles at Iris’ feet. We launch into a conversation about Caroline.
“How is Clint adjusting without you?” Dad asks.
“Moving on to other projects with other chefs. I’m not sure he likes working with Peter.” Thinking of the chef I hired to take my place in my absence of overseeing what I’m now calling the city restaurants, I smile wryly. Peter is just as tough as Clint is, if not more so. Watching them butt heads is entertaining, but it hasn’t negatively impacted the quality of the restaurants. And, of course, I retain the final word with my eateries.
A ding sounds from the kitchen.
“That’s the meat,” Iris explains. “Oscar, would you mind slicing it?”
“So long as you didn’t use the slow cooker,” I say drily. That offending piece of machinery has no spot in my home.
Iris playfully pushes my shoulder. “I learned my lesson. But you know, once we have a baby, the slow cooker might be our friend.”
Silverware clatters to the table. My mom stares at us with open-mouth shock. Dad’s eyes go wide.
“I’m going to be a grandmother?” Liquid swims in Mom’s eyes.
Iris slaps a hand over her mouth. “Shoot. I didn’t want to tell you like that. I had a whole plan and . . .” She laughs, shaking her head. That’s my wife, completely natural. “You’re going to be grandparents in May.” What they don’t know is we’ve started investigating adoption too. After our first is born, our next child will be one who needs a loving home—a home that Iris and I want to give badly.
There’s a rush of movement. Mom and Iris jump up and down in a hug. Dad pats me on the back, even his eyes wet with tears. My chest swells with all the emotions I once fought off. Love. Peace. Euphoria.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself that this is my life. Because it’s more than I dreamed a life could be. But it’s mine, and I’m never letting it go.
Olivia Luck calls Chicago home. She loves traveling with her husband, baking for her parents, and taking walks with her dog. Olivia started writing when she was eight and paused to dabble in various other pursuits like dance and piano. In the end, she always came back to her pen and notebook.
Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails: [email protected]
In Pursuit
Eddie Neff needs space. Not the type that country stars croon about, but physical distance from her emotionally distant father and the tatters of a broken relationship. So when the opportunity to relocate her life and interior design business arises, the answer comes easily.
Adjusting to life with Claire, her gregarious new roommate, is more than simply testing comfort limits. With just one meeting, Eddie finds herself unable to resist the draw of Harris Grant, Claire’s brooding an
d overprotective older brother.
Harris doesn’t fit her idea of a safe relationship. He pushes Eddie to face her deepest insecurities and fears of abandonment. And Harris holds on to his own painful loss, unable to overcome personal demons.
Eddie and Harris must learn to conquer their internal struggles. But as they navigate their new love, outside forces fight to drive them apart.
Author's note: In Pursuit is the first book in a two book series. Intended for 18+ readers.
Of Happiness
Edith Neff relocated to Chicago to capture her own piece of happiness. Now bombarded with more change than she knows how to manage, Eddie struggles to pick of the pieces of her torn heart and decimated friendship.
Standing in the middle of a sidewalk while her (ex?) boyfriend Harris Grant pleads for forgiveness, Eddie's at a loss what to do next. So when her estranged father provides a lifeline - she has no option than to take his offer.
But Harris won't let Eddie go without a fight. He'll use whatever tactics necessary to win back his girl. While Eddie and Harris find their way back together, darkness lurks, unwilling to relent on destroying their relationship. Permanently.
Author note: Of Happiness is the conclusion to In Pursuit. Content intended for readers 18+
New Point
Imagine the worst day of your life. Immerse yourself in the details. How did you feel? Who were you with? What were the consequences?
Recalling my darkest day is as simple as typing a few search terms into a web browser. It only took thirty minutes for me to become the center of a media frenzy that caught the attention of an entire country.
So I hid.
Nine months later and I'm getting better. Moved two hours from home, landed my dream job, and met a delicious new guy.
Healing is that simple, right?
Wrong.
Note: New Point is the start of a standalone series with connected characters, but independent story lines.
Pressure Point
I know what you’re thinking. It’s unconventional to want a man nine years older than you. It’s inconvenient to crush on your dearest friend’s older brother. It’s silly to pine after a man for six years. It’s cliché to lust after a celebrity. It’s pathetic to fall in love with a man who barely knows you exist.
I know what you’re thinking because I’ve thought it all, too. And yet that hasn’t stopped me from wanting Blake Campbell. Charming, gorgeous, brilliant, kind, selfless – Blake is everything I’ve ever wanted, but he doesn’t see me that way. In fact, he hardly noticed me until one night.
Traumatic events brought us together for the first time, but then he tossed me aside. I know it’s irrational, but I wanted him up until the moment he left me lying there alone.
When his eyes finally open and he finds out I’ve left, will it be too late?
Note: Pressure Point is a standalone novel, though characters from New Point make appearances.
Point of No Return
I had it all: an adoring husband, supportive friends, thriving career, a homey condo in the city.
Amend that.
I had it all except for love from my family. But life was good because I had him. Max was everything I dreamed a husband could be and somehow he loved me just as wildly as I loved him.
Until one cruel night he was stolen from me.
Then I had nothing but a vicious battle ahead of me. It’s a struggle so treacherous, I’m not sure if I’ll make it out with my heart in tact. But on the other side of that brutal war waits the most wondrous prize.
Will I allow myself to move forward?
Behind Her Smile
David and Karolina Morgan have the perfect marriage. He runs a financial empire catering to Miami's most influential and she is the darling socialite, adored by her husband and all those that meet her.
But underneath the lavish home, expensive car and exquisite jewelry lies a darkness threatening to consume Karolina. The once vivacious fashion design student has become a shadow of herself at the hands of her manipulative husband.
Then, with the flick of a power switch, everything changes. Karolina must learn to fight back when she discovers her entire existence is one big sham, with dire consequences.
My husband, for being patient when I block off weekends and evenings to work on my writing . . .
My family, for continuing to support this passion . . .
My HP, for everything you are and will become . . .
YD, for listening, supporting, and reminding me to ask questions . . .
To Sigal, for emails, journals, pictures, Gal’s ring, advice, generosity, and just for being you . . .
To Jenny, for never mocking my atrocious editing errors, for your quick turnaround, for your wisdom . . .
To Christine, for your care, your thoughtful comments, your gorgeous formatting, your kindness . . .
To Ari, for striking cover art that matches my personal aesthetic to the letter . . .
To my beta readers who find time in their busy lives to read and comment on my work . . .
To my readers who make me want to write more and more each day . . .
I am eternally grateful. I am thankful for you. I am humbled by your support.
