Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s just-” she sniffs. “You’re a lover, just like your father, you know. You’ve got a big heart.”

  I nod, looking down.

  “I mean, he is a bit...crude.”

  I snort, “I know.”

  She smiles at me, “There’s no talking you out of baking or the kitchens is there.”

  I look up at her miserably and shake my head.

  “I was afraid of that,” she laughs. “Just like your father.”

  I choke out a laugh as she brings me back into a hug, nuzzling my face into her shoulder.

  “Sorry?”

  “Don’t be. Don’t ever be,” she says firmly, “You remind me of him every day, and that’s enough.”

  I look up at her, “So, now what?”

  She raises a brow at me, “There’s…nothing you want to do in London?”

  I shake my head.

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No,” I say quietly, hoping the words cover the sound of my heart breaking.

  “Then I guess that’s all there is.” She gives me one more questioning look before she brings me back in for another hug

  “Let’s go home, mom.”

  “You did what now, mate?”

  Danny is laughing his ass off while I sit there looking at the bar top of the Rusty Knot, fiddling with the pint in my hand.

  “You’re serious? In front of the fuckin’ dining room?”

  I slowly nod my head, “Yep.”

  Danny hoots and pounds his fist on the bar, “In front of that little shit from the Times?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He whistles lowly as he shakes his head, grinning at me. “Oh Jesus did I create a fuckin’ monster with you.” He snorts, “Jesus, Ollie,” he says, shaking his head. “You got a temper, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I take a deep pull of my beer.

  “No, mate, I mean it’s not always a bad thing; it means you’ve got balls. But you just have to stop thinking with them so much, you know?” He grins as he pats me on the back.

  “Yeah, gee wonder wherever I could’ve gotten that from,” I say, shooting him a sideways look.

  Danny laughs and ruffles my hair, “So, what’s with your pops now then?”

  I roll my eyes as I drain the last of my pint and then raise it up to signal the bartender for another. “Well, Danny, I’m pretty certain my dad just fired me.”

  He snorts, shaking his head, “Well, that’s gonna make for an interesting Christmas dinner now isn’t it.

  “No shit.”

  “About as interesting as you fucking your stepsister, yeah?”

  I whirl on Danny, who grins and holds his hand up, “Oy, no judgement, mate. That one’s a keeper, you know.”

  I frown at the new pint as it’s set in front of me, my jaw tightening, “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

  “I do.”

  I shake my head. “Naw, mate, I’m through with that shit now. Besides, that whole ‘one girl’ game’s never been my style anyways. The world’s a fuckin oyster, like you always say, yeah?” I toast to no one with my glass and take a big gulp.

  Danny sighs and shakes his head.

  “What?”

  “Nothin’, leave it.”

  “What?”

  He turns, frowning as he jabs a finger at me, “Look, boy-o, you want to keep trying to be me, be my guest. Keep fucking waitresses and bartenders and never settle down.” He barks out a laugh, “End up old and alone like me.”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re really struggling with those three Michelin stars and different model every night,” I shake my head at him.

  “Trust me, boy-o, it ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, “Look, you want to know what the move is? Find that someone, and hang on.”

  There’s a hardness in his eyes, and I find myself nodding.

  “So, now that you right proper fucked things up at Jolie, what your new plan?”

  I groan, “Fuck, find a job I guess.”

  He looks away looks, grinning to himself before he turns back and looks at me.

  “You know, I might know of something. There’s a project happening; a big one, and they’re bringing me in.” He looks at me over the rim of his pint, “It’s a big one, Ollie. They’re pushing for a star in the first six months, a second soon after.”

  I raise my brows, “Wow, shit, Danny. Congrats, mate.”

  “I might have something for you.”

  I laugh. “They need a dishwasher?”

  He grins, “I was thinking a bit above that, something more in the kitchen.”

  I frown. “Grill?”

  Danny shakes his head, “Higher.”

  I stare at him. “Well, fuck me, Danny,” I look at him, almost not wanting to even ask it; “Sous chef?” I can feel the blood start to roar in my ears. “Holy fuck, Danny! I don’t know if-”

  “No, not-” Danny rolls his eyes, “Jesus, I want you to be our head chef, you stupid twat.”

  The whole world goes quite still, at least for me, as my whole fucking focus just freezes on the last thing he’s just said. I stare at him, “What?”

  “Chef, Ollie; you know, the bloke that does all the yelling and cooking and all that jazz.”

  I open my mouth, but then realize I don’t actually have the capacity to make words yet and bring the pint to my mouth instead.

  Danny snorts a laugh, “I’m on as consultant and investor, but it’ll be your kitchen.”

  I stare at him, “You’re serious.”

  “As a fuckin’ heart attack, Ollie.”

  “Danny, you’ve got three fuckin’ Michelin-”

  “Oy, look,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me a shake. “I’m good, yeah? Very good, actually. But you’re fucking great, Ollie. And if you’d just take your head out of your own arse, you might just realize that. You’ve got the kind of greatness the rest of us fuckin’ mortals just chase after, and I’ve been around long enough to know that.” He narrows his eyes at me, “Don’t be good, Ollie, be fucking great.”

  I’m staring at him, slowly shaking my head and feeling like my heart is out to jump out of my fucking throat.

  “Well Jesus, boy-o, don’t make me feel like an asshole by saying no.”

  I snap out of it right then. Right then, I’m pushing everything else away. I’m burying all the bullshit of the last few weeks deep inside, and shutting the door on it.

  I’m shutting the door on Chloe, because if I don’t, I’m not sure I’m gonna make it.

  “Fuck,” I look up at Danny, grinning. “Yeah, mate,” I’m nodding, “Fuck yeah!”

  Danny hoots and brings me in for a bear hug, slapping me on the back before he pulls back and hollers for scotch from bartender.

  “So what’s the place called?”

  Danny turns back, handing me a scotch as he grins at me, “Ella.”

  I smile slowly, nodding at him.

  He clinks his glass against mine, “Hang onto the good ones, you little prick.”

  Six Months Later:

  It’s a Saturday night, and Ella is an absolute madhouse. We’ve got an entirely full book, a waiting list four fucking hours long, and people are still walking in and willing to wait five hours for a damn table.

  A Michelin star within four months of opening up has a way of doing that.

  But, yeah, success does mean work, and we’re fucking working like a crazy back in the kitchen to get orders out.

  “Oy, special request, chef.”

  I glance up from the pile of tickets in front of me as Ian walks into the kitchen.

  Yes, Ian. Of course I brought Ian, he’s the best Maître d' in the damn city.

  I also brought Marco. I allowed him all of one night to give me shit about Chloe, and then be done with it. Actually, I had to force him to make some jokes, he was honestly just too apologetic about hitting on her all those times.

  “Mate, you didn’t know.” />
  “Yeah, but I should have.”

  “What, should’ve know I was banging my stepsister?”

  “Oy, you’re a bit crude, bruv. You ought to work on that you know.”

  I glare at Ian, “So what’s this special request?”

  He pulls a neutral face.

  “What?”

  Ian coughs uncomfortably, “They, uh, they want you to come out to the table.”

  I stare at him, “You’re serious?”

  He nods, “Yes.”

  “What is this, Beni-fucking-hana?!” I roar. “Are we in Epcot fucking center, Ian?” He just shrugs at me as I go on my little tirade. “No I’m not fucking going out to the fucking table-”

  “It’s a VIP table, Ollie.”

  “I don’t care if it’s the fucking Queen Mum, Ian; fuck ‘em.”

  “Oliver-” His voice is tense, and suddenly I’m frowning and listening, “It’s a real VIP.”

  There’s something about the tightness in his voice that suddenly gives me pause, and my brow shoots up, “Oh?”

  “Yes,” he says, shooting me a stern look. “Best behavior, Ollie.”

  I turn and exchange look with Marco, who shrugs, “I got the line, mate.”

  I look back and point a finger at Ian, “This better actually be the Queen Mum at this point.”

  I walk out from behind the line and follow him back into the dining room, and then suddenly, the floor just drops out from under me.

  It’s Chloe.

  Chloe sitting alone at the table with a single red rose in a small vase in front of her.

  She doesn’t stand when she sees me, she just grins as I walk through the dining room, past hushed ‘oh, that’s chef Beckett!’ conversations, darting looks, and even one fucking idiot with his phone out taking a picture.

  “So,” she says as I come to a stop in front of her table, crossing my arms over my chest, “What’s good here?”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. She’s playing it cool, pretending to look over the menu.

  Pretending there’s absolutely nothing strange about the fact that she’s sitting in my fucking restaurant, in London-bloody-England six months after she ran out of my life back to the States.

  “Hmm…” She furrows her brow and taps the menu, “Noticeable lack of cucumber salad I see.”

  I smirk, and she looks up quickly, biting her lip.

  “Where’ve you been, Chloe?”

  “Hiding.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Oliver-”

  “You know, it was pretty cold to run out like that,” I narrow my eyes at her. “I’ve gotta say, being on the receiving end of that for once sucks a bit.”

  Chloe looks at me plaintively before she looks around, “You’re sort of the toast of the town, you know.”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  “And a Michelin star too, huh?”

  “Yeah it’s amazing what I could get done without that annoying pastry cook holding me back always trying to get in my pants.”

  She shoots me a glare and I grin, “I missed you, you know,” I say quietly. I’m acutely aware that most of the dining room is still trying to figure out what I’m doing out here amongst the mortals, talking to this random American girl sitting alone with a rose.

  “I missed you too, and…” She looks down, toying with her fingers before she looks up at me, those big brown eyes of hers looking right into mine. “Oliver, I’m so sorry for-”

  “Leaving?”

  “I was going to say ‘being a coward, and an idiot’, but yeah, that too.”

  I clear my throat and lean down closer to whisper to her, “Could you speak up a bit for the shit-head with the camera back there?” I say quietly, winking at her.

  “I said I’m sorry for being a coward and an idiot!” Her voice thunders across the dining room, silencing everyone. Forks clatter to plates, conversations stops, faces turn our way.

  “Uh, Chloe-”

  I look at her like she’s crazy, and I start to sit but she shakes her head and holds her hand out, “No, wait, don’t sit.”

  “What?”

  She looks at me, her eyes wide, and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth. “Don’t sit, I have to ask you something first.”

  I frown and I’m about to damn well sit anyways and ask her what the hell she’s doing here and why she’s acting so mental when suddenly she’s getting out of her seat and onto the floor.

  “Chloe!” I hiss, “Seriously, are you drunk? This is fucking ridicu-”

  “Oliver Beckett?” And suddenly, there’s a box in her hand.

  A box with a ring inside of it.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  Chloe looks up at me, her chest rising and falling and a blush creeping across her cheeks, “Will you marry me?”

  I don’t remember anything past that except the applause; from guests, and waiters, and all the cooks in the kitchen leaning out of the doors. I remember picking her up into my arms and kissing her, kissing her with everything I have because they’re the last lips I ever want to kiss in this world.

  “You have to say it, you know,” she whispers into my lips.

  I pull back and wink at her, “That a fact, huh?”

  “Mhmm,” she nods.

  “Well in that case, yeah, that’s a big fuckin’ ‘yes’, luv,” I say.

  She giggles and hugs me tighter, and then I’m picking her up and spinning her around as the whole fucking place goes wild.

  “You’re fucking mental, you know,” I whisper into her ear.

  She laughs, “Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she says, grinning as she kisses me. “I didn’t even get a return ticket.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “No idea.”

  “Job?”

  “Looking for a baker?”

  I laugh and wrap my arms around her as I pick her up and twirl her around again in front of the crowds and the staff and the cameras and all that shit. “You know, I could always use a cupcake girl.”

  She pokes me in the chest, “Dick.”

  I kiss her, “Tease.”

  She looks into my eyes, “By the way, have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

  “You never had to.”

  “Well, I love you, Oliver Beckett,” she says softly, grinning from ear to ear. “I love every crude, cocky, cheeky inch of you.”

  And then she’s in my arms. “I love you too,” I whisper in her ear, “And you play your cards right and you might just get buggered something proper with all of my inches”

  She laughs as she kisses me, and the crowd goes wild.

  I grin as I watch Oliver fidget with the sign on the inside of the glass front door to Ella.

  Close for the holiday weekend, it says, and I smile while I wait outside by the car as I watch him meticulously level it. “You know, I can promise you that the restaurant will be here when we get back.”

  He smirks at me through the glass before he finally steps back, nods at his handiwork, and walks out the door to join me. “Just remember where we parked it, yeah?” He says with a sly wink.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Closing for three days over the holidays?” Oliver snorts. “Fuck no, but I think we might lose our minds if we don’t.”

  I laugh. “No, I mean, my mom coming, and her meeting Danny?”

  Oliver arches a brow at me as he checks his watch. “Well her plane lands in two hours. Bit late for second thoughts, luv. Besides, after the convincing it took to get her to come back to the general vicinity of Europe, let alone London?” He whistles.

  OK, so it took both of us, pleading to get Mom to come over for Christmas. I mean what was she going to do, spend it alone in our house back home? I mean it’s not like I could fly.

  Third trimester and all that.

  Ultimately, I think it was Oliver promising that Barney was still boozing it up somewhere in the Casino circuit of Italy and would not be a
nywhere close to London that convinced her. Introducing her to Danny Cole again was not my idea, but Oliver insists they hit it off the first time.