“Busy? Wow. I knew you would have moved on.” He frowned. “Maybe this was a mistake.” His shoulders fell and he looked somewhat lost. He’d come all this way for her. She could at least hear what he had to say.
“What about tomorrow night?” she offered. “We can have a drink.”
“That would be great.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine as she took in the smell of the woody aftershave he always used. “It’s so good to see you. You look so cute in this.” He flicked the edge of her apron.
She swallowed and murmured something about him looking good too. There was always something about his compliments that made him very hard to resist. The cheekiness of his voice coming from his soft kissable lips combined to make any sweet little words just seem even more glorious.
She had to be careful. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll message you with some details.”
“I can’t wait.” He flashed her another smile, which was as expensive as the watch on his wrist, and walked away.
She wrapped her arms around her waist as her teeth chattered. Was she cold or just in shock? It had been like seeing the ghost of relationship past come back and disturb her at work. But was he really in the past, or could he be part of her future again?
“What about Leon?” a little voice in her head reminded her, persistently. She paused at the door. Ashton disappeared into the distance.
She walked back inside the café, her head overrun with thoughts.
“Was that Ashton?” Bebe asked, appearing at the door. Her violet-painted mouth formed an ‘o’ shape.
“How did you know that?”
Her friend blushed. “You seemed surprised, I guess. What’s he doing here?”
“He says he wants to see me. He wants me back. He told me he loves me.”
Bebe’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”
“I said I would talk to him tomorrow night, but…” She brought her hands to her hips and tried to take a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do.”
“He treated you badly.”
“I know, but … as soon as I saw him, the feelings came rushing back at me. That’s stupid, isn’t it?”
“But,” Bebe paused. “What about Leon?”
Michelle hesitated. “I don’t know,” she whispered. It had all seemed so straightforward with Leon and everything she was working towards, but Ashton’s appearance brought back a hint of exhilaration that was both painful and breath-taking, unpicking months and months of hard work to rebuild her life in only a few minutes.
Chapter 30
Bebe closed the door behind her at the apartment and picked up an envelope addressed to her from the hall table. It was large and official-looking with United States postage stamps covering the top corner.
She tore it open to reveal a glossy folder with the L’Or Master Class emblem printed on top. Flipping it open revealed a stack of paperwork inside.
The words swirled in front of her as she thumbed through the pages, yet she was able to make out that it was the receipt of her payment for tuition and paperwork to complete for her student pass and class timetable.
The start date was printed in big, bold letters across the top. Three weeks from today. It had come up much more quickly than she had anticipated.
She flicked through the pages before shoving it all into her handbag. Her visa had arrived, but she was yet to book her flight. Removing her phone from her bag, she typed in a flight booking website she used, but instantly pushed her phone back in her bag. She’d do it later.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Tea. She needed a hot cup of tea with lots of lemon stirred into it. Sometimes citrus helped clear her aching head.
With the kettle boiling, she opened the cupboards and inspected the contents. There was coffee, but no tea.
Where was Cole when she needed him?
She tilted her head from side to side. She barely had the energy to make a cup of tea let alone go to the store.
She’d go without. She shed her shoes, jacket and bag.
Her head throbbed and red light flickered in the corners of her eyes. She needed to take something else for the pain.
Her jacket and bag dropped to the floor, and she kicked off her shoes as she walked to the bathroom. Fumbling through the cupboard in her en-suite, she found a packet of aspirin and swallowed a couple.
She flopped on to her bed and drifted off, caught between awake and asleep. It was a place where inspiration often struck, but there was no such inspiration now. The pain in her head was uncomfortable, and coloured flecks lit up like fireworks behind her closed eyelids. She scrunched them tight to block out the colour and light, but it made it worse.
Her phone beeped. She reached over and picked it up. The brightness of the screen further aggravated her head and appeared blurry in the darkness. Despite this, she could see it was Harry.
“Hey.” She stretched out her arms.
“Want to go out? Can I take you to a movie, or maybe we could see if there—”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That sounds nice, but I have a headache. I’m lying on my bed. I don’t think I’ll be awake much longer, even though I could kill for a cup of tea with lemon.”
“Does that make your head feel better?”
“It usually helps, but I’m out of tea and we don’t have any lemons.”
“Can your mum get it?”
“She’s out, but it’s fine. I’ve taken some aspirin and I’m going to rest up.”
“That sounds like a good option. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
After she said goodbye, she held her phone to her chest and thought about Harry. She wished she felt up to going out with him. Maybe to a movie at that old-fashioned cinema, or perhaps the jazz club.
Three weeks left with Harry. That was it. After that, she’d be in New York, and he’d be here.
Sadness settled over her. They hadn’t really spoken much about it, but it would be hard to say goodbye to him. Especially after everything they’d shared.
Her daydreams of sexy kisses and soulful crooning caused her to drift back into the space between awake and asleep. This time it was a beautiful dream-like world where her head didn’t seem to ache, and her whole body felt lighter.
The buzzer at the door sounded, waking her from her blissful safe place. She groaned. Who was it?
The bell sounded again and she sat up. Her head was so heavy she felt off-balance as if she would topple over like a doll she’d try to have stand by itself when she was a kid putting on make believe fashion parades.
Reaching the hallway, she pressed the intercom and smiled when she saw Harry’s face appear on the screen. Her heart leapt. Had he been thinking of her as she had him since they’d said goodbye?
She opened the door and waited for the elevator doors to spring open. When they did, he stepped out and held out his hands to her. “I brought you this.” He handed her a box of English breakfast tea and two lemons, bright yellow and bursting with a fresh, citrus scent.
She looked down at the gift, and between the aching of her head and the kindness he was showing her, she wanted to cry.
“Stay with me.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her. “Please?”
He rested a hand against the side of her face and stroked her cheekbone. “You should rest.”
“Please.”
He hesitated. “Okay. I’ll make you the tea at least.”
Inside, she lay down on her bed while Harry moved around the kitchen. The sound of the kettle boiling was so comforting, and even just having him there was reassuring. It wasn’t charged and sexy like the last few times they’d been out, but it was cosy and romantic in a sweet sort of way.
He appeared at the door of her bedroom and she moved to the side of the bed. He handed her a mug and propped himself next to her.
She sipped the tea and allowed the hot liquid to warm her throat and her body. “Thank you.” She sighed. “This is so good.”
�
��Feeling a bit better?”
“A little.”
“Have you always had a lot of headaches?” he asked.
“Lately I have. I mustn’t be drinking enough water or getting enough sleep.” She snuggled into him.
“That’s no good. Maybe you should see a doctor. I can check if my GP can see you?”
“That would be nice. That’s the thing about moving around, I don’t really have my doctors or dentists or anything like that. It’s always someone new to explain everything about myself to.”
“How do you feel about moving around so much? I like travel, but I also like having a base.”
She took another sip of the tea. It was the perfect balance of sourness and zest. “It’s never bothered me that much. I don’t know any different.”
“I suppose not.” He stroked her hair back behind her ear. “You are the ultimate citizen of the world.”
“Yes. My passport is Australian, yet it doesn’t really feel like I belong here.”
This was it. This was a good moment to help manage expectations and lay down exactly what was happening between them.
After all, she was a citizen of the world, and she trotted around the globe like a leaf blowing in the wind.
It was the absolute ideal time to remind him she was off to New York in a few weeks, yet even though she opened her mouth, she couldn’t form the words. Maybe her head hurt too much for those sorts of conversations, or maybe she was worried that he would leave.
“How’s the tea?” he asked.
And like that, the moment was gone. She’d missed her chance, but relief swept over her. She wasn’t ready to have that conversation.
Were things as clear-cut with Harry as she’d once thought?
She handed him her cup and snuggled into the crook of his arm. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to leave just yet, or give him up. His body was warm against hers, and safe. And in a cocoon of blankets, the sound of rain falling, and the smell of lemon tea lingering, she slipped off to sleep with Harry stroking her hair.
Chapter 31
Michelle’s phone performed a merry jig across her bedside table, waking her up. She picked it up and squinted. It was a text message from Pete. Actually, more like a dozen text messages, accompanied by photographs of Timothy wearing a baby chef’s hat and a T-shirt that said ‘My Dad is the Best Chef’.
Very cute, if not mildly aggravating, given she was hoping for a lie-in. Especially as she’d not gotten much sleep the night before.
She texted a short response, rolled back, and looked at the ceiling. She’d been awake long into the night thinking over and over about the Ashton-related events of the day before.
She flung back the covers and went into the bathroom. It was time to get ready for the day, and the competition. Nerves pooled in her stomach but she took a deep breath. And not just about the competition. There was also Ashton to deal with.
While she had been in the shower, the circus had arrived. Laughter and loud voices burst from the kitchen, a hive of activity as she walked into the room.
She reached into the bottom drawer near the dishwasher. It was a drawer that, over the years, had become a resting place for any item that someone didn’t want to throw out but which had no other clear use or home. Remote controls to VCRs long gone, phone chargers to models that no longer existed, CDs with no covers and keys to goodness knew what.
“What are you doing?” Pete walked into the kitchen with a box, which landed with a thud on the bench.
“My secret ingredients.” She removed the brown paper bag she’d carefully hidden there the night before. She’d ran through exactly what she’d need with Gabriel and stashed all the dry ingredients, like the fine dark chocolate imported from Switzerland, in the drawer to avoid any suspicion. The eggs and butter were in the fridge and, thankfully, they were common items. No one would raise any eyebrows at a few dairy products, but the expensive vanilla pods and tools Gabriel had loaned her would raise much conjecture, gossip, and carry-on amongst her fellow competitors.
Shock and awe was her game here.
They were expecting little from her. She’d never delivered before, but today she had a sense of steely determination. And mad skills thanks to Gabriel’s tuition.
“Secret ingredients? What are you making?” Mum asked, setting lemons out in a neat row. Ah, she was making lemon slice—Dad’s favourite. She was trying to win him over with tried and true old school classic recipes.
Michelle organised her butter, flour, and sugar into little bowls on the kitchen table. “Éclairs.”
“No!” Pete looked up from the kitchen bench where he was removing a pasta-making machine from the box. “Last time you competed you made instant noodles with frozen peas and soy sauce.”
“And they were delicious,” Michelle insisted, as she sprinkled flour on her chopping board with a flourish that she hoped looked impressive to her siblings. “But this year, I thought I’d take it up a notch.”
“Choux pastry?” Pete let out a low whistle. “That is taking it up a notch. That’s tricky stuff to get right.”
“Step aside, sister.” Lauren appeared with her arms laden with groceries. She dumped them on the table and pushed Michelle’s flour out of the way. “The dessert queen is here.”
“Queen of burnt chocolate tarts more like,” Luke said, walking behind them, a pair of BBQ tongs in one hand and a bag of vegetables in another.
He snapped the tongs together in a quick, short, sharp motion like the claws on a crab. “I don’t know why you lot bother. We all know the path to success is simple: charcoal, heat and meat.”
“Not everyone likes your caveman food,” Lauren huffed. She was clearly still sensitive about last year’s oven heating issues.
“Caveman?” Luke’s mouth fell open. “This is prime Wagyu steak. This is real food, not that fluffy nonsense.” He snapped the tongs again at the array of flour and sugar on the kitchen table. “That’s just air and dust.”
“I was thinking that was a fairly accurate description of you,” Michelle said.
“Oh, trash talk. Bring it on.” He puffed up his chest. “We all know the judge likes meat.”
“He can’t have parsley, you idiot.” Lauren pointed at the bag of vegetables. “He’ll come out in a rash.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” he said. “If I don’t win, I hope you do, Loz,” he added in a way that didn’t sound particularly sincere given how much Lauren had just saved his dish.
The doorbell sounded and everyone looked at each other.
“That’ll be Leon,” Michelle said.
Lauren waved a wooden spoon at her. “That’s cheating.”
“He’s not cooking. Just hanging out. Like Clare is.”
“I’m not getting involved,” Clare said, walking past with Timothy at her hip, who was still wearing his ‘My Dad is the Best Chef’ outfit. “I’ll be in the living room reading a book.”
“What’s the book? Better not be a cookery book and you’re sneaking Pete measurements and things.” Luke gave a warning snap of the tongs.
Clare shook her head and kept on walking. Even Timothy seemed indignant of the accusations and turned his head away from his uncle.
Michelle wiped her hands on a tea towel and answered the door.
“Hey, Leon.”
He smiled and her stomach did a pleasant, happy cartwheel. Who was she kidding? Ashton’s return may have thrown her, but Leon was the one she wanted.
Friendship plus spark. That was the key. He was right.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Thanks for coming to cheer me on.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” He held up a brown paper shopping bag. “I brought you something.”
“You did?” She took it from his outstretched hand, peeped inside, and let out a laugh as she removed a crisp, white chef’s hat. “For me?”
“For you.” He took it from her and placed it on her head. “Looks good, I reckon.”
“Leon Ma
rek!” Mum appeared at the hallway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She brought him into an embrace. “How is your mother? And your sister?”
Lauren stood next to Michelle and gave her a poke in the ribs. “That’s Leon? When did he become Alexander Skarsgård’s body double?”
Michelle blushed, and snuck a look back at Leon. He really was very attractive, and it felt nice to have earned the admiration of her family that day—in attempting to cook a complex dish and bringing home a hot dish.
Dad appeared with a stopwatch and waved it in the air. “Preparation time is nearly done.”
She grabbed Leon’s hand and scurried back to her position at the table where she assessed everything she needed to do and made a mental note of the time.
“Good luck,” he whispered to her.
“Thanks.”
The rolling pin fell off the edge, Leon caught it. He handed it back to her.
“He’s not allowed to help!” Lauren hissed.
“Clare helps Pete!”
“I’m not getting involved!” Clare’s voice rang through from the living room. “I’m in here with Timothy.”
“I might go in there too,” Leon said. “I don’t want you suspended from the competition,” he added with a whisper. He ran his hand against her lower back, which was perfectly innocent enough for her family’s kitchen, yet sent a delicious, lustful chill down her spine.
The bell rang, and in a flash, the family kitchen and meals area converted into a frenzied movement of Fitzgeralds clamouring about and bickering over space, utensils and oven temperatures.
Despite the chaos around her, she ticked off every step, remembering temperatures, techniques and timings, having committed Gabriel’s instructions to memory.
As she removed the pastries from the oven (which she’d watched the temperature of like a hawk, even shooing away Mum when she saw her hovering), she returned to the table to allow them to cool, before she could fill them with cream and ice them with chocolate.
The Things We Never Knew Page 14
