by Virna DePaul
“I can smell the steak burning, Lee.” She peeks her chin over shoulder and smiles. “Enjoying the show?”
“You knew I was looking?”
She shakes her ass and says in a sweet, innocent voice, “I had no idea whatsoever.”
I throw a piece of lettuce at her and she grabs a celery stalk. I stride toward her and she holds it out like a sword. The closer I get, the more she starts poking it at me. I snatch it from her grasp and toss it over my shoulder. She lets out a loud yelp as I hoist her up from the waist and set her on the industrial kitchen island.
“Celery should never be used as a weapon, Jenna Harrison.”
Grinning, she squirms, but I hold her thighs in place. She then leans forward and gently bites the tip of my nose.
“What should it be used for?”
I lift a hand off her thigh as I reach for another celery stalk. Jenna takes the moment to wrap her leg around my waist, drawing me in closer.
“I thought you liked learning.” I tap the stalk against her forehead.
“What are you going to teach me?”
I trace the stalk down to her lips. She smirks and snaps a quick bite. I laugh as she chews, then toss the rest of the celery in the trash.
“For one thing, no teeth.”
Jenna nods and repeats, “No teeth.”
I lean in and kiss her. I can still taste whiskey. Jenna smiles at me as she picks up the spoon, leans over towards the stove, and stirs the pot of pasta.
“Jenna?”
“Yeah?”
I swear she even stirs seductively.
“The guy you were with on your birthday? William?”
She sets the spoon down. “Yeah?”
I shift and twist behind me to push the peppers around in the sauté pan while figuring out how to ask what I want to ask. She’s still got me wedged between her legs.
“We're not dating.”
I glance at Jenna. She’s crossed her arms under her breasts and is studying me.
“And we weren't fucking,” she adds.
I try to shrug it off like I'm not really that interested. I try to act casual instead of thoroughly relieved at the news. She drums her finger on the counter.
“Are you, um, seeing anyone?” she asks.
“Seeing anyone? No. I broke thing off with Sonya that night. It just seemed like William was –”
“Are you interested in anyone? Romantically, I mean,” Jenna interrupts.
Her voice is casual, but her shoulders are tense. And she won’t quite look me in the eye.
Well, shit. How do I answer this? She knows I’m interested in the blogger since I was flirting with her online. But if I say yes, she’s going to have to act like the blogger isn’t her. Unless she’s going to admit her tightly held secret, she’s got no choice but to act offended or hurt. But if I say no, she’ll think I’m a liar, because she knows I’m talking/flirting with the blogger online. Or, she’ll think I’m not really interested in the blogger, and how will she react to that given the blogger is Jenna’s real self behind her mask?
“Lee?”
“I’m interested in you,” I finally say. Before she can speak, I add, “Sorry it didn't work out between you and William. He seemed like a good guy for you.”
“A good guy for me?”
Her tone makes me feel like I said something wrong, but at least she’s no longer asking if I’m interested in someone else.
“Well, he's a lawyer and he's successful and he's a respectable guy.”
Jenna stares at me.
I add a splash of olive oil to the peppers. “He wears a suit to work. Works on important stuff that matters. He's mature and driven and –”
Jenna grabs my hand. “And boring and uninspired and unimaginative.”
“And smart.”
“Lee.”
“Jenna, I couldn't read those bricks you guys call books even if I wanted to.”
She spreads my fingers and draws over my palm. “What these hands do is amazing.”
I push them up against her breasts.
“I didn't mean like that,” she says.
“No?” I rub my thumb over her nipple, which perks up at my touch.
Jenna sags into me. “Okay, well like that, too.”
She forces my hands away, then hops off the counter. She spins me around to face the plates we’ve prepared together for dinner.
“Lee, what you do can’t be taught in any textbook.” She points to the sauté pan and leans in closer. “Look at the colors. You’re an artist. The world is so full of gray and brown and your dishes are brilliant and bright and full of color.”
I try to protest, but she stops me.
“Smell that. Just smell it.”
I hear her breathe in. I feel her eyelashes dust against my cheek as she closes her eyes. I close my eyes and inhale, too.
“I’m in Thailand. I’m in Turkey. I’m in Brazil and Argentina,” she says, breathing in again. “You did that, Lee. You take me places. I’m there because of you.”
She stops and is quiet for a moment. I don’t doubt that she is wandering a rainforest or standing in some wide, vast desert or staring up at the Patagonia mountains peaked in white.
“But that would all be nothing without the taste,” she says. “Open.”
With my eyes still closed, I open my mouth and taste the sautéed pepper, with just a hint of her salty finger. The flavors burst in my mouth, reminding me of what I loved about cooking in the first place. It’s not the fame or the money or the girls. It’s the intimacy. It’s the closeness food can bring between two people. It’s the shared experiences, the memories, the moment.
I open my eyes and look at Jenna, who licks the sauce from her fingers as she smiles right at me.
“Lee, you’re brilliant,” she says with such earnestness it makes me believe her.
I kiss her cheek and dish the peppers onto the plate with the pasta and the rest of the food.
“Yeah, well, my potential investors no longer think so. And neither does the blogger.”
There’s an immediate difference in Jenna’s demeanor. She grabs my chef jacket and slips it on over the apron and her nakedness. She’s mostly covered up now, though her legs are still bare.
“Well, those are things we’re supposed to talk about, remember? It’s why I came here in the first place.” She pushes around her food without making eye contact.
“Was it?”
She shakes off her sudden seriousness and laughs. “Of course. Why else am I here?”
Before I can say, “Maybe you came for me. Maybe you came because you feel something for me. Something you may be afraid of.” Before I can say any of that, Jenna jumps in.
“I mean, we have to tackle this head on. Your restaurants are the most important thing to you, and we need to keep those intact.”
She grabs her briefcase again and pulls out some papers, spreading them across the island. “Maybe we hit back with a social media campaign.”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, well, we can spin it positively. Name a dish after the blog. Embrace it, you know?”
“Eh.”
“No problem. I have a lot more –”
“Maybe I could invite the blogger to dinner and show her I can do better.”
She looks up from her papers. “No. No, I don’t think that would work at all.”
“Jenna.”
“I'm going to figure this out for you. That's not a good plan, but I'll come up with a good plan and we'll get this all settled with the investors and –”
“Jenna, would you want to be my girlfriend?”
“I can fix this for you, Lee and it'll all be – Wait. What did you just say?”
She looks shocked. As shocked as I feel. I can’t believe I said it. Just like that. But seeing her evading me, keeping up the pretense with all the blogger bullshit, I just snapped.
And I’m glad.
We’ve wasted enough time.
I step cl
oser to her and rest my hands on her hips. I rub my thumbs against the dip above her hip bone. She looks up at me with those eyes, wide and searching, and suddenly I'm unsure of myself. I can't remember the last time I was unsure of myself around a girl that wasn’t her. That's not me. I'm the confident, carefree, fun-loving guy. And yet here I am, hoping Jenna doesn't notice my fingers quivering through the thick material of my chef's jacket.
“Lee?” she says again. “What did you say?”
I smile at her and raise a hand to caress her cheek. “I think what we have between us is more than physical.” I place my other palm against her chest and feel her heart pounding underneath it. “Jenna, I think there's always been a connection between us.”
She bites her lip, and in her eyes, I see a hesitation. I know she's thinking. That's Jenna. Always weighing the options. Rationally assessing the pros and cons. Research and analysis and Excel spreadsheets and more research. I'm a jumper, and Jenna is a sit-on-the-edge-of-the-pool-dipping-her-toe kind of girl.
But I want her to leap. I want her to leap and know I'll be waiting there to catch her.
She opens her mouth and then closes it. Then she does something I did not see coming at all. She punches me in the shoulder and steps away, laughing as she reaches for her fork again.
“Very funny, Lee.” She sits at the island, facing away from me as I stand there, reeling. “Very, very funny.”
“I'm serious.”
She nods and shoves a mouthful of peppers in quickly. “Right, right.”
“Jenna.”
“Let's get on a plane to Vegas and elope right now.”
Does she seriously think I'm joking? Can she not see that I made myself vulnerable for her? Does she only see me as a player who only wants casual sex and emotionless relationships?
“And then we can get pregnant with twins tomorrow afternoon and you can get started on our white picket fence.” She laughs again, still not looking at me. Still shoveling in food like this is the last meal she'll ever eat before the world ends.
“I'll bring you beers from the kitchen while you watch the games and I'll join a walking club in our suburb neighborhood.”
Is it really so hilarious, the idea that I could be in a serious relationship with her? Or is this something else?
With her plate clean, Jenna suddenly stands up and starts looking around the kitchen. “What time is it?” she asks.
“Eleven,” I say, suddenly feeling tired and drained.
“Oh, man. I have to go. I didn't realize it was so late.”
“Yeah, all right.”
She gathers up her clothes and still won't look at me. She doesn't even stop to change back into her dress.
She pinches the chef’s coat. “I'll give this back to you tomorr – Well, not tomorrow, but soon. Or, I don't know. I'll send it over or something.”
“I have plenty, Jenna. Don't go out of your way.”
“Great. Okay. Well, thanks.”
She darts out of the kitchen without another word and without a glance back. The door swings back and forth, and I watch it until I hear the front door of Torch slam shut. Then I slowly gather the plates and pans and walk them over to the sink.
Then I curse and fling a plate across the room where it shatters.
13
Jenna
Of course, I knew Lee was serious. At least, I’d started to believe he was, when the shock wore off.
Lee was a player but he wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t inexperienced.
He wouldn’t say he wanted a relationship with me unless he really did.
But I ruined it. Actually, ruined is too kind a word for what I did. I demolished it? I butchered it? I smashed it and left it in a ditch on the side of an abandoned highway? Yep, that's probably the closest description of exactly how terribly I acted.
I'm driving back to my apartment with my ass sticking to the car’s leather seat, because I darted away wearing only Lee's chef jacket. I roll down the window and lean my head toward the blast of cool air.
What would have happened if I had said yes? If I hadn't pretended it was all a massive joke? If I hadn't shoveled food in my mouth and dashed away half naked?
I know what would have happened - I would be in a relationship with Lee. Just like he wanted.
For the moment.
It’s what I’ve dreamed about since practically the day I met him. Back then, I secretly wrote his initials on my middle school notebooks and strategically flipped the top of a soda can so it popped off on the letter 'L'. Because every middle school girl knew that meant I’d marry someone with a first name starting with 'L'.
As I grew older and Lee grew older, it turned into something deeper. But it also became more and more apparent that it would never happen.
I accepted that. I stopped dreaming of what it would be like to wake up next to Lee every morning, watch him cook, just enjoy being near him. But now as I’m driving, all those dreams flood back into my mind.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself, rolling up the window and shaking my head clear of those long-ago cherished dreams. I said no. Well, not exactly, but the effect was the same. I said no, and that was the right thing to say.
That's what I need to focus on. Rationality. Logic. Safe decisions.
Lee hasn't changed. He’d enjoy a serious relationship with me for a week or a month. But soon enough, he'd see a model walk through his restaurant. She'd be offering a wild night of partying followed by no strings attached sex. And he'd have to decide between that and a stuffy, boring work party he agreed to attend as my date. He could make that sacrifice for me once or twice, but not a lifetime. Eventually, he'd rub my arms and gently tell me it's not working, and I'd act like I agreed.
But it would crush me.
My doorman gives me an odd look as I walk past, and I realize I probably should have changed. I shrug.
“Weird night,” I tell him.
“Should I be expecting your boyfriend to coming sprinting in again tonight?” he asks.
“Oh, he's just a client.”
My doorman nods politely, and only then am I aware how terrible that sounded. I'm half-naked and just called Lee a client. Great. This night keeps getting better and better. My doorman probably now thinks I'm a hooker.
I catch him studying me as I wait for the elevator and resist the urge to tug down the bottom of Lee's chef jacket. After I finally make it to the safe haven of my apartment, I walk inside, and sag to the floor against my door. I rest my forehead against my knees and groan.
What have I gotten myself into?
Lee and me, together? No, I made the right decision. I suddenly raise my head and slam it against the door.
“Fuck.”
The blog. Yet again, I forgot about that nasty elephant in the room. How can I say yes to a relationship with a man whose career I anonymously but definitely sabotaged – and then ignore every opportunity to just tell him? The blog was a mistake, it was terrible, I know. But it's brought me closer to the man I've fantasied about for years.
Why don't I just tell him? Seriously, what is wrong with me that I can't just tell him?
Because then this would all end. Once I tell him, he'll be gone. He'll be done with me. And the truth is, I'm not ready for that. Not quite yet. I know this is temporary. I tell myself it has to be temporary. But can't it be this temporary thing for just a little bit longer? Is that really so bad?
In the midst of my self-loathing on the floor, still in Lee's chef jacket, I hear a ding from my laptop. I sigh and drag myself up, rubbing my tired eyes. It's probably a work email. My boss just needs me to make changes to the brief for tomorrow's court date. It’s going to be long and tedious and I'm not in the mood. But maybe it will take my mind off Lee, for once.
I slip off Lee’s chef coat and his apron. Then I put on some sweats, throw my hair up into a messy bun, and ready myself to work until the wee hours of the morning. Snuggling into my bed is tempting fate, but fuck it. I scroll throug
h my email and don't see anything new. Spam? Nothing there either.
Then I see my blog opened up in a separate window. A thrilling jolt courses through me when I realize that Lee sent me – no, the blogger – a message.
I have a feeling you would have really liked the new dish I cooked up tonight.
Shouldn’t I be concerned Lee is simultaneously asking me to be in a relationship while messaging and certainly flirting with the blogger? The fact that they're both me isn't the point. The point is that Lee doesn't know they're both me. That should upset me. But for some reason it doesn't.
I feel like I'm two different people. The Jenna in real life, who can run my hands against his burning skin, take him inside of me, kiss him until I'm struggling for air and not even care. The one where I can be vulnerable physically, but not emotionally. When I'm face to face with him, I don't know what happens. I just can't say what I feel. My throat clenches and my mouth clams up and I just can't.
But then there's the other Jenna, the one behind the screen. The one hidden in the internet, safe behind anonymity. That me, for some reason, can be honest and open and flirtatious and say everything I want to say to him.
I should close the laptop screen and slip into bed, close my eyes and hope tomorrow all of this with Lee and the blog is gone, but I don't. My fingers slip to the keyboard as if moving on their own.
Hi.
It's all I write.
It's not flirtatious or sexy. I guess I just want to talk to Lee, openly. Even if we just discuss the weather. I need him. And I don't want to fight that need right now.
Is everything all right? he types.
Do you ever just feel lost? Like you find yourself in a situation and you don't even really know how you got there?
Lee types back immediately.
All the time.
I feel my eyes starting to well up, and I have to just laugh at myself. What is wrong with me? My computer dings again, and I read what Lee added.
But isn't that what makes life so exciting? Maybe you should embrace it? Grab it and own it and make it yours.