Three Wrong Dates: New Year Bae-Solutions

by Kelsey Green

  The silence following his revelation seemed both eternal and finite. My thoughts racing through the introductions earlier bringing me back to the present. I was reeling from his shocking disclosure that my date was his brother when he exited the bathroom through a door opposite of mine on the other side of the room. I’d heard Chef greet Grant as bro, but thought it was just a greeting that men gave one another. Not that they were actually brothers. Plus, the realization that I was sharing a bathroom with Chef, who just kissed me so intensely I could still feel the effects in my toes, was still swirling around in my tired mind, causing me to want to do nothing else but crawl into bed and wake up in a fresh new year.

  Chapter 4

  IVORY

  Grant had taken me to a lovely restaurant in the heart of what he referred to as their downtown. The picturesque snow globe of a main street had the cutest shops and decorations I’d seen even coming from the City. Twinkle lights outlined the cobblestone Main Street, draping from building to tree and shooting across the road in an overlapping, uniformed pattern.

  The vendors in the square, just down the street from the restaurant, still circled around the large tree that Grant said was used in the tree lighting ceremony that had taken place for Christmas last week. However, this town didn’t skimp on New Year’s decorations either. Rather, it appeared all colorful Christmas décor and lights were swapped out for origami ornaments, metallic pom poms, champagne bottle designs, and any other New Year’s Eve style you could think of. Not nearly as hillbilly or distasteful as I expected from a country town.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, everyone seemed to know Grant. I’d gotten a couple of dirty glances from a few women, but for the most part everyone seemed unnervingly friendly. Even the woman who congratulated me on snagging one of the infamous Keating brothers as though they were a boy band or something was welcoming about it. A comment I quickly overlooked once our food arrived.

  I told the chef, who personally came over to greet me as a newcomer to the area, that I would like to order whatever her signature dish was. I enjoyed tasting what a place was known for, often exposing my palate to some marvelous new dish like the tourtière—meat pie—I was currently eating. The cinnamon and maple flavors lingering on my tongue made the pie different from any other I’d been introduced to before. It was pure perfection.

  While I took out my phone, taking pictures of the meal to place on my little anonymous food blog, Sassy Sugar, Grant continued to rave about his town’s history. He was a true gentleman. Attractive to anyone with a pair of eyes. Successful without being boorish, his humor bouncing in from time to time.

  Therefore, why my mind kept returning to my encounter with Chef in the bathroom earlier was an annoying mystery. Before kissing me senseless, he’d called me out on not enjoying life. The statement, even more than the toe-curling kiss, was what had truly taken over my thoughts. Reflecting on it now, I evidently had been stagnant the last few years. Focusing so much on maintaining a persona that perhaps I had missed some important changes in my life and others. Breaking into his words as I tried to playback what Grant had just said, I asked, “So Chef used to work here in high school?”

  “Yep, and a couple years after as well. He worked his way up from busboy to assistant sous chef even before going off to culinary school.”

  It was surprising to hear. I’d tasted Chef’s food once at the camp and it was okay, but I didn’t recall it being anything spectacular besides the delicious maple muffins which I’d assumed were brought in from some bakery off campus. The meal itself that day had been a taco casserole with a flavor I couldn’t place at the time and didn’t quite care for. Regardless, though, you’d think a man with Chef’s experience and background would be a head chef at a five-star restaurant rather than cooking for a kid’s camp.

  “That sounds impressive.”

  “Yeah, well, my brother has always had loads of potential. Just lacked direction on what to do with it.”

  “Maybe he’s not good enough to make it,” I replied, taking a bite of my apple pie and cheddar cheese combination, which the waitress had just placed in front of us. By all accounts the two should one-hundred percent not be mixed. Half a plate later, it was obvious I was mistaken.

  “No, he’s good enough. A little too experimental at times, but that’s how he created everything my parents make at the bed and breakfast, and half the items on the menu here. They all originated from Jackson. Including that dessert you’re fawning over.”

  I dropped my fork as though Chef had snuck in and poisoned my food, unable to believe he was to thank for this unique yet delectable dessert. “Chef came up with this combination?”

  “Well, no, apple pie served with cheese is a long-standing Sweet Hill tradition. But he did come up with changing out the normal cheese for a smoked maple cheddar cheese he created at the family farm. He also added an ingredient to the apple pie, but I’m sworn to secrecy on that.”

  I was prepared to try and entice him for the secret ingredient when I took another bite of the dessert. Chef appears to be more than he seems. Surprising. A nice surprise. But it means nothing because I am not falling for him. I shook my head, trying to shake out my thoughts.

  Who the hell even talked about falling? Or attraction? Or being into to him in any fashion? Stupid kiss! We still hate each other! Right? Slapping myself in the forehead was proof my inner monologue had gotten out of control. The confused expression on Grant’s face confirmed that another date was headed for a rocky end.

  He didn’t ask what my problem was. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he shot me an uneasy smile and paid for the meal in silence.

  Another one bites the dust.

  The night with Grant had been pleasant, but a complete bust of a date. I was clearly off my game, leaving one common denominator in my failures. Chef Jackson Keating.

  When Grant got a house call, I was happy for the distraction from the awkwardness that consumed the last twenty minutes of our date. That was until we arrived at the patient’s house, and I was forced to realize that I had zoned out on even more of our conversations than I thought. It appeared Doctor Grant Keating was a veterinarian. Not a people doctor as I’d spent the whole night assuming.

  When we arrived, it was clear from the panicked voices that this was not the call to bring a respectable date on. The family was yelling at each other so frantically I could barely make out any words besides goat and ring. Two important terms as Grant would come to find out that the family’s pet goat had swallowed the crying woman’s wedding ring, which she forgetfully left sitting outside after one of her many kids spilled a whole canister of hot chocolate on her. Her husband was somehow to blame as well; however, I couldn’t understand why through all her snot-ridden soliloquys.

  Grant managed to calm the family, though, offering to give the goat some medicine to help him pass the ring faster. I was nodding aimlessly in agreement, not really knowing what medicine he was referring to, but wanting to seem somewhat helpful and not as lost and confused as I felt. Minutes later, I wished I would have asked for clarification on the meds because Doc’s recommendation resulted in the goat having the worst case of diarrhea.

  It was a sight in itself that immediately got shoved in my lost years box. A place I stored all my vilest memories never to be opened or spoken of again. If only the night would have ended there, perhaps I wouldn’t have been scarred for life. Unfortunately, the image of the wife reappearing in the stable holding plastic gloves and insisting everyone go digging for her ring was straight from my nightmares. It was a disgusting, ridiculous request, there was no way I, Ivory Vaughn, was doing.

  “That was horrifying,” I muttered as we arrived back at the Keating Bed & Breakfast. It would take at least fifty showers to get any semblance of clean. Not sure what I would do about the fact that I could still smell all that sh—.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” Grant said, opening my car door.

  “Welcome back, you two.” Chef greeted, walk
ing toward us with Trent trailing closely behind. “Y’all have a pleasant dinner?”

  Just the mention of food made me gag a little.

  “You all right, Ivory?” Trent questioned. “You’re looking a little green.”

  “I’m fine,” I responded, moving around them.

  Shower. Shower. Shower.

  “You sure about that, princess? If not, I really think you should let it out.” His words added to my nauseating feeling.

  “Definitely not good to hold things in or they might just burst out on their own,” Trent added.

  “Clearly you idiots know,” Grant snapped as I stood frozen in my step, trying to keep down my dinner.

  “Know what, bro?” Chef played coy. “That you took your date on a call, ending in her elbow-deep in feces?”

  Both men broke into an uncontrollable laughter as Grant stood shaking his head and I remained immobile.

  “You looked cute doing it, though,” Chef added once he regained his composure. “I’m sure your followers will love to see it.”

  “What in the hell do you mean by see it?” I asked, grabbing his shirt as he stepped within reach.

  “It’s a small town, darlin’, and you were with kids. They record just about everything. Just like you.” Laughing, he handed me his phone with the video of me shuffling through shit already playing.

  “I’m gonna kill you!” I screamed.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” Chef yelped, slipping out of my grasp.

  “Come on, Ivory,” Trent said, backing away. “I’m sure no one outside of this small town will even see your little side project. Besides, plenty of people have fetishes. We didn’t know collecting goat pellets was one of yours, but to each their own. Right?”

  He was already heading swiftly in the direction Chef had ran off in as I swung my purse at him. Tonight had been the most horrible and embarrassing night of my entire life and I couldn’t think of a single way to spin it.

  Fuck today.

  Fuck Vermont.

  Fuck that damn goat.

  Fuck kid’s owning cameras.

  And fuck Jackson Keating for putting me in this whole damn mess to begin with.

  No way was I living this down. I could kiss all of my followers good-bye by midnight.

  Chapter 5

  IVORY

  “Hi, Ivory,” Mary said the moment I opened my bedroom door. “It’s a quarter to midnight. Any chance you’ll join us for the countdown?”

  “I would, but I’m just not feeling up for it,” I answered. I’d taken a long shower, scrubbing every inch of my skin. Still, the smell of manure, or whatever you call goat poop, was swirling around in my nostrils, urging me to take another soak.

  “Yeah, going on one of Grant’s more colorful house calls will do that to a person,” said the man standing beside Mrs. Keating. “Danny Keating,” he added, extending his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Keating. I’m Ivory Vaughn.”

  “Well, Ivory, I’d say you’ve had one busy day from what Jackson and the boys tell me. I think that entitles you to one of my famous maple floats … guaranteed to make you feel better.”

  Handing me the drink, Mr. Keating proceeded to leave Mary and I to talk, giving me a quick wave as he headed down the hall. I wasn’t sure I could stomach eating or drinking anything. Although, the honeyed aroma of the float was making me reconsider. “There’s maple in almost everything out here, huh?”

  “Well this is a maple farm, dear. We’re one of two major maple farms that supplies all the local restaurants.”

  Maple farm? Perhaps I truly was as unobservant as Chef had claimed earlier. Noticeably, I’d been in my bubble for so long I was becoming oblivious and disconnected from the world around me.

  “Right,” I said, trying to cover up my ignorance while I sipped the float. “I just didn’t know maple syrup could be used for so much.”

  The maple float was delicious! But not wanting to miss any more vital information, I stayed focused on Mrs. Keating. Not a difficult task given how sweet and to the point she was on the limited times we spoke.

  “I’m sure Jackson intentionally didn’t mention we ran a maple farm,” she responded, not buying my cover-up. “My boys aren’t the best hosts, even growing up in a B&B. But they’re good men and always make me proud.”

  “They are,” I agreed. “I don’t really know Jackson that well, and I just meant Grant today, but I can tell you raised a couple good ones.”

  “That’s lovely for you to say. I know our small town can be overwhelming sometimes, especially with everything you’ve been through today. But I am really glad you’re here.” She gently touched my arm, instantly making me feel better than I’d felt all day. “Another girl in this sea of boys is a selfish bonus for me. Besides, I can tell you’re a sweet one, too, but can also hold your own … which is needed around here.”

  Her words sounded so sincere but foreign to me. She’d complimented me more in the past two minutes than my mother had in my entire life. Growing up with a socialite mother obsessed with titles and standing made for a proper daughter in polite terms. Causing me to now wonder what growing up with a warm, nurturing mother like Mrs. Keating would have been like.

  I’d spent most of my life convinced that I didn’t need to hear words of endearment from my mother. However, the way my heart felt right now had me questioning if that were true.

  “Well, hun, we would love if you’d join us, but I understand if you’re not feeling up to it,” she said. “However, this is one of our best rooms because you can actually see the festivities we host from here. May I?”

  She gestured to come further inside, moving my chair from its original location to the window. “Happy New Year, sweetie,” she said, giving me a brief hug before exiting my room.

  She was right. The view overlooking their land was beautiful. I could see Trent, Grant, and Mr. Keating all scattered outside of the barn, along with a few people I didn’t recognize. I didn’t realize who I was scanning for until my eyes locked with Chef’s. He was wearing a black button-down with black slacks that fit his body perfectly. It was the fanciest I’d seen him. Probably the fanciest he ever got.

  His brother and father were tall, undoubtedly inches taller than my five-foot seven-inch self, but looking down at them it was clear that Chef was the tallest. By his tendencies and the way Grant talked about him, it was also clear Chef was the younger brother, although not by much. Both men seemed around my age, a fact I probably should have known for sure having spent hours with each today.

  Raising his champagne glass, Chef shot me a nod as the countdown began.

  “Ten.”

  He looks good.

  “Nine. Eight.”

  I returned his gesture, raising my maple float and settling deeper into my chair.

  “Seven. Six. Five.”

  Who the hell is she?

  “Four. Three.”

  And why the hell are they so close?

  “Two. One.”

  The gasp escaping my lips overtook the midnight cheers as the woman standing next to Chef leapt into his arms, kissing him. The stunning fireworks that erupted outside of the barn were like distant crackles as I stared at Chef and his date until they broke apart. His eyes lifted to meet mine once more. I hastily dove away from the window, stubbing my toe on the side table in the process. I guess the Keating brothers were a hot commodity in this town.

  Happy fucking New Year.

  CHEF

  Ivory Vaughn. Waking up with her on my mind was the most unsettling feeling I’d felt in sometime. Thinking about her lying in the next room made for a restless night. I’d gotten up on more than one occasion, stepping into our adjoining bathroom, yearning to see if her side was open. But each time I held back, returning to my room unsatisfied. Kissing her last night was an accident as I’d completely forgotten about her date with my brother during our playful banter. Although, I was happy to see what a tremendous failure the date had turned into.

&n
bsp; When my parents went up to see her last night, I hoped they would coax her out of her room. But seeing her in the window wrapped in that fluffy blanket with her hair pulled back as it rarely was, made me wonder if I should have joined her instead. It was a foolish thought that’d distracted me the entire countdown. Until the moment Ruby leapt into my arms, kissing me unexpectedly.

  It seemed irrational to go to Ivory’s room and explain after. The chick didn’t even like me. I doubt she even cared.

  “Good morning,” I said, reaching the kitchen. “Do you guys need any help?”

  “No, the three of us have it covered.”

  “What, Trent here is helping y’all cook?” I laughed as he sat at the island scrolling through his phone.

  “No, I am,” a voice said from behind me.

  Ivory.

  “You’re cooking?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I thought a princess like you would be in the dining hall with the other guests.”

  “Clearly just another assumption you got wrong,” she sassed, handing my mother the cinnamon she was carrying.

  “We’re teaching your Ivory here to make your famous maple muffins. She mentioned eating them at the camp and wanted to learn your recipe,” my father clarified.

  “Is that right? A fan of my cooking now, darlin’?”

  “I’m a fan of these muffins,” she corrected. “But I have a feeling the top of the line maple is what really makes them great.”

  “Don’t butter up my parents. You and I both know those muffins were amazing due not only to my recipe, but also my superb baking skills.”

  She turned around to face me, causing my eyes to linger on her lips as she spoke, “Okay, fine. You’ve got some skills with cooking. But as I recall, you also made a taco casserole while I was there that straight failed.”

  Trent’s chuckling broke into my efforts at recalling the casserole in question. “Yeah, Chef made the muffins, but not the taco or other meals that day. If you recall, Ace, Jackson, and I went for a mountain bike ride when you arrived that turned into a race. We bet that the last one down had to take over the winner’s job for the weekend.”