Revenge Love

by Kata Čuić

  I don’t doubt that’s a protective adaptation for him. Why imagine things you never expect to happen…even in your wildest dreams?

  “Jason? Do you know what I’m fantasizing about right now?”

  He glances around the empty shop with a slightly wild look in his eyes almost as if he’s finally exercising his unused brain muscles enough to see the potential in every flat surface, the empty wall on the other side of the room, the couch.

  An electrical current of power ripples through me. I take a step forward, then another, unable to wipe the widening grin off my face. “I’m fantasizing about a mouthful of rich, creamy, hot…”

  By the time we’re chest to chest, he audibly gulps.

  “…coffee.”

  The look of complete shock on his face causes me to break character. My laughter fills the room until I can barely breathe.

  “Oh, you are evil,” he chuckles. “But, I suppose I had that coming.”

  I nearly double over at his ill-timed pun. More than that, I’m downright giddy he isn’t shutting me down or changing the subject. In spite of the rocky road we’ve traversed the past few months, this seems like the most real, honest interaction we’ve ever had.

  No walls, no self-preserving insults, just two friends engaging in witty banter and laughing together. Have Jason and I ever laughed together before?

  I’m so lost in happiness, I startle when he sweeps a strand of hair away from my face. “Do you want to know what I’m fantasizing about right now?”

  My eyes feel like an owl’s. I hope my expression conveys, yes, please.

  His lips brush my ear, the warm breath raising goosebumps on my neck. “I’m fantasizing about your sweet ass in the kitchen…”

  If this fantasy involves a little-known kink involving flour, I’m all in.

  “Where you’ll drink your rich, creamy, hot coffee silently and not distract me while I’m rolling enough dough for fifty pies.” He pulls back with an expression bordering on triumph.

  “You can’t fool me. I saw the way you looked around this room. You’re thinking about something much dirtier than baking and telling me not to distract you only proves it.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely thinking about it,” he admits. “I’m just not going to act on it.”

  Jason’s promise takes the wind out of my sails.

  And not a moment too soon. The bell crashes to the ground again as the door swings open.

  “No. No way.”

  We turn toward the shocked voice to find a tall frame filling the doorway.

  “You did not seriously rig the door because you brought a girl here.” The young man stares at us with wide eyes. Perfect eyes. The kind that take my breath away. It’s like looking at a version of the Jason that might have been had he been born without his facial aberration.

  “Of course not. Use your head, man. If I was trying to sneak a girl in here, why would I rig the front bell when I could arm the security system?”

  Jason’s younger, undoubtedly attractive doppelganger tips his head in seeming thought. “Good point. I’ll have to remember that next time.”

  “Next time? What the hell do you mean by that? Please tell me you have not been bringing girls here after hours. Do I need to disinfect the entire kitchen?”

  A blindingly brilliant smile erupts on his brother’s face. “And the counter, and the couch, and the floor…”

  Jason scoffs. “At least tell me you thought to turn off the surveillance cameras first.”

  The man’s face pales. “No. Does Mom watch the footage every morning?”

  “Obviously not. She would have castrated you by now, otherwise.”

  They’re sparring back and forth, completely ignoring my presence, which is just as well. I can’t stop swinging my gaze between their likenesses.

  Younger Jason finally notices me. “And how did my brother talk you into such an early tryst?”

  Jason screws up his face in a mixture of confusion and disgust. “I didn’t talk her into anything. She follows me around like a lost puppy. I can’t even get rid of her when I try.”

  “I’ll never try to get rid of you, gorgeous.” He approaches me with a confident stride, then lifts my hand to his lips. “You can follow me anywhere, and I won’t complain.”

  Jason rolls his eyes but makes no other move to claim his territory. “Gorgeous has a name. Emma, meet my younger brother, Luke.”

  Luke finally releases my hand with a sly grin. “Younger brother, more attentive brother, better-looking brother. All the same.”

  Nothing is the same about these brothers, aside from their looks.

  “What the fuck?” The screech coincides with the sound of a body meeting the floor.

  It’s just the wake-up call I need from my mental haze. The girl looks nothing like Jason and Luke when she peels her face from the floor, glaring at our unlikely trio. Where they’re all dark and domineering, she’s light and feisty. Blond hair, blue eyes, slim, petite build—she’s their opposite in every way.

  “Did you assholes leave this on the floor for me to trip over, so you could fight over a girl uninterrupted? Because something as stupid as the door bells isn’t going to stop me, you know.”

  Jason and Luke fight over girls? Was Hayleigh one of their mutual conquests? The thought brings a sheen of sweat to my skin in a physical manifestation of disgust.

  Both brothers rush over to help her up, fawning over her as they brush dust off her clothes, help her out of her coat, and receive assurances she isn’t hurt.

  She shakes them off easily, and they don’t fight her. Just as I’m about to admire her independence, she strides right up to me. “Who are you? What game are you playing with my brothers?”

  The fantasy-driven part of my brain that expects Jason to jump to my defense withers away as silence stretches out in the shop, almost as heavy as the aroma of coffee.

  On my own to smooth her ruffled feathers, I extend my hand. “I’m Emma Hastings. I only met Luke a few minutes ago. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not playing any games.”

  She refuses my offered handshake, narrowing her eyes at me. “See that it stays that way. How do you know Jason?”

  “We graduated from Sweet Valley in the same class and go to Wellbridge together. We’ve been friends for years.” I guess he wasn’t kidding that his family knows nothing about me. My shirt feels damp with the increasing heat of her stare as she looks me over, judgment obvious in every second she seems to take to weigh the truth in my words.

  Instead of my explanation pacifying her, she steps into my personal space until our chests nearly brush. “I don’t want to know about the nature of your friendship,” she hisses, not bothering to lower her volume to avoid her brothers overhearing. “If it’s with benefits, then that’s Jason’s decision. Just know if you ever hurt him, I will cut you, bitch. Ugliness comes from the inside and if that’s what you reveal, I’ll make sure your pretty exterior looks worse than anything you might think of his appearance.”

  The mention of Jason’s looks must be enough for him to intervene because he’s suddenly at my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me against him like he might have to fend off his little’s sister’s attack at this very moment. “Easy, Melissa. She’s not going to hurt me. I swear to you this woman doesn’t have an evil bone in her body.”

  The tension dissipates with Luke’s laughter. “As long as you’re getting your bone in her body without any problems, then we’re all good here.”

  Jason rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you two are ridiculous. I’m a big boy. I think I can handle myself without needing your protection.”

  “Protection is more good advice,” Luke offers. “Always make sure to wrap it up, bro. Nothing kills libido like an STI or an unwanted pregnancy.”

  “I don’t need sex-ed from you,” Jason bellows, throwing his free arm up in the air. “I’m four years older! I know how everything works!”

  A commotion outside the front door draws our att
ention.

  Melissa turns to me with a wicked smile. “Speaking of work, you better work it hard. Mom’s going to chew you up and spit you out if she detects even a hint of you using him.”

  “Don’t speak to her that way,” Jason growls as he tightens his grip on me. “Mom has more class in her pinky finger than you two boneheads have in your entire bodies.”

  If he means that last part to calm me, his words are wasted. My every muscle trembles as the front door swings open again to reveal a woman I’m all too familiar with, though I’ve never been properly introduced to her as anything other than the owner of the coffee shop I frequent when I’m home.

  The siblings do their best to feign normalcy, but it’s wasted on her maternal gaze which holds bottomless suspicion as she takes in the scene before her.

  “What’s going on here? Please tell me you three are not at each other’s throats this morning. Not only is it Thanksgiving, but we have a long day ahead of us which will not go off without a hitch unless you’re all on your best behavior.”

  A cacophony of excuses and promises rains down from three mouths.

  Jason’s mother approaches slowly, not buying into their platitudes in the least. She stands by her daughter but rather than running an interrogation, sticks out her hand. “Good morning and happy Thanksgiving. I’m Carla Evans. I hope my children haven’t convinced you not to aid us in our endeavors today. We need all the help we can get to serve the less fortunate in our area.”

  I take her hand with a timid grasp. It suddenly feels like I’m transported back in time to the shy, awkward teen I once was, with no hope of ever fitting in with this crowd. Confronted with the suspicion and judgment of Jason’s family, my tongue remains firmly stuck to the roof of my mouth, so no words can escape.

  As if sensing my regression, Jason places a calming kiss to the crown of my ducked head. “Mom, this is my girlfriend, Emma. Nothing Luke and Melissa throw her way will make her bail on us. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

  I openly gape at him. Say what, now?

  “Girlfriend, hmm?” Carla’s gaze roves over me in much the same manner as her daughter’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma. Thank you for helping us today.”

  Her words seem kind enough on the surface, but there’s a hardness in her eyes that can’t be dismissed. She’s every bit as suspicious of me as her children.

  I’m not sure whether to feel happy Jason’s family loves him so much or be concerned they know what happened between him and Hayleigh. I’d hate to think they’re only so protective of him because of his appearance. Shouldn’t they be the people who overlook that and love him unconditionally because of who he is on the inside? Still, a jealous beast inside me laments I’m always the last to know about the depths of Jason’s life.

  “We’re gonna go get started on the pies,” he announces, a no-nonsense tone to his voice.

  Carla nods, not removing her gaze from mine. “Good idea. Customers will start arriving around noon. We only have a few more hours to prepare.”

  Jason leads me toward the back of the shop before any more conversation can take place. I’m not sure if he’s eager to dispel the tension, or if he’s that anxious to get me away from those obviously closest to him.

  It’s probably a combination of both.

  He guides me to a stool, then fixes me a cup of java—just the way I like it—before dumping out a heap of dough on the chrome workspace in the center of the kitchen.

  Somehow, that mundane action is enough to snap me out of my stupor. “Are you sure you don’t want to disinfect the island before rolling dough out on it?”

  He physically winces, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit. I completely forgot.”

  I watch, still somewhat in shock, as he backtracks his steps, taking the time to thoroughly clean every surface, muttering to himself as he goes.

  Something about joking, damn family, stupid timing, and jealousy.

  As caffeine infiltrates my system, I regain a little control. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens several doors on a wall of ovens. Immediately, the scent of roasting turkey wafts into the air.

  “I thought you were the baker? When you said the pies were your responsibility, I wasn’t surprised. Why are you doing the turkeys, too?”

  He goes about his work without meeting my gaze. “I told you I’d been here for hours prepping. You heard my mom. Customers will begin arriving around lunch time. They’re expecting turkey, which takes hours. This is only the first batch. There are more waiting in the fridge. The pies will go in the ovens between batches of the main course. I’ll rotate to make sure everything gets done on time.”

  In spite of the intimate questioning from his siblings and his introduction of me to his mother as his girlfriend, Jason seems to be keeping his distance, fluidly transitioning from one task to another without so much as a word or glance thrown my direction. His commitment to pull this feast off without a hitch is nothing short of amazing. If I thought helping my mom prepare a Thanksgiving dinner for five was a circus of juggling, this blows that out of the water. A sense of awe for his single-minded focus eases my discomfort slightly.

  Today is not about us. It’s about others.

  “What can I do to help?”

  He points toward a corner of the kitchen without breaking his stride. “Peel the potatoes so we can boil, then mash them.”

  We work side by side for the remainder of the morning, dodging each other in the small space. He directs me toward the locations of anything I might need to complete my tasks, but otherwise we dance around each other in silence.

  He assembles the pies. I make the mashed potatoes, stuffing, and green beans. He pulls turkeys out of the oven, drains the drippings into a pan for me, then slices the meat to store in roasters. I stir the gravy.

  I’m vaguely aware of another presence in the kitchen from time to time. Either a member of his family or another volunteer checks in to see if any help is needed. After several moments of observation, they quickly realize Jason and I are not only fully capable of keeping things in check but adding another body into the mix will disrupt our flow.

  “Jason.” A voice filled with pride halts us in our tracks. It’s his sister, who has nothing but happiness shining in her eyes as she stares at us standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the stove. “Everything is wonderful. They love the food. Come see.”

  He wipes his hands on a dish towel but turns to me before following. “Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.” I wave him toward the door that separates the kitchen from the dining area. “We’re just refilling the stock at this point. Go. I’ve got this.”

  For a brief moment, I think he might kiss me in gratitude, but he physically shakes his head and offers me a smile instead. “Thanks. I don’t get many opportunities to see people enjoying the fruits of my labor.”

  A pang of guilt shoots through me as he makes a hasty retreat. Have I been denying him validation by refusing to eat his Danishes all this time? I only wanted to prove his baking skills aren’t the only reason I keep him around, as he’s so fond of assuming. Okay, I was also being petty. I never realized how much the food he prepares means to him.

  I peek into the café through the small, circular window centered on the swinging door.

  The space is overflowing with bodies. Jason’s family and their army of volunteers flit from table to table, dishing out plates laden with a feast any family would be grateful to have. Most of the customers look visibly down on their luck with tattered clothing, disheveled hair, and cheeks ruddy from the cold.

  The most surprising sight is Jason moving among the patrons, stopping to put a hand on a world-weary hunched shoulder, crouching beside a table to carry on a short conversation at their eye level, and ferrying plates to those who are willing to stand and eat. His smile lights up his whole face in a way I’ve never seen before. The g
enuine joy makes him devastatingly handsome. That panty-melting grin causes eyes to follow him wherever he goes. I can’t hear his voice but there’s a certain confident gentleness in his demeanor everyone responds to enthusiastically. He’s every bit as much in his element out there as he usually is behind the scenes in the kitchen.

  I watch until the timer dings for the next batch of pies to be removed from the ovens. It takes me several attempts to heft their weight, but eventually I manage to get all the turkeys in accordingly, rotating the space as Jason wanted.

  When he reappears, a relaxed smile still firmly plastered on his face, he checks everything over methodically to make sure I haven’t fallen behind.

  “Why do you do it?” I blurt out, my moratorium on speech negated by what I’ve just witnessed.

  “Do what?” He’s already back at rolling out dough, an obvious excitement speeding up his previously steady movements.

  “Leave your sanctuary for them? Put so much time and effort into this meal?” It’s clear to me this isn’t the first time he’s abandoned the safety of staying behind the scenes on this particular day.

  He seems to contemplate whether to respond honestly before shrugging. “No matter how bad of a hand we think we’re dealt in life, someone always has it worse. To presume our problems are greater than anyone else’s is a symptom of an over-inflated ego. Women not wanting to kiss me because of my hideous face means a hell of a lot less in the grand scheme of things than those people risking death by hypothermia because they don’t have a warm place to sleep at night.”

  My chest collapses as the breath forcibly retreats from my lungs. I grab onto the counter for support as my knees go weak, threatening to give way fully.

  Jason glances over his shoulder at me, then rushes to my aid.

  I must look a hell of a lot worse than I feel.

  “Hey.” He wraps a steadying arm around my waist. “You okay? Do you need some water? Something to eat?”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong, then?”

  “You’re doing it,” I practically whimper, though I shouldn’t be so surprised. I knew it. I just knew it.