by Piper Malone
He wipes tears from his eyes. “I appreciate the laugh, doll. It’s been a long day.” Blake sobers enough to appear mildly interested in how my kitchen came to look like I just hosted a frat party. “Fortunately I work for the fire department and not the bomb squad so none of this hot mess is mine to deal with.”
“Jerk!” I lob the lemon I was instructed to use as a garnish at his chest. Like an ass he catches it and holds it up with mock reverie.
“Look! We surely won’t starve now!” He belts out a silly hymn as he cradles the lemon like a sacred child. “Kat’s first home-cooked meal.”
“Okay, okay,” I try to bat the fruit out of his hand, “I got it. Kat sucks at cooking.”
He chuckles a little, “I don’t think you suck at cooking, doll. I think maybe you should have started slower.” Blake grabs a set of hot pads and brings the charred casserole to the garbage can. “I’ll hold. You scrape…or chisel.”
I smack his rear end with the spatula prompting him to snicker an apology.
“What went on today that you decided to try cooking?” His question is innocent enough, and I knew it would come. I still don’t know that I fully know the answer.
“I just wanted to see if I had skills,” I offer, praying that he’ll leave it alone. But he won’t, he’s Blake.
“Skills?” He quirks an eyebrow, looking adorable holding the dish over my garbage. “You have crazy skills, doll.”
“Ha ha, Blake. I don’t mean those kind of skills, which I totally have. I mean the kind of skills that are useful in other situations.”
His eyes dart back and forth as he tries to piece together the puzzle. I’m not sure I know how it fits either. I talked to myself the entire time I was walking around the grocery store. “What other situations are you going to be in, Kat?”
“I don’t know…” I guess I should just say it. “Like, wife skills,” I mumble.
His eyes pop open, mouth agape. “Did you say wife skills?”
I nod my head and hope he doesn’t freak out. “I thought it would be a marketable skill that I should have,” I mutter, trying to sound innocent, but he looks like I just blurted out I had a dick at birth.
“So,” he pauses, the words catching in his throat, “you want to make yourself more marketable on the marriage front by learning how to cook?”
“Yup.” Good, he gets it. A triumphant smile is just about to grace my lips when Blake blows a gasket.
“Is there a mail-order bride situation I need to know about, Kat? You’re not the latest piece of technological shit that corporate America needs to convince everyone to buy. Who the fuck are you trying to market yourself to?” He turns and drops the casserole dish in the sink. We really should just throw it away. There’s no amount of heavy-duty dish soap that will allow us to see the bottom of that pan again.
“Answer me!” he bellows. “Is there some other guy?”
“What?” I’m stunned. Never in a million years did I think he’d be mad.
He leans close, anger and confusion making his beautiful skin ruddy. “Why do you feel you need to market yourself to anyone other than me?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“I’m trying to market myself to you, Blake.” I jab his chest with my finger. “I don’t know how to cook. I thought it would be good to figure out how to feed us if all the take-out joints in the area closed.”
Blake’s hands settle on his hips, a deep breath pushing forward. “Holy shit, you freaked me out there for a second, doll.” He presses his lips together, his head shaking back and forth. “I didn’t know what you were getting at.”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal, stud. You can take it down a notch.” It’s a little unnerving that he would lose it like that. I had no idea he’d be so territorial.
“It’s not.” He reaches out and pulls me close. “I just wasn’t expecting that response.” Blake chin rests on top of my head. “What inspired you to try this today?”
I pull back as much as I can but his arms won’t budge. “Promise me the freak out is over.”
“I promise,” he says.
“I’ll tell you, but I might not have answers to your questions.”
“Okay,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “Understood.”
“I was a bitch to Greg today.” Blake’s face lights up with amusement. “Don’t look like that, it wasn’t cool. I was mean because I was crabby. I apologized and we talked.”
“That’s good, Kat.” Blake’s large hand smooths my hair. “I’m glad you could make it a good experience.”
“He said I reminded him of his mother.”
Blake stills for a moment. “Kat,” his voice is hoarse, parched, “I, uh…”
I wiggle from his hold to face him. “Do not think what you are thinking. It messed with my head a little. Children were something for other people, never me. I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a mom. I’ve never even had a pet, so I would need to make sure I can keep that alive for a good amount of time before I even think about a kid.” Blake leans against the counter; my confession seems to have weighed him down. Maybe he didn’t account for all of my inadequacies.
“I loved and hated what he said to me. It was awesome for someone to put me in the category of women who fix boo-boos, make potpie, and throw awesome birthday parties. But it was beyond terrifying because I can’t even make a pork chop. I realized how much I don’t know and it felt really shitty.”
“And you thought trying to make dinner would help you start learning?”
“Yeah…” I shrug. “I didn’t think it would be that bad. I got it from the easy recipe section.”
Blake’s brow crumples, appearing thoughtful and reflective before turning to me again. “Why cooking? Why start there?”
“I thought it was the quickest way to start. I can’t always call for take-out.”
“I guess,” he says, “but is that something that has to change? Why can’t you be a mother that doesn’t cook?”
“Because moms cook, Blake.”
“Says who?”
I shrug, hands lifting in confusion.
“This is strange,” Blake looks at me with calm confidence, “but I’m going to throw this out there. Why do you have to be a woman who cooks to be a wife and mother?”
“We have to eat.”
“But you know where to find food, right?”
I have every restaurant in a five-mile radius in my phone. “Yeah, what’s your point?”
“Kat,” he sighs, “for as much as you fight against the traditional things in life, I’m surprised this is even a conversation.”
“Your mom cooks.”
“Yeah, and she spent the better part of her life in front of a stove. She missed baseball games and couldn’t volunteer at my school.” He shifts, his arms crossing. “I would have preferred peanut butter and jelly if it meant my mom could come to my senior-year playoffs.”
“I didn’t think about it like that.” Maybe I am thinking about this the wrong way. Or maybe I can work at it? What if Blake is right?
“Look, I don’t want to distract you from whatever your thoughts are but here’s the bottom line. You can be a mom who orders out. No one has the right to tell you where a warm, nutritious meal comes from. Save the children, doll. Don’t make them eat the shit you cook.”
How Blake is able to ease my heart and make me laugh in the same breath is a mystery. He is my wildest dream; caring, adventurous, and fun. Blake is unlike any other man I’ve known.
Before I try to talk myself out of loving Blake Roman, he walks out of the kitchen, his playful voice ringing down the hall.
“C’mon, doll. You can practice your wifely skills and find us a place to grab a burger and fries.”
Chapter 15
Kat
He introduced me as his girlfriend.
Not a lover. Not a friend. I’m a combination of emotion and sex and commitment.
I haven’t been in a relationship in years. I’ve had relati
ons, but there was never any formal term. We were dating. It was nothing. A blip on the radar.
I’m a girlfriend.
Holy crap…
Does that make Blake my boyfriend?
Based on his father’s little celebration, I think I have my answer.
“Here, Kat,” he chortles, shoving a beautiful glass of scotch into my hand, “anyone who receives the title of girlfriend from him deserves to be half-cocked the majority of the time.”
I hide my mirth behind the heavy tumbler as Mr. Roman heads back to the kitchen to help Blake’s mom.
“Should I tell him now or later that I’m not a huge fan of only being half-cocked?” I rasp to Blake once we’re alone.
“Easy on my dad, Kat. He doesn’t hand out scotch to everyone and his eyes lit up when he saw you. Let’s not kill the man before dinner.”
My giggle is uncontrollable. “Okay. I’ll keep it in check.”
He gives me the most delicious look before taking my hand and walking me into the kitchen. His mother, surrounded by his two sisters, stops in her tracks and welcomes her son. “Hello, Blake. Your father tells me you have taken a lover.”
Despite the seductive way the word is spoken, I feel ashamed. Maybe lover means something different in this household. I’ve always equated lover to one-night stand.
“Mama, this is Katya.” He pulls me forward and presents me to the three females who hold the highest regard in his life. The entire trip here he did not stop talking about his parents and siblings. He loves all of them. He’s proud of the challenges they’ve overcome and the strength they have as a family unit. Their pride in him is transparent, as it should be. But I’m getting that look. The one that screams they won’t accept me until they know I’m more than a depot for Blake’s raging erection.
Be strong. Be classy. “Mrs. Roman, thank you for inviting me to dinner. You have a lovely home. Everything smells wonderful.”
“Very nice,” the sister leaning against the counter nods her head with a barely restrained smile, “I like her.”
“She’s very blonde, Blaketopher.” His other sister combs my outfit with a speculative eye. “And she’s skinny.”
“Blaketopher?” I ask, curious about the nickname.
“Cynthia doesn’t like that my name is monosyllabic, or so she’s told me my whole life. She thinks hollering at someone has more impact if you can clearly enunciate multiple syllables.”
“It’s true,” Cynthia confirms, her crystal-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “I enjoy screaming at him too much to not get the full benefit of a long name. Blaketopher just seems right. It’s him, only more sophisticated, which is not really him at all. I usually end up laughing at him in the end.”
“Yes, Blake is the source of endless hilarity,” he scoffs with mock irritation. He loves the banter. “Are we eating today, Ma?”
“Hey,” his sister thwacks him in the chest with the back of her hand, “I’ll take care of this, thanks.” She extends her hand to me with a sweet smile. “I’m Victoria. I’m sorry you’re dating my brother. I will apologize in advance for anything idiotic he has done or will do in the near future. I’ve already started your therapy fund.”
My smile must reflect the brightness of the sun because Blake winces when I turn his way. “I like your sisters.”
“Wonderful,” he drawls.
“My son tells me you work.” Mrs. Roman says the words as she inspects the contents of the large pot she is stirring. While her statement is not to me, it’s for me.
“Yes,” I say, stepping a little closer to her, “I’m one of the lead marketing representatives in our firm.”
“You own your own home?”
Hopefully soon… “I’ve been in my condo for a few years. I’ve been on my own since college.”
She turns to face me, crossing her arms before leaning back against the granite countertop. “You don’t get along with your parents?”
“Ma! What’s with the third degree?” Blake’s frustration is clear. Mom has pushed the limit.
“It’s okay, Blake,” I offer, not wanting to hide behind him. He might be brawn, but I’m brass. I’ve suffered worse scrutiny and survived. “I have the benefit of a family that respectfully accepted my wishes. I chose to live on my own. My family has supported my ventures and for that I’m grateful.” While it’s not the full truth, it’s enough to send the message. I can’t talk to them about my family right now. There is enough weighing on my mind about taking Blake there tomorrow.
Mrs. Roman gives me a tight nod and turns back to the stove. After a moment, she glances over her shoulder at her son. “I approve, Blake,” she says, with a small smile before tasting the sauce she’s stirring.
With her decree, the motion of the kitchen resumes. Cynthia and Victoria gather the side dishes and chatter as they arrange the table and uncork wine. Mr. Roman pulls me into his study, a small room off the main living area lined with books and art. He refreshes my drink and offers me a seat on the worn leather loveseat.
“Blake tells me you immigrated as a child. Can you tell me what it was like for you?” I’ve been asked about the differences between here and there but never what the experience was like. I tell him as much as I can. I remember being worried, a little scared. I didn’t want to leave our home. Mr. Roman nods and agrees with me, his attention focused on my story. He tells a parallel history about his early days in Italy. His fears about getting on the boat with his parents. He talks about living in the Italian community that was nothing more than all the immigrant families jammed into a few blocks. It was home in a different country. It was the same, yet vastly different.
We might be a generation apart, but I find myself connecting with him. Eras can’t change the feelings that come with having to leave the world you know only to be forced into another. We didn’t have a choice.
My family has never talked about what the trip was like or even the early days here. I know my parents were forced to learn English, to make themselves as American as possible because they were worried we wouldn’t fit in. Our home was tight with fear and anxiety as my parents focused on their education and finding jobs. If there was conversation around what moving to the States was like for them, I never witnessed the discussion. It would be interesting to hear, to know their story. Blake’s father tells his history with such passion I can envision him roaming the streets and working for money to help the family.
Babu was the only one who would talk to me about Russia. She would tell me about our heritage and instill pride in our ethnicity. It was the same story over and over, but it reminded me of where I was born. She was the stable piece of home when everyone else was changing. She protected me against my uncle and cousin as best she could. Her vigilance helped our bond. I felt safe with her. While my uncle never hit me, sometimes I think words are worse than fists. Babu did her best to right the wrongs he made.
The memory of my uncle stumbling down the hall filters through my mind; the words of my father telling me to mind my business sends a chill down my back.
“Are you okay, doll?” Blake asks from the adjacent chair. I was so wrapped in the conversation, I didn’t realize he came in. “I have a sweatshirt in my car if you’re cold.”
Blake’s desire to make me comfortable is not something I’m accustomed to but it’s heartwarming. “No, thank you, Blake. It was just a quick nip. I’m all right.” I let myself bask in the glory of his care for a brief moment.
“Here,” he reaches for my empty glass, “let me get you another drink before dinner.” Blake looks down at me, his hand held open to take the glass. He is so calm, so confident in his stance.
“A girl could get used to you tending to her, Blake,” I quip as I give him the empty tumbler.
“That’s the point, doll,” he says before leaning down and kissing the top of my head.
My heart pounds, enamored by his loving declaration, sending tingles of excitement racing across my skin. It might be foolish, but I want him to com
e back just so he can be close to me again.
“You two look really good together,” his father says quietly. In my smitten state, I forgot Mr. Roman was there. My attention was focused on Blake. “He doesn’t bring just anyone around, you know.”
The wild feeling of contentment makes me bold. “That’s because he’s never had a girlfriend like me before.”
Mr. Roman lifts his glass to me. “That’s for sure, Kat.”
Dinner goes off without a hitch. It’s a loud and uproarious event. His sisters pitched every piece of ammunition my way to embarrass their brother. They know about his Blaze days and drop the words Velcro, baby oil, and thong into every sentence they can. His sisters chatter about Caleb and Reagan’s wedding and, to my utter shock, he talks openly about Reign.
When Mrs. Roman asks about Skyler’s absence at the wedding, I almost choke on a perfectly roasted Brussels sprout. His family knows everyone there?
My shock quickly dissolves when I see a pained look sweep over Blake’s face. He confirms that no one but Caleb and Reagan have heard from her. It’s clear they are a close-knit family and it’s easy to see that Blake is disturbed by Skyler’s disappearance.
“I’ll pass on information when I have it. The only thing I know is she’s doing okay but we don’t have a timeframe for her return. She’s asking for privacy.”
“Do you think she got pregnant?” Victoria asks. “She’s with your buddy Nick, right?”
Blake shifts, thinking about the possibilities. “If she was pregnant and hid, Nick would hit the roof. I don’t know if that’s the problem. I think Caleb would have stepped in and said something if this issue directly involved Nick. Caleb and Reagan are aware of what’s happening and have been adamant about respecting her wishes.”
“Whatever the problem is, I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” his mother offers quietly. “How is Nick with her absence?”
“He’s a pleasant mix of rabid badger and hungry supermodel,” he snorts. “His attitude has gotten worse over the past few months.” He pauses, brow crumpling under the weight of his thoughts. “It’s as if her presence soothed him in some way. He almost seems…unhinged.”