by Paige Prince
I timed it so she’d already put the cookie sheet down and closed the oven—didn’t want any accidents requiring medical care—before launching myself at her and throwing my arms around her. Our fuzzy-socked feet were no match for the hard wood—ahem, totally laminated—floor, and we tumbled over, crashing to the ground and narrowly missing the still burning hot cookies.
Mel cried out, laughing so hard I had to use our years of friendship to decipher that she’d said, “Ouch my ass” and not “Blow the grass.” It wouldn’t have surprised me though. She’d said far weirder while way less drunk.
“That didn’t quite go as planned.” We lay there, staring at the ceiling and giggling until I heard Mrs. Bannerman from downstairs banging on my floor with her broom. “Oops. Looks like we pissed off the bat lady again.”
She sat up and looked at me. “Did you just call her the ‘bat lady?’”
We were falling over ourselves again. Mrs. Bannerman had six cats that we knew of. They were always in and out of the apartment, so it was difficult to know for sure if we were counting different cats or the same ones over and over. I’d hoped to have a sweet neighbor lady I could bake for and play cards with, but her dislike of all things my generation put the kibosh on that thought quick-like and in a hurry.
“C’mon, let’s go back to our quiet night of TV before the cat lady,” I said, enunciating each word, “decides to call the cops on us. Again.”
“How does one get the cops called on them at a baby shower, anyway?” Mel asked, jumping up and making sure the oven was off before we headed back into the living room.
I grabbed the remote and settled into my corner of the overstuffed, super comfy couch. “Have a crazy-ass neighbor who doesn’t like fun. Or people.”
“Amen to that, sister.” Mel held her hand up in what I was pretty sure was a blasphemous gesture, but I hadn’t been to church in a long time, so who was I to judge? “Hey, do you need a refill?”
“Uh oh. You’re about to get deep on me, aren’t you?”
When she grabbed the bottle from the coffee table and filled my wine glass almost all the way to the top, I knew our fun girls’ night was about to become serious girls’ night. Sitting next to me, she pulled one foot underneath her and turned to face me. “We’ve been friends for a long time. And we’ve been through a lot.”
“It kinda sounds like you’re breaking up with me.”
She made a choking sound and her eyes bulged a little. “Oh Jesus, no. Never. Bitch, you’re stuck with me for life.”
Tension drained from my body, though I still felt slightly nervous because I had no idea what she was so freaked about. “Good. You’re stuck with me too. Now, what’s going on? You’ve got your intense face on, and you’re kind of scaring me.”
Leaning over, she planted a kiss on my forehead and hugged me tight. “Chill out. We’re good. I just want to know what’s going on with you and Evan.”
“Oh.” I picked at a piece of lint from the blanket, which might or might not have been imaginary. “We’re just… I don’t know, hanging out. Or something.”
Mel didn’t say anything, just gave me her all-knowing look that always made me cave.
“We haven’t defined what’s going on. He’s been coming to town a lot because of the big show happening in a few months. The Main Event, or something. It’s like wrestling’s version of the Super Bowl. So, when he’s in town, we hook up. Go out, have drinks or dinner, sometimes we see a movie. Stay in, watch TV, I cook.”
“And the copious amounts of sex,” Mel supplied helpfully.
I nodded. “Yeah, there’s a lot of sex going on. It’s really fucking good. Best I’ve ever had, what can I say?”
“Not to mention the Skype calls, phone calls, text messages…” She ticked off her fingers as though making a list.
Putting my hand on my hip, I said, “I do all these things with you too. Does this mean we’re in a relationship?”
“Nuh uh uh.” She waved her damn finger at me. “There’s no sex between us. What we have,” she gestured between us, “is friendship. What you two have is a relationship. Why can’t you admit it?”
Instead of answering, I sat back, grabbed the remote, and turned Crossing Jordan back on. “This is supposed to be girls’ night. Cookies and binge watching old TV shows. Not serious boy talk.”
Did I sound indignant? Shit, I think I sounded indignant. Or maybe just plain whiny.
Mel took the remote from me and paused it again. Jerry O’Connell stood frozen on the screen with his mouth open and his eyes mid-blink. Somehow, he still managed to be attractive. “We both know why you’re freaking out. I think it’s time to talk about it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest then uncrossed them. I didn’t want to look like a petulant child even if I was prepared to act like one. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to watch the show.”
“Charlie honey,” Mel let out a long sigh, sending a strand of her hair flying. “Evan’s a good guy, and I don’t want you to push him away because some dickbag hurt you.”
“That ‘dickbag’ was my fiancé, Melinda. You know, the person who asked me to love him for the rest of our lives? The one who promised me he would, too? And how does he show his love? By fucking someone else. Oh yeah, that’s everlasting love.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for my wine. “I’m not up for that kind of pain, Mel. I just want to have fun, Can you please just let me have some fun?”
She nodded and leaned into my side, cuddling against me. “Sure, Charlie. And you know if you need me, I’m here.”
“Yeah, I know.” I pushed play.
***
“Hey beautiful”—Evan leaned over to kiss me—“ready to go?”
I nodded, not feeling hungry or in the mood to go out at all. Even though I loved him being back in town, I just couldn’t muster up the energy to be excited. “Yup. Lemme grab my purse.”
I grabbed a handbag from my probably too expansive collection, shoved my wallet and lip gloss in, and turned to leave when he stopped me.
“What’s wrong?” He closed the door to my room behind him and leaned against it.
“Nothing. It was a long day, that’s all.”
He frowned and set his hands on my shoulders, rubbing up and down in a comforting gesture. “You look tense. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded and swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in my throat. It felt like I was trying to gulp down a mouthful of mud. “Had a meeting with my bosses today.”
“I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”
“Not really. Because of the lousy economy, they’ve had to make a few cutbacks. They’re giving me one last assignment, covering some fashion show or something, and then they’re…” Closing my eyes, I let out a breath to steel my nerves and face the realization of what went down in my boss’ office. “They’re letting me go.”
Pulling me into his arms, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m so sorry, honey. I wish there was something I could do for you.”
I tried to shrug, but he still held me close. “Not that big a deal. I’ve been getting tired of all the traveling. I think I’m going to go ahead and apply as a chef. There’s a new restaurant opening in Kemah I’ve heard hasn’t found an executive chef yet.”
Evan took me to dinner at my favorite Indian restaurant, where I promptly gorged myself on lamb tikka masala, then brought me to a little known salsa club in downtown Houston.
“You’ve been doing your homework on the hotspots down here, haven’t you?” I asked as we walked into the bar. The music was loud, and the floor so crowded there was barely room to move around. It was awesome.
We took one look at the long line and decided there was no way in hell we were going to be able to get a drink. Two bartenders were hopelessly outnumbered, patrons four deep shouted orders at them in English and rapid-fire Spanish.
I looked up at Evan. “Probably best if we just dance. I have plenty of alcohol back at home. Er… a
t the apartment. Oh hey, I love this song! Let’s go dance!” Grabbing his hand, I led him out to the floor and hoped he didn’t make a big deal about my little slip.
It wasn’t like I was trying to move him in with me. Hell, I wasn’t even calling him my boyfriend. Because he wasn’t. We were just friends with some seriously amazing benefits.
But as he pulled me against him and showed me just how much fire he had in his Latin blood—and movement in his Latin hips—I realized I no longer believed myself.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Three
The morning of my interview at Mystique, the trendy new restaurant in Kemah, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and I had to put on three coats of deodorant after changing my shirt twice. After being let go from the paper, I desperately needed this job to pay the bills, but I also really wanted it.
All my life, I’d dreamed of being a chef. At five years old, standing just above my mother’s hip, I’d begged her to teach me how to cook. Of course, she only let me stir things, but I was so proud of myself I told everyone who’d listen—and some who wouldn’t—I was now a big girl and cooking for my family.
By ten, I knew how to chop properly anything put in front of me. I could cook a full Southern breakfast with biscuits from a can and Mom’s help on the gravy. Spaghetti had become a specialty early on, and I learned to experiment with different spices in the sauce as well as different vegetables for specific flavors.
Even though I’d gone to culinary school, I knew deep down it wouldn’t pay the bills the same way reporting would. After all, people would always read the news, right?
Apparently not.
I slid on a pair of plain black pumps that went with the simple black pencil skirt I wore. My pale blue button-up completed the look. Stepping back, I eyed myself critically in the bathroom mirror. My hair hung in loose waves down my back. Ideally, I should’ve put it up since I’d be wearing it under a chef’s hat every day, but I really liked wearing it down. Having it tied back all the time sometimes gave me a headache, and I didn’t want to go into a job interview with the beginnings of a migraine.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I decided to add my lucky earrings to the outfit—my grandmother’s small diamond studs given to me by my mother when I graduated from college. As I turned to exit the bathroom, I tripped over my own feet and faceplanted on the floor.
Please don’t let that be an indication of how today is gonna go.
When I pulled myself back to my feet, I noticed the small slit in my skirt now extended almost all the way up the back. If a breeze blew on my way in the building or a fan happened to be running, everyone and their dog would be able to see my ass.
I trudged back to my room and stripped off my beautiful pencil skirt to swap it out for slacks. I also kicked off the pumps in favor of more sensible flats. Since I never wore heels, I didn’t have much practice walking in them, and I was far less likely to break my neck walking across the room in these than in the death shoes. God only knew why I had them to begin with.
Once I was redressed, I did one final check to make sure I didn’t have any random dirt smudges or tears in my shirt before I headed out the door. I knew I’d get there about thirty minutes early, but I believed showing up on time for anything was arriving late. My insistence on being at least fifteen minutes early to everything had driven Kaleb crazy.
I guess a lot of things drove him crazy.
Locking the door to my apartment, I shook my head. There was no damn reason to think about him. Ever.
The drive to Mystique was only seven minutes, another reason for wanting to work there so badly. The drive to the main office of the Gazette had taken forty minutes with no traffic. And I never got off work in time to beat rush hour, so my drive home usually lasted anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours, depending on the number of fender benders that day.
I’d moved to a suburb of Houston to avoid the hassles of big city living, and that included the traffic headaches. So it figured my first move out of college would be to get a job downtown, smack-dab in the middle of the whole mess.
When I pulled into a parking spot at Mystique, I sighed in relief. Seven minutes exactly, and I’d caught every light on the way. What a wonderful commute. Please, oh please, let me land this job.
My phone chimed as I got out of the car, reminding me I needed to put it on silent mode before going inside. When I checked the message, I saw it was from Evan.
Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. Good luck on the interview. I know you’re gonna nail it! See you in a few days. –EMR
My face hurt with the ear-to-ear grin, but I didn’t mind at all. With one simple text, he’d managed to calm me down and give me the confidence boost I needed to go in and kick ass.
Thank you. I needed to hear (read) that. Perfect timing. I’m about to go into the restaurant to meet with the manager.
I glanced at my watch, wanting to make sure I stayed within the fifteen minutes early time frame. Then I did some mental calculating, tried it again, and finally gave up and asked Siri what time it was in Tokyo.
What are you doing awake at 4:30am? That’s insanely early, even for you. Also, what’s the “M” stand for?
The little dots popped up almost immediately, indicating his forthcoming response. According to my watch, I only had two minutes left before I had to walk in, so I hoped he’d type quickly today.
You told me your interview was at 3:00. I wanted to wish you luck before you went in. Gonna go back to bed in a minute. And I’ll tell you the next time I see you. Better head in or you’ll be 14 minutes early instead of 15. ;)
I rolled my eyes then remembered he couldn’t see me. Brat. I’ll talk to you later. Get some rest so you don’t get hurt tonight! :-*
Setting my phone on silent and placing it in my purse, I walked into the restaurant and, I hoped, my new life.
***
My interview for the position wasn’t like any other I’d ever been on. For starters, I’d never interviewed to be a chef. But I’d also never been required to prepare a four-course meal as part of the process, so that was definitely new. But apparently, I’d done something right because the manager hired me the minute he finished my dessert. He was actually still licking his fingers when he said, “You’ve got a gift, kid. You’re hired.”
I was so excited, I ignored the “kid” part. Brandon was only maybe five years older than me, but he was my new boss, and he didn’t have to take a chance on a completely unknown chef.
To celebrate my new job, Evan took me to the park for a picnic he claimed he’d put together himself when he got back from Japan. Overwhelmed by the sweetness of the gesture, I pretended not to notice the label on the container of potato salad he’d neglected to remove.
He serenaded me with some truly horrible off-key singing along to the radio after we finished our food, then got a strange glint in his eye before jumping off the blanket with an “I’ll be right back” called over his shoulder. I shrugged and sat back, enjoying the feel of the rare semi-humid, not so hot my eyeballs are melting the minute I step outside day.
Just as I started to wonder if I should put on more sunscreen and send out a search party, Evan stepped into my line of sight with a small spray of white flowers clutched in his large hand. Kneeling beside me, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Congratulations on the new job, beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”
I reached up and brought my hand around the back of his neck to bring him down for a proper kiss. I was certain he sometimes forgot how severe our height difference was, because I always had to stand on tiptoe or pull him to my level. Then again, he probably enjoyed it, judging from his responses.
“Thank you, Evan, that was very sweet.” I took the offered bouquet and looked down at the white star-shaped flowers more closely, then giggled.
“What?” Evan asked as he lay down on the blanket next to me, making sure to put his head in my lap so I’d run my fingers through his shaggy dark hair.
>
“You need a trim,” I said, setting all but two of the flowers down on the other side of me. “And I just think it’s funny. These little flowers are so pretty. They grow everywhere here in Texas, and they’re a common gift from children to their parents.”
He squinted up at me as I poked a hole in the stem of one flower with my thumb and threaded the other one through it before picking up another. “So, what’s funny?”
“The flowers are called Crow Poison.” I laughed when his eyed widened and he coughed like something caught in his throat.
“You mean I just gave you poison?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s actually poison. I can tell you I’ve picked thousands of these and never had any bad side effects.” My flower chain grew longer with each minute. “I used to give my mom so many in the summer, she’d start throwing them away behind my back. I never even noticed because there were at least six mason jars full to bursting with them on the windowsill.”
Completing the final link, I held up the circle of flowers to show Evan then placed it gently on my head.
“You make a beautiful flower child.”
“If you couldn’t tell, you’re already getting lucky tonight. You don’t have to do any more sweet-talking today. Though it is rather nice being treated like the queen I am.” I grinned to show him I was just teasing about the sweet-talking, but judging from the look in his eyes, he knew deep down I wasn’t.
***
By July, Evan no longer booked a hotel room when he had to fly into town for promotional appearances. We never talked about it; he just stopped making reservations when he knew he’d inevitably be spending every night at my apartment. He’d also somehow managed to score his very own drawer for clothes as well as precious, precious closet space.
It really was the most sensible thing to do. Having him stay at my place saved money and gave us unlimited access to each other while he was in town. Drawer and closet space meant he didn’t have to pack such a large bag and I never had to break out the iron—which I was pretty sure sat in the back of the utility closet, still in its original box—when he had to put on one of the suits that made my mouth water. Win-win, really.