Dreams Collide: Collide Series Book 2

by Kristina Beck

  Chapter 19

  Gerry

  My heart races, but it’s not because of the timer. This isn’t just sexual attraction. I adore every ounce of this woman. She thinks she caused her mom’s death but hasn’t told anyone. How could she do that and still be sane? I wish she’d tell me what happened. She wants to change her life, but the first thing she needs to do is get it out and forgive herself. I need to find a way for her to feel comfortable enough to open up to me.

  “I’ll set the table while the spaghetti cooks. Do you want more wine?” she offers.

  And just like that, the last half hour is forgotten. Her smile is back on her face, and the mood shifts to something more positive.

  I nod while I pour the spaghetti into the pot. “Want some water? There are bottles in the fridge.”

  She takes a few out and puts them on the table, then refills our wineglasses.

  “Here.” I hand her plates and silverware. “This’ll keep you occupied.” For the next few minutes, we work in comfortable silence. I’ve never had a relationship like this before.

  “Sit down. Everything’s ready. I hope you like my special meatballs. They’ll melt in your mouth,” I say over my shoulder.

  She claps her hands like a little girl. “I can’t wait to try them. There’s nothing like good ole spaghetti and meatballs.”

  I place the pot in the middle of the small table.

  “We’re missing something.” I rummage through the cabinets and pull out two white candles and holders. “I bought these in case of a power outage. Every once in a while, it happens. But now I can use them for something special.” I make room on the table and light them.

  “As I said, you’re a romantic. I like it. I’ve never had a candlelit dinner before.”

  “Thank my mom for that. Ever since I could remember, she’s always had candles around the house. She loves them. I’m used to it.”

  “I’m excited to meet your parents at the wedding. They did a great job with you.” She wipes the corner of her mouth with her finger while smiling.

  “My dad’s also a romantic. He treats my mom like a queen, and they still act like they’re newlyweds. Perfect role models for me. For anyone.”

  “My parents were like that too. I know Dad loves my stepmom, Beth, but it’s not quite the same. But they’re really happy together. Which makes Lisa and me happy.”

  We eat in silence because we’re inhaling the food.

  “These are the best meatballs I’ve ever eaten. Please make them for me again someday,” she says.

  I like it when she talks about the future like there will be an us.

  She pats her belly. “I don’t think I can fit another one in here.” She sips more wine. “According to my numb lips, I think this is my third glass. I lost count after we opened the second bottle, which is almost empty.”

  She stares at my hand playing with my eyebrow. “Now it’s your turn. How did you get the scar above your eyebrow?”

  “I was trying to be adventurous. I wanted to impress a girl in high school. My friends and I were good at doing tricks with our bikes. You know the kind where you ride fast up a ramp and are midair and twirl the bike around and then land?”

  She nods with a hiccup. “Sorry.” She chuckles.

  “I wasn’t good at it yet, but the girl I liked came over to watch us. I thought I’d be cool and try something dangerous.” I cringe, remembering the pain.

  “Long story short, I hit my brakes accidentally and flipped over the handlebars onto my face. Everyone laughed until they saw the blood streaming down my face. I hit a rock—had to get five stitches. Instead of the girl being impressed, she laughed and walked away. Talk about a blow to the ego. The embarrassment was even worse than the pain. I still remember how it felt.” I press on the scar again.

  She drinks the last drop of her wine.

  “Be careful. I don’t want you getting too drunk.”

  “Too late. I’m already drunk…or at least extremely tipsy,” she says in a high-pitched voice. I shake my head. I’m feeling the wine a little bit myself.

  “So what about you? What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you? The day we met with your sunglasses or something else?” I eat the last forkful of spaghetti.

  She relaxes back in her chair and stares at something behind me, as if in deep thought.

  “Are you okay? You don’t have to answer.”

  Her sleepy eyes glisten in the candlelight. “I could sit here for hours and talk to you. I know in my heart you won’t judge me.” She rests her chin in her hand. “And no, it isn’t because I’m kinda drunk.”

  I grin. “Now it’s kinda drunk, huh?” I tease. “Tell me whatever you want.”

  She focuses on the flickering candle flame. “I was humiliated once. When I was about to graduate college. I went to my first frat party at another school.”

  My stomach clamps, and I wish I hadn’t eaten so many meatballs. I can’t believe she’s telling me this story as her most embarrassing moment. Now I’m really a dick.

  She tells me about that night when I kissed her and walked away. She doesn’t go into much detail but says she could hardly kiss the others. “I felt like we connected. I never had such an intense experience kissing someone. Until recently, I’ve never felt that kind of pull to someone.” She looks at me under her lowered lashes.

  It’s fascinating to hear her experience was just as incredible. I’m relieved she wasn’t into the others, but it kills me that I hurt her more than I thought. Even though she’s talking about me, jealousy erupts, as if she’s talking about someone else. This entire situation is so screwed up. I growl out loud.

  She reaches over the table and touches my hand. “Oh, Gerry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about another guy to you,” she rambles. “I’m not sure I’d want to hear about your history with women.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. I just think the guy was stupid, but what makes you think he didn’t feel the same? He could’ve left for a million other reasons.”

  “Alexa said the same.”

  I swallow hard. “You told her?” This could be bad.

  “Yes. But she and my two friends that were with me are the only people who know. It was my fault. My adventurous side was begging me to have some fun and do something stupid for once. With the outcome, you can probably figure out I never did anything like that again. It still haunts me. I wish I’d never done it, because now I compare that kiss to every single one I have.” She avoids eye contact and drinks her glass of water. “Of course, the details of that entire night came flooding back when I heard about the blindfolded taste testing. It makes me cringe to think of that night long ago.”

  “I think you’re too hard on yourself. There are worse things that could happen. You shouldn’t regret things anyway. It happened for a reason, and you learned from it.” I know I did.

  “Other than this bike accident, didn’t you ever do something that makes your skin crawl every time you think about it? To other people it might not be a big deal, but it is to the person it happened to.”

  “I’m sorry. When you put it like that, you’re right.” I drop my napkin and place my silverware on my plate. If I want her to open up to me, then I need to do the same to her. “I did something over a year ago I’ll regret for the rest of my life. Just like you said, it makes my stomach turn every time I think about it. Of course, everyone says it was no big deal, just like I said to you.”

  She puts her water down and gives me her full attention. “Are you going to tell me why you ran away from home?”

  “This is hard for me to talk about.”

  “It’s okay. No pressure.”

  “I’ve wanted my own cooking show for years. My agent scheduled meetings with a couple of TV networks. It finally got to a point when I thought my dream would come true. One station wrote up a contract that listed everything I wanted. I showed up for the final meeting to sign the papers, and the executive producer broke it to me that they h
ad to pull the show. Some stupid reason about budget and staff. It was all a load of shit.” I grip my fists like I’m sitting in front of that producer right now.

  My voice becomes sharp. “We fought and raised our voices, but I didn’t win. I was fuming.” I rub the back of my neck.

  “When I called my agent to give her an update, she told me to go home and sweat it off, but I didn’t listen. I took the train back to Hamburg and went straight to my restaurant. I should’ve just gone home. If I had, the worst night of my life would’ve never happened.” But I wouldn’t be here with her right now, either.

  She rests her elbows on the table. “What happened when you got to your restaurant?”

  “First, I took out my anger on my kitchen staff by barking orders at them. They weren’t fast enough; the food wasn’t hot enough… You understand what I mean. I always treat my staff with complete respect, but that night…”

  She nods.

  “A server came in the kitchen and told me a male guest wanted to speak to me. I forced myself to calm down before I went to him.”

  “Does this have to do with the little bit you told me before The Lion King?”

  “Yes. It gets worse.” I scratch my chin. “He immediately complained, loudly, that the food looked like it’d been taken out of the garbage and it was cold. He said the restaurant wasn’t worthy of a star. I still remember the embarrassed look on his date’s face. And instead of reacting appropriately, I freaked. I took out all my anger on him. I told him to leave the restaurant and never come back. But he refused to leave.”

  “Why wouldn’t he leave, if he thought it was so horrible?”

  “I don’t know, and that just flipped a switch. I took him by the shirt and threw him out of the restaurant. Dishes and glasses fell off the table and shattered all over the floor. He taunted me and then spit in my face.” I put my head in my hands like she had earlier. “I punched him in the face.”

  Tina gasps.

  “Yup. I got him outside and punched him right in front the place. All my guests witnessed it through the windows.”

  “I’m shocked. You’re always so laid back and polite. I just can’t imagine you like that.”

  “Usually I am. It takes a lot for me to get so angry. That’s when I realized I needed to change something.”

  “Did someone call the police? Or an ambulance? I hope you didn’t hurt him badly.”

  “A fat lip but nothing broken. He left in a huff, and I thought that was the end of it.”

  “But it wasn’t,” she says.

  I grit my teeth and shake my head.

  “He ripped me apart in several newspapers. I was branded as the chef with anger issues. He also lied, saying my restaurant was dirty, there was hair in his food and cockroaches in the bathroom. I’m most diligent when it comes to cleanliness. For someone to insult me and my restaurant was hard for me to take.”

  “I noticed immediately how clean your restaurant here is. Your staff was polishing items like they were precious diamonds. The bathroom was spotless. I’m sure you’re overly clean after what happened. I would be.”

  “By chance did you notice the sign with the big A on the entrance of the Hofbräuhaus?”

  She scratches her chin. “I wondered what it meant.”

  “It’s called restaurant grades, or an inspection system. Inspectors come at least once a year to check on cleanliness, rodent control, temperature control, and food handling. The letter A means it’s passed the requirements. It’s the highest you can get. So you can bet your ass, my restaurant will always have an A. That A is more important to me than receiving a Michelin star.

  “That’s also why I shave my head. Well, my hairline was receding too. But there’s no chance of a long hair falling and being found in one of the dishes I prepared.” I stroke my head. “I had a full head of hair not too long ago.”

  She rests her chin on her hands. “I think it’s sexy.”

  “Let me finish my story before you distract me.”

  She covers her mouth.

  “Now remember, I had a Michelin star by then. Publicity like this can ruin a chef’s career. I was mortified. All my hard work had disappeared in a second. So before I could lose my Michelin star, I gave it back.”

  “What happened to the critic?”

  I groan. “Word came out he wasn’t a critic—he’d been a chef in the past but could never make it to my level. Apparently, he’d done this to other restaurants before mine, too. Obviously he had issues. But it didn’t matter to me, because I’d ruined my own reputation.

  “I could’ve handled the situation differently. It would’ve saved me so much stress, money, and embarrassment. I was losing money every day with the restaurant. My agent canceled all my events. The decision to go to the US came weeks later. I was only planning to hide out for a couple of weeks, but you know how that turned out. And it all led me to you.”

  We both jump when a police car speeds past my windows, its siren blaring. She moves her arm, knocking her dirty spoon off her plate. It lands on her shirt. “Oh no. I don’t want to stain this shirt. Let me rinse it off.” She walks quickly to the bathroom.

  Good timing. I don’t want to turn this night into a downer. Time for a distraction. I take my iPhone off the coffee table. I hit the button to check the time, and I see Barbara tried to call. I turn it to the side and notice it’s on mute. There’s voicemail, but I’ll listen to it later.

  I connect my phone to my sound system and pick a song I hope she’ll like. The floor is clear of anything we could trip on.

  She walks out of the bathroom with her shirt wet at the bottom.

  “Do you want one of my shirts?”

  She waves her hand as if shooing a fly out of her way. “Nah. It’s not bad. Maybe the cold will wake me up a bit.” She takes some of the empty plates and puts them on the loaded counter.

  “Forget the dishes. I’ll do them later. Come here. I want to try something with you.” I reach my hand out to her.

  She places her soft hand slowly in mine, as if I’m going to pounce. I tug her close to me.

  “What are you doing?” she murmurs.

  “Dance with me.”

  She looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Together? Hand in hand? Chest to chest?”

  “Yes. What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know how to dance like this.” She looks around. “And there isn’t enough space in this tiny living room.” She pulls away.

  I don’t let go of her hand and pull her back. “Stop making excuses. I’ll show you. It’s typical in Germany for high school students to learn to dance. Ballroom dancing especially. I hated it.”

  She shakes her head, but I wrap my arm around her back to keep her in place.

  “I’ll just make an ass out of myself again.”

  “But I like your ass.” I drop my hand to the top of her backside.

  She squints her eyes and pulls my hand up to her waist. “Behave.”

  “I’m good at leading. Just try it once for me.”

  “Fine,” she relents. “What do I have to do?”

  “First, I’m going to teach you how to waltz. It won’t be easy in this little space, but let’s try anyway.”

  “Teach away, big guy. Don’t complain when your toes hurt tomorrow.”

  “I don’t care. It’s worth it.” I peck her on the forehead as a natural reflex.

  I place her left hand on my shoulder and hold her right hand. I wait for the next song to start. “Now just follow my lead.” The next few minutes are a total disaster but hysterical. Tina almost knocks a lamp off the table with her elbow, and I bang into the folding doors to my bedroom.

  “It looks like the waltz isn’t your favorite. Let’s try another dance. It’s good for faster songs.” I search through my phone to find something else.

  She fans her shirt in and out. “I’m sweating like crazy. We had more than enough exercise today.”

  I stand in front of her and pull her flat against me a
gain. She gasps. The music begins, and I start tossing her around. She giggles the entire time. I spin her so she’s almost airborne.

  “Please stop. I’m so dizzy,” she screeches between laughs. “I’m going to get sick if you don’t.”

  I slow down and let her body slide down mine.

  “My sides hurt, and I’m exhausted.” She braces herself against me and lays her head on my chest. “I need to sit down.” She takes a step back and wipes under her eyes, smearing her makeup.

  I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She squirms. “What are you doing? Let me down,” she demands, even though she’s giggling again.

  I walk to my bed and gently lay her down.

  “Lie here for a little while. I’ll do the dishes and then take you home.”

  She props herself up on her elbows. “You aren’t taking me home. I can do it myself.”

  I shrug my shoulders and walk away. “Whatever you want.” She’s so stubborn.

  The dishes are finished and still not a peep from her. I peek in my bedroom and find her fast asleep. I watch her for a few minutes and wonder how I’ve found her again. I may have run away from my life in Germany, but this path brought me straight to her.

  It’s almost eleven. There’s no way I’m letting her go home. I pull the blanket over her and tuck her in loosely. I keep the light on but dim it just in case she wakes up and doesn’t realize where she is right away.

  I take the other pillow off the bed and grab the blanket draped over the couch arm.

  It hits me I didn’t listen to Barbara’s message. It’s probably about something stupid and unrelated to the meeting, but I told her I’d listen to her messages. To avoid waking Tina up, I listen to it in the bathroom. My hands shake as I hear her explain why she called. Holy shit! The executive producer has agreed to a meeting the second week of October. He loves my ideas and is ready to discuss everything in detail. She emphasizes how important it is I get my ass to Germany for this meeting. Is this my big chance? Will it really happen this time? If yes, do I want to move back there, or is it a case where I can live there during filming but come back here? What about Tina?