Monster Chef

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “Why would he kiss you?” she challenges.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “He called me Eva. I think she was his wife who passed away. But something happened when he kissed me.” I stop talking and focus on a half-torn poster on the far side of the room. How strange is this conversation I’m having with Bronwyn? She is my mother-in-law. She can’t want to hear this, and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable talking to her about it.

  But fact of the matter is, I don’t have any girlfriends to talk to. I’m thirty-five and have been with Stephen since I was twenty. Although I made him wait and work hard to get me, we still hung out with each other at every possible opportunity.

  Stephen went to university to study medicine. I worked several waitressing jobs and then progressed to work as a maître d’ in an inner-city, upper-class restaurant – though not a Michelin starred restaurant. I got busy and my old girlfriends and I grew apart.

  When I discovered I was pregnant with Emma, Stephen and I were already married and all our spare time was devoted to each other and Emma when she came along.

  It’s nobody’s fault; life just gets in the way.

  “I think that young man may have feelings for you. And I suspect he doesn’t know what to do with them or is even aware that he has them.”

  “Bronwyn,” I start saying, shaking my head at the ludicrous thought of Pierre being attracted to me. “He doesn’t.”

  “What happened when he kissed you?”

  “It was…” I’m not sure what to say. I’ve barely been able to catch my breath. It feels like it happened days ago, but it happened late last night. “He kissed me. He dragged me into Angus’s office, and kissed me.”

  “How did it make you feel?” Bronwyn asks, remaining calm.

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

  “Like I said, that young man has got something for you.”

  “Impossible. He pulled me against his body, he kissed me, and afterward it was only anger that radiated from him,” I pause and again, shaking my head at the memory of how livid he was.

  “He’s French.”

  “So?”

  “They’re very passionate people.”

  “So?” I ask again.

  “Have you mistaken what you thought was anger for what it really is? Frantic passion?”

  I look at Bronwyn and keep shaking my head.

  “Wh…what? Passion?”

  “It’s time to move on with your life, Holly. Stephen would want you to be happy, and he’d want his little girl to have a strong man in her life, too. Stephen wouldn’t mind at all.”

  My eyes shoot to hers. I know what she’s saying, but this is too much. I can feel tears begin to form behind my eyelids, and a tight knot forms in my stomach. My pulse quickens. Not at the thought of Pierre, but the overwhelming thoughts of uncertainty that have been present every day since Stephen died.

  “I think it may be time for you to decide to move on. You need to be happy too.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper as my hands come up to my face to hide the tears.

  “Of course you can, Holly. We only have a moment on this earth. Don’t spend your moment looking backward at your past. It’s okay to love again. Move forward.”

  “I’m not ready for that.”

  “I think you are. It may not be with this man, this Pierre, but it doesn’t mean you should stop being a thirty-five year old woman, either.” Bronwyn moves to sit on the side of the narrow hospital bed, and engulfs me in a tight embrace.

  “It’s not the right time yet.”

  “We all have choices. And every choice is waiting to be made. Make the right choice, Holly, and let your walls down. Talk to Pierre. Maybe there’s something there, and maybe there isn’t. But don’t hide from him, or from yourself.”

  “I have to think about Emma. In everything I do, she’s my top priority.”

  A smile tugs on Bronwyn’s lips. A mischievous glint sings in her eyes. Her shoulders relax, as she sits back and rubs her hands up and down my back. A gentle, motherly touch, one I wish I could have had from my own parents, although Dad spilt when I was born and Mum couldn’t handle it so she gave me to my aunty to raise.

  At this moment, all my barriers collapse. Every single one of them. I’ve built them incredibly high, my walls have always been impenetrable. Stephen broke them down, and I was living a perfect life. But once he died, it seems I built them even higher and stronger than they’ve ever been before.

  I was keeping myself in a fortress, refusing to allow anything to get through to my heart. I thought if I could go through the rest of my life free of intense emotions like love, then I would be safe.

  Safe from harm.

  Safe from rejection.

  Safe from the possibility of hurt.

  But now, my soul is bleeding. My heart has stopped beating. I swore I’d never fall again, but Bronwyn’s right – I can’t go through the rest of my life hiding.

  Hiding from life.

  But most importantly, hiding from myself.

  TWELVE

  Pierre

  “Pierre,” her voice is as soft as silk. “Pierre,” she says AGAIN, wispy and smooth.

  “Eva,” I say as I sit up in bed. “What are you doing here?”

  She’s wearing the same yellow sundress she did the day we walked through this house and decided to make our offer on it. Her blonde hair is tousled sexily, falling gently to her shoulders. She’s standing beside our bed, just staring at me. Eva’s so beautiful; the green hue of her eyes is hypnotic and inviting.

  She’s radiating a warm glow; it’s obvious in her smile. Eva’s calm is holding me. I’ve not touched her yet but she’s seamlessly got a comforting embrace on me.

  “I’m here because it’s time, Pierre.”

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and she takes a step back. “Don’t move away, let me feel you.”

  Eva steps toward me. I open my legs, and she fills the gap perfectly. She was made for me; she was created to be with me. Laying my head on her tummy, I bring my arms around her waist up to hug her and draw her goodness and warmth into me.

  “Am I going to join you soon?” I eagerly ask as I skim my lips against the thin material covering her tummy.

  “I’m not here to take you.”

  “Eva, I’m barely breathing. I’m sinking and I can’t get out. I need you. Take me with you.”

  Her laugh reminds me of church bells ringing, not the deep ones which echo for kilometres away, but the sweet sounds of the higher-pitched small bells used inside the walls of the holy building.

  “Pierre, I’m here to let you go.” She glides her kind hand down my cheek, stopping to cup my face.

  “You can’t, I won’t let you,” I barely manage to breathe.

  “It’s time to let go.”

  I look up to see her tender green eyes staring down into mine, shining love, exposing the intense emotion from deep within.

  “We were supposed to stay together until we died. We were destined to die in each other’s arms, you weren’t meant to leave me alone.”

  Her smile affectionately pleads with me. Her eyes beg me as her body owns me. “Where I am, you can’t be with me.”

  “There’s nothing left for me here.”

  “You know those words are lies.”

  “For four years I’ve stumbled, and I can’t pick myself up. I need to be with you. Can’t you see how much I love you?”

  “You love me with all your body, all your mind, and all your heart. Just as I love you. But lately, you’ve found another who you can love.”

  “Non! Impossible,” I shout too loud.

  “It’s true, Pierre. I’ve seen it. I know she’s someone you’ll love.”

  “But I only love you.”

  “You have so much room in your heart to love another, and now is the time for you to see what’s right in front of you. I’m happy here, Pierre. Everyone is incredibly ca
ring, and beautiful.”

  “You can’t go.”

  “Do you remember when we went to Greece for our honeymoon? We spent three weeks traveling the islands, enjoying the food, and worshipping each other’s body and soul.”

  “Of course I remember. And I wish we could go back to those times and relive them.”

  “That’s what I feel here. It’s easy, tranquil and peaceful. I’m where I have to be; I’m right where the universe planned for me to be. But you’re hurting, you’re lost, and you’re not you. You keep looking behind you, holding on to the past, instead of seeing the most beautiful things in front of you. You need to live every moment making stunning new memories.”

  “I can’t,” I simply say, as I lay my head back onto her tummy. Eva’s fingers tangle in my hair, playfully caressing my head. My hands pull her tighter to me, not wanting to let her go. Ever.

  “Do you even know you already love her? Have you stopped to think how you felt when you saw her, or when she spoke with you?”

  “I can’t,” I mumble, tears springing through my eyes. “I can’t ever learn to love another the way I love you.”

  Eva’s laugh echoes sweetly again, “I should hope not, Pierre. She’s only seven years old.”

  I instantly pull away from my wife. My eyes suddenly find her warm green irises, and she’s still smiling.

  “I do not understand.”

  “You’ll protect Emma with your life. You already love that sweet little girl. She has a passion like yours, and you recognised it when you met her.”

  “I thought you meant…” I, taken aback by what it must feel like for Eva.

  “And I’d love for you to love her mother, too.” She smiles at me with exquisite, heavenly grace.

  We spend long moments staring into each other’s souls. The seconds have stopped ticking and we’ve been granted a rare gift. Time has stood still, giving us our final moments together. Our last goodbyes before Eva finally leaves me, the stolen moments we didn’t get to have. The final intimate touches.

  My heart beats as I commit everything about Eva to memory. The glow of every surface of her skin, her beautiful full lips, the wave of her golden hair, the depth of her apple-green eyes. The tenderness of her lush hips, the feel of her supple breasts.

  “I’ll never stop loving you,” I whisper as I hold on to the final moments with my wife.

  “I’ll always be watching, Pierre. Go and love that little girl. She’s going to need you, and you’re going to need her,” Eva’s voice is already vanishing. I tighten my grip.

  “Stay with me, just a little longer.”

  “Your heart doesn’t need me anymore. It’s healed enough to let another in.”

  “Eva…” I whisper.

  And she’s gone.

  “EVA!” I sit up in bed covered in sweat. Blinking my tired eyes open, I look around the room. My heart is thrumming and my hands are shaking. I run a hand through my hair, and can feel the wetness clinging to my body.

  I look at the alarm clock sitting beside the bed. It flashes an obscenely early time at me. Shifting back, leaning against the headboard, I keep blinking, trying to wake myself. But I also want to go back to sleep so I can continue dreaming of Eva.

  Thick night air fills the room, the red of the clock the only bloom illuminating the heavy feel in the space.

  As I stare into nothingness, my frenzied mind slows, beginning to drift lazily.

  The bright red numbers continue to flash at me, and the native sounds of the night float into quiet.

  As my sluggishly heavy limbs become weightless, and I fall back into a comfortable sleep.

  When I close my eyes, I have a stunning dream.

  A beautiful little girl happily lets me push her on the swings as lush, thick, green grass surrounds us. Her sing-song voice hums a nursery rhyme and the warm sun touches us.

  THIRTEEN

  Holly

  “Are you sure you’re ready? You can take another week OFF, if you need it,” Angus asks as we sit in his office.

  “It’s been ten days, Angus. I need to get back. If I stay away any longer, it’ll get harder and harder for me to come back to it. But if it’s okay with you, I may just take it easy for a few shifts, just to be on the safe side.”

  Angus folds his hands together and brings them to rest behind his head as he leans back into his office chair. “I’ll take care of the podium and put you behind the bar. You’re not to do any serving for a couple of nights and we’ll see how you go.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I smile at Angus and stand so I can get out to the staff meeting before the restaurant opens.

  “It’s not my business, but Pierre’s been very concerned about you. He’s been asking me if I knew how you were doing. He got angry asking me why I didn’t tell your husband what happened, and I simply told him you’re not married. I’m sorry if I stepped over the line, but he was, for the lack of a better word, angry.”

  I don’t stop walking as I listen to what Angus says about Pierre. When I reach the door and open it, I turn to him, “You’re right, Angus. It’s none of your business.” I smile again as I leave and go to the staff room.

  Catherine, Justine, Maddie, and Andrew are already sitting at the staff room table. Maddie sees me first as I walk in and she shouts, “Holly!”

  The other three jump up out of their seats, and Andrew offers me his. “Are you okay? Should you be back at work yet?” he asks, as he grabs my elbow and leads me to his chair, like I’m frail and about to break.

  “Hey everyone, I’m fine. Just pleased to be back.”

  The four of them fuss over me, trying to shoot me questions to see if I’m truly alright to be here. Angus walks in and clears his throat and they stop talking.

  “Holly’s back, so let’s give her some space. She’ll be taking it easy for a few nights. Don’t hover. If she needs help she’ll ask,” he says in his ‘boss’ voice.

  Everyone backs away and the meeting begins. In a few moments, Pierre comes through the door with two plates in his hands. His steps falter when he sees me. His eyes lock onto mine and his lip curls at the side.

  “Holly,” he says as he stops before he reaches the table.

  “Pierre,” I greet him.

  He remains deadlocked with me for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes travel from mine down to my breasts then further down to my stomach.

  In this moment, everyone else in the room disappears. Not a sound can be heard, not a movement can be felt. It’s just Pierre and me. And his intense gaze is telling a blistering tale, a mouth-watering, ravenous story of a man whose desire is sweltering hot. A violent shiver rips down my spine, my mouth becomes parched, and I tighten the hold I have on the breath I’m taking.

  “Holly,” he says again, the French rasp of his voice sliding over the scorch of my goose-bumped skin.

  Shit! I want to feel the plush rasp of his tongue slip between my lips, to ignite and control the sizzle of my desperate body. I want him to give me what he gave me in the office. The touch of an insatiable man, the feel of his starving caress, the smell of his determined passion.

  Someone clears their throat, and I’m instantly transported back into the staff break room.

  I look around to see Justine fanning herself, and the others avoiding my eyes.

  Pierre’s famished gaze keeps holding mine. I try not to look over at him again, because, damn, he’s forceful and intense. And right now, in the clouded head-space I’m in, I want him.

  Again I hear someone clear their throat, though this time it’s more potent, almost angry.

  This time my head snaps in the direction of the noise, and see Angus’s angry stare.

  “Sorry,” I mumble as I look away, picking an invisible spot on the table to take the focus away from Pierre – and everyone else in the room.

  “Pierre,” Angus says, prompting him to talk. But he remains quiet. And my damn heart beats quicker. “Pierre,” he says again.

  I feel my cheeks colour, and a
drop of sweat gathers and roll down my back. I chance a look up from beneath my eyelashes at Pierre. His stance is assertive, his presence is demanding as the air crackles between us.

  “Tonight’s main is twenty-four hour slow-roasted lamb shanks in a rich red wine reduction, with baby carrots and potatoes au gratin.” His eyes don’t leave mine. His chest puffs out, and he’s standing at his full intimidating height. “Holly, I want you to try,” he says as he offers me cutlery.

  “I’m not on the floor tonight. Let the others try it.”

  My God, there’s something about the way he’s looming over me, telling everyone else to back away. It’s like he’s silently declaring to everyone I’m his. The thick atmosphere in the room is doing something to me, to the hot blood pumping quickly in my veins, to the flutter of the crazy butterflies in my stomach.

  “Try it,” he says again, his voice low and gravelly.

  Holy crap! How hot is it in here?

  “Sure,” I manage to say, though I’m pretty sure it’s delivered in a breathy tone.

  Pierre spears some of the food on the fork and brings it over to me. I reach out to take the utensil, and he shakes his head as his lips ruefully twist.

  He brings the offering to my mouth, and waits until I part my lips before he carefully slides the perfect bite into my mouth.

  I feel a drop of the sauce on my lower lip, and sweep my tongue over it to catch it.

  Pierre’s eyes dart to my lips, and I see him catch a gulp of air. “Délicieux, oui,” he says. I’m assuming he’s just said ‘delicious’ but it doesn’t sound like he’s asking me, more like a statement.

  “It’s very delicious, Pierre,” I answer, but I keep trying to avoid his intense stare.

  I look around at the staff and both Catherine and Justine are watching me as I try and look away.

  What the hell just happened?

  Food porn at its best, with a damned sexy French chef.

  Um…this is awkward.

  The rest of the meeting goes by at a snail’s pace. Pierre talks but he keeps trying to look at me. Everyone in the room is moving their heads like they’re watching a tennis match. They watch him when he talks, then quickly flick to the left to see what my response will be. Although I can see them in my peripheral vision, I try and keep it together and remain professional.