Monster Chef

by Margaret McHeyzer

“No pools.” I chuckle.

  “How about the beach?”

  “No, no beach either.”

  “Can we go to the beach?”

  “Did you bring your bathers?”

  “No.”

  “How about a towel?”

  “No.”

  “How do you expect us to go to the beach, then?”

  “We can go home and get them.”

  “No, we can’t because we’re almost at Pierre’s house.”

  She huffs from the back seat, and when I look in my rear-view mirror she’s crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest and is doing her best ‘tantrum’ impersonation.

  “I want to go to the beach.”

  “If I turn this car around, we’re going home and staying home,” I say, my tone holding a warning. “Do you prefer that to going to the park?”

  She mumbles something inaudible.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask her.

  “I said ‘no, Mum’,” she huffs again.

  “Alright, we’re almost at Pierre’s, and then we can go to the park.”

  “Yes, Mummy,” she says though her voice is dampened by unhappiness.

  We get to Pierre’s and Emma has unbuckled her seatbelt and is out the door in the time it’s taken me to pull the key out of the ignition.

  “Come on, Mummy. Pierre’s waiting for us.” Her mood has certainly perked up. She waits impatiently for me to get out of the car.

  She grabs my hand and confidently walks beside me to the front door.

  “I wanna press the doorbell,” she says as she reaches up and depresses the soft grey button.

  The door flings open, and I’m momentarily taken aback by Pierre in dark jeans, a blue t-shirt, and sneakers. The t-shirt showcases his arms, more importantly, his sculptured bicep muscles. And it clings quite nicely to his chest, illustrating his pectorals before falling loosely to his hips.

  “Holly,” he says as he opens the screen security door and steps to the side, allowing us in.

  “Pierre.” He leans in to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  “Hi, Pierre,” Emma says happily as she steps inside, letting go of my hand.

  Pierre kneels on the floor just inside his door so he’s on Emma’s eye level.

  “I think I shall properly introduce myself, ma petite. My name is Pierre and I look very forward to pushing you on the swing as high as you will allow me.”

  Emma’s giggling, and I can feel the giant smile on my face.

  “Why did you call me Pete?” Emma asks.

  “Non, I did not call you Pete. I said ‘ma petite’. It means ‘my little one’.”

  “You really do talk funny. But I like it, because that’s how people talk from where you come from.”

  “Oui, it is true. We do talk differently to Australians. Do you know something else?”

  “No, what?” She takes a step closer to Pierre, and my heart just about breaks with pride that Emma is comfortable around him already.

  “We French do not have this vegemite in Paris. It is not something I have been able to enjoy, ever.”

  Emma laughs again, cocks a hip and rests her hand on it. “I like vegemite with cheese on a sandwich. You should do yourself a favour and try it.”

  I run my hand over my eyes at how Emma’s talking to Pierre.

  “Non, I will not ‘do myself a favour and try it’. I already know I do not like it.”

  “What type of cook are you then?” she asks. Her cheeky side is coming through forcefully.

  Pierre gets up from his kneeling position, brushes the invisible dirt from his knees and laughs. “After you tell me if you like what I have made for you, then we may discuss what type of cook I am.”

  “Deal.” Emma holds her hand out, waiting for a handshake.

  Pierre wipes his hands down his jeans then takes her hand in his, and shakes it once.

  “I have prepared a delicious lunch, ladies. I hope you will enjoy. Come, I just need to get the hamper,” he says as he holds his hand out to indicate the kitchen. Emma goes ahead, and Pierre’s warm hand finds the small of my back as he guides us further into his home.

  “You look more delicious than the food I have prepared,” he whispers in my ear. His fresh, minty breath caresses my skin, his lips softly cruising over my earlobe as he pokes his tongue out to taste me. A small, explosive shiver runs the length of my back. My body reacts to the heated, silent promise of this passionate man.

  “Thank you, Pierre,” I whimper with need. But now’s not the time.

  “Wow, that’s a huge picnic basket. How much food is in there?” Emma shrills with excitement.

  “I have come prepared, ma petite. There is a lot for you to try. You eat escargot, oui?”

  Emma looks at Pierre and crinkles her nose. “What’s that?” she asks not bothering to even try and say the name.

  “You do not know what escargot is?”

  Emma shakes her head.

  “You do eat, salted, pureed cod, oui?” He furrows his eyebrows together and nods.

  Emma’s not looking too impressed. Her lips curl up in a snarl and I’m waiting for her to yell ‘yuck’ although she doesn’t know what he’s asking her.

  “Non?” he asks as she’s looking grossed out.

  “I don’t eat anything you’ve said.”

  “Hmmm, well that is good. Because I have not cooked that for you. I have made fresh baguettes, and I have ham and salads. I have also made little sweets and my secret recipe, home-made chocolat. But oui, we also have fruit salad and fresh juice which I squeezed myself.”

  “You can just buy juice from the store. That’s where Mummy gets it from.”

  “Non, ma petite, I cannot buy juice from the store. Not when this juice tastes better. Come, you will see.” He takes the picnic basket off the kitchen counter and walks out toward the door. “Come, ladies. We will have a day of swinging like monkeys, and eating like pigs.”

  Emma giggles again and falls in right beside Pierre. “Can I help you carry the basket?”

  “It is too heavy for me, so I am grateful you have asked.”

  “Is that a ‘yes’?”

  I can’t help myself, I simply laugh at her innocent and straightforward behaviour.

  “Oui.”

  “Do you have to go to the toilet?” she asks as she stops walking. “Because Mummy says you have to go to the toilet before we get in the car.”

  “Non, I do not need to go to the bathroom. I said ‘oui’, which means ‘yes’ in French.”

  “Why don’t you just say ‘yes’?” She looks up at him, questioningly.

  He squints his eyes and his lips thin into a line. “I do not know, but I have been saying ‘oui’ all my life.”

  “Maybe you’re too old to stop.” She shrugs her shoulders, harmlessly.

  Pierre looks at me, and I’m trying my hardest to hold in the gales of laughter desperate to erupt.

  “I think we are going to be good friends, Emma.”

  She looks at him and smiles. “Oui, I think so too.”

  ***

  “Higher, Pierre, higher!” Emma eagerly yells.

  “Ma petite, I am afraid if I push you any higher you will round the swing set and fall off,” Pierre says as he continues pushing Emma.

  They’ve been at the swing set for the last half an hour while I lay the picnic rug out and rummage through the basket.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Pierre calls to me as I look inside the basket.

  “I was going to get lunch out.”

  “It is not time for lunch. We are on the swings. Emma will be pushing me in a moment as it is my turn.”

  “No way!” Emma shrieks, causing an explosive smile from me.

  “Hey, it’s only fair, Emma. Pierre’s been pushing you so now it’s your turn to push him.”

  Emma’s shoulders slump and the clear disdain on her face tells us she’s not a happy little camper.

  “Ma petite, your mother and
I are just joking with you,” Pierre says as he continues pushing her. “But my arms are getting tired. I brought a soccer ball, perhaps we can play with that?”

  “Just ten more pushes. Then we can play with the ball.”

  “Before you play with the soccer ball, I just want to put some more sunscreen on you, Emma,” I call as I liberally apply it all over my exposed skin.

  Within a few minutes, a sweaty Pierre and a happy Emma run over to the picnic blanket. Emma plonks her cute little butt beside me, and Pierre kneels opposite me. I squirt some sun screen onto Emma’s hand, “Rub that into your arms. I’ll do your face. Do you want some?” I say to Pierre offering the sunscreen to him.

  His eyes light up, his smile devious and wide. “Oui,” he says, though I know he wants to say more. His eyes dart to Emma as he takes the sunscreen from me, then he looks back to me and winks.

  “Can we go play now, Pierre?” Emma calls as she stands to wait.

  “Here you take the ball and start and I will be over in un moment.” He gently throws the ball to Emma and she catches it, runs off, drops it and starts attempting to kick it.

  “Holly,” Pierre moves closer to me. His hand glides down the bare skin on my arm, causing goose bumps, despite the warm weather. “I just want a small kiss,” he says as he leans into me and touches his soft lips on my cheek.

  My heart stops, enforcing the hold he already has on me. When it starts back up, it gallops at such a rapid pace I’m not even sure if it’s still inside my chest.

  “Mon chéri, I look forward to properly kissing you.” He stops and darts his adventurous tongue out to taste me. Then in a lower tone, a sexy and husky voice he says, “To kiss every exquisite part of you. To make you wet, so my tongue can lick all your cream.”

  I swallow hard as I close my eyes and grip his t-shirt. “Good Lord,” I whisper. My mouth dries out, and my body craves his.

  “I plan on devouring you and worshipping your body.”

  Clenching my thighs together, the butterflies inside my belly take off racing around, causing my hands to shake from excitement.

  As much as I want to rip his clothes off and have him do all those delicious things to me, he’s gone. His warmth disappears and I hear him calling Emma as he runs up to her and starts kicking the ball.

  I’m left on the picnic blanket, hot – and not because the sun’s out at full force and the rays are burning.

  Nope, it’s because I really want to do downright dirty things to and with Pierre.

  Lord, help me.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Pierre

  Emma is such a spirited little girl. She certainly keeps me on my toes. She can run circles around me and still not be tired out.

  “Come on, Pierre,” she squeals with delight as we kick the soccer ball around.

  “I think it is time we have something to eat while we rest for a short time.”

  “I don’t want to rest. I want to play,” she yells excitedly.

  “Come, we will go eat, let the food settle in our tummies then we can go on the monkey bars and climbing frame.”

  “You’ll go on the climbing frame with me?” Her gorgeous, big brown eyes light up as she happily anticipates us playing.

  “Of course I will. I like hanging like a monkey, although I do not have a tail so I cannot hang upside down.” She grabs the soccer ball and begins walking back to where Holly has laid out lunch.

  “Here you go,” Holly says as she hands Emma a small bottle of antibacterial hand sanitizer. Emma squirts some, then automatically turns to me and gives me the bottle.

  The act so innocent, though full of trust. She’s already accepted me and is comfortable around me. I feel the rift in my heart begin to heal. She effortlessly brings me joy and happiness, something I did not realise I needed.

  “Are you alright?” Holly asks, looking up at me.

  “I am fine,” I answer with a smile, caught in a funny feeling of contentment. I belong here. I belong beside Holly and I know I must protect Emma.

  I sit on the blanket, and reach out with my hand to rub Holly’s thigh. Emma’s eye catches the movement. She smiles toward me then turns and smiles at her mother.

  “Are you and Mummy boyfriend and girlfriend?” she asks me.

  “Would it be okay with you if your mummy and I were boyfriend and girlfriend?” I take half a baguette, rip it open and begin to stuff ham and salad into it. But I’m also holding my breath as I wait for Emma to tell me what she thinks.

  “Are you going to get married?” she asks.

  “We never know what the future will hold,” I answer her. Holly is quiet, and I think the way her eyes are darting between Emma and myself, she may be assessing me and how I am with her daughter. But I will not lie. I will not pretend to be anyone other than the man I am.

  “Will you and Mummy have a baby?”

  Holly’s strangled groan tells me we’ve arrived at a touchy subject. “Again, ma petite, I do not know what will happen. All I know is that I like you, and I like your mummy and I want to be part of your lives. But I will only be part if you want me here.”

  I hand Emma the half baguette I’ve prepared for her. “Bon appétit,” I tell her.

  She takes it and stares at it for a few seconds. “Mummy makes me my lunch,” she says as she picks up the baguette and begins to eat it.

  “You do not like what I have made?”

  “Itsh weally good,” she mumbles with a mouth full of food.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Holly scolds her mildly.

  Emma keeps chewing until she has no more in her mouth, “Pierre asked me a question.”

  I lean over and take another half baguette, rip it in half and begin to fill it. Emma is stuffing her face, and Holly has poured us all my freshly-made juice. She leans over to get a baguette, and I grab her wrist and shake my head. “Non, I will feed you.”

  “I can make my own.”

  “You are very capable of doing so, but I am here and I want to care for you.”

  Holly’s cheeks blossom with a flush, and Emma utters an “aww” at what I have said.

  “Thank you,” Holly says but her voice is scratchy.

  “You are welcome.” I duck my head down in a nod.

  “I like you, Pierre,” Emma says, then takes another bite of her lunch.

  “Merci, ma petite. I like you too.” I finish making Holly’s sandwich, place it on a plate, and hand it to her. Grabbing another baguette, I make my own. But I notice Holly’s not eating hers. “Is there a problem?” I jut my chin toward her untouched plate.

  “I’ll wait for you to finish making yours so we can eat together.” She picks the tumbler up and sips the juice. “This is really nice.”

  “No need to wait. Please, enjoy.”

  She takes a bite, and closes her eyes as she hums her appreciation around the food. The sound is transformed into the most erotic, appealing sound I have heard in a long time. Instantly my mind blackens and goes to what I hope will be dirty, raw sex with Holly.

  I need to remove the carnal images of Holly’s mouth on me, because it is not good for my cock. Especially with Emma sitting beside me.

  “How’s lunch?” I ask, desperately trying to take control of my mind…and my body.

  “So good,” both ladies say. Emma swallows the last of her food, takes a drink, and lets out an almighty belch.

  “Pardon me,” she says as she clasps her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

  Holly and I chuckle.

  “As long as you enjoyed it,” I say then take a bite of mine.

  “I loved it, can I have one more please?” She holds her plate out to me.

  Okay, this is a bit awkward for me. I’m not sure if I should. I turn to Holly and pointedly look at the bread then the individual containers of the filling, asking her if I may make another for Emma.

  “That’s fine,” she says, then takes the last bite of her sandwich.

  “Pierre, you didn’t tell me. Are you and Mu
mmy going to have a baby?”

  I silently go along making the sandwich though I feel my brows knit together. I remain quiet until I hand Emma her second. “I do not know, ma petite. I wish I could answer that question for you, but right now, I do not know.”

  “Mummy knows everything,” she says as she begins to heartily devour her food. “Are you, Mummy? Going to have a baby with Pierre?”

  My eyes shoot to Holly, who’s focused on an invisible spot on the blanket. She’s scratching at the imaginary lint and not looking up to see my gaze or that of her daughter.

  “As Pierre said, we never know what the future holds.”

  Her eyes quickly dart to mine, and an interesting range of emotions flickers through them. The first is undeniably uncertainty. She’s probably thinking of me, and if I want a child after what I shared with her about Eva. Her eyes dart away and she looks almost shy. This may be a subject she’ll want to broach with me, perhaps sooner than later.

  “I’m finished; let’s go play,” Emma calls as she stands and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, clearing it of any stubborn crumbs.

  “You go on the swings, and I will be there soon,” I say to her.

  “Okay, Pierre, don’t take too long.” She runs off the few meters to the swing set, climbs on and starts swinging.

  “Are you okay?” I ask a very quiet Holly.

  She nods her head, but her focus is anywhere but me.

  “Mon chéri,” I say as I touch her delicate chin with my finger and lift her face to look at me. “You should never hide what you are thinking or feeling from me.”

  “It’s just…” she pauses and sighs.

  “What is it?” I can feel the sadness surrounding Holly. Something is consuming her, and she is not letting it go. “Talk to me, I will not be angry.” I hope.

  “Wh-wh-when Stephen died…” A tear rolls down her alabaster cheek. I cup her face in my hands, and let my thumb gently wipe the tear away. Her eyes close and she leans her head into my touch. Holly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I was eight weeks pregnant when he died. The stress of his accident put too much pressure on me and my body, and I lost the baby.”

  “Mon chéri,” I whisper as I lean in and kiss her mouth. A perfect, closed-mouth kiss.