by JC Harroway
Did he suffer PTSD? Did his life change because of what happened to Sam? Would he still be in the army today if it hadn’t happened?
When I carry the tea into the room I see Drake and Tilly have unpacked all the pieces of the bookcase and Tilly has lined up the correct screws in the order they’ll be required.
She looks between us, her mind working. ‘Your Sam’s friend from the army?’ she asks, clarifying Drake’s relationship to our family. She knows the answer, but repeating questions is another way my sister handles the unpredictability of her world.
Drake smiles. ‘Yes, he was in my platoon.’ His stare finds mine and I hold my breath. With a single question Tilly has brought up the one subject that highlights every obstacle littering our path to the continued uncomplicated sex my body still craves.
‘But Sam died,’ she says, glancing my way.
I nod, keeping my emotions from my face for my sister’s sake. We’ve done this routine a thousand times. Death can be an abstract concept for someone with a concrete and literal mind.
‘So...now you’re Kenzie’s friend.’ Tilly hits the nail right on the head in her direct way. My throat clogs with doubt and perhaps hope.
Is he? He certainly won’t be more than a friend.
‘That’s right,’ I say, injecting my voice with a fake breezy tone and taking the heat from Drake, who looks a little green around the gills. ‘And once he’s helped us make this I think Drake will be your friend, too, don’t you, Tills?’
She shrugs—she’s not easily won over—and launches into a Q&A on one of her favourite subjects: all things Harry Potter, including Hogwarts and JK Rowling.
Drake answers every question, his patience endless. We assemble the bookcase, a team. For the first time in a month, my shoulders dislodge from around my ears and the weak November sun seems a little brighter. With Drake’s ‘friendship’, London might work out for Tilly and me after all.
* * *
‘Here.’ Drake offers me a bite of his chicken waffle, which drips with maple syrup.
I hesitate. ‘I’m sorry—I always want to try everything on the menu and then when I make a decision I want what the other person has ordered.’
He grins and holds the forkful up to my mouth. ‘I knew you’d love this place. It’s Chelsea’s newest, hippest eatery. Already won a handful of awards.’
I take the food, the intimacy of being fed by him almost as good as the sweet and salty flavours on my tongue. ‘Thanks.’ I swallow, but it’s an effort. The erotic vision of him eating from my fingers last night, with that look on his face and his smoky voice...
‘Stop feeding me—I’ll split my jeans.’ I shoo away another forkful and relax back into my chair.
This is nice, this morning’s awkwardness all but disappeared. With the sex business over, I can focus on Tilly and my potential new job. Perhaps we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.
I look up to see Drake’s smile fading.
‘What?’ Unease creeps over my skin.
‘Nothing. I...I’m surprised Tilly didn’t want to join us.’
I look away, swallowing back the feeling of being adrift that’s never far away. ‘No, she has her new routines. Saturday is food-shopping and the movies with her flatmates.’
‘And you used to do those things together?’ he asks.
I nod, blinking the sting from my eyes, torn between happiness for my sister and a feeling of redundancy. ‘She’s growing more independent.’
Drake lowers his voice, leans closer, creating a private bubble in the bustle around us, as if he senses my turmoil. ‘You’ve helped to raise a great young woman. I’m glad you have time to focus on you a bit more.’
Despite his considered words, he doesn’t look glad. He looks a little rattled, distracted. But I have no time to query.
‘So do you see yourself working in a restaurant like the Faulkner in five years? Head chef? A couple of Michelin stars under your belt?’ His change of subject could be interpreted as diversionary, but his expression is serious, as if he really believes me capable of those incredible pipe dreams.
I take a swallow of water to combat the flush his scrutiny and his compliments induce. ‘Actually, I do have a plan.’
‘Good—tell me.’ He pushes his plate aside and rests his elbows on the table.
‘Okay...’ I hesitate. With the exception of Tilly, I’ve never told anyone my dream. ‘But promise you won’t...laugh.’ Now I’m about to say the words aloud, they sound naïve, far-fetched, unrealistic.
Drake frowns. ‘Why would I laugh?’ His piercing frown penetrates my layers. My body floods with heat, just like it did last night when he took his time looking at my naked body.
I shrug. ‘I’ve been so focussed on raising Tilly, I guess I’m just rusty when it comes to demanding something for myself.’ My bones turn molten at the reminder of what I demanded from him last night. And how thoroughly he obliged...
I plough on, the harsh ‘it’s over’ in my head providing focus. ‘One day, I’d like to have my own restaurant—nothing grand. Just an everyday, wholesome-food kind of place.’
He nods, his eyes full of warmth and encouragement. ‘Sounds good. I can see you responsible for expanding waistlines all over the city.’
My stare drops to his lithe torso, his muscular bulk visible through the fine wool of his sweater. I can’t help myself.
‘Thanks.’ I roll my eyes and toss a packet of sugar at him from the selection in the centre of our table. ‘Only I’d love to employ adults with special needs. Adults like Tilly.’
He nods, perceptive eyes probing. ‘You miss your old job as a teacher’s aide?’
He remembers I worked at a special educational-needs school. I smile, the flush reaching my face. ‘I got made redundant shortly after Sam died.’
Shock streaks over his face and his skin pales. ‘I’m sorry.’
I laugh, taken aback by his reaction. ‘You weren’t to know. It’s hardly your fault.’
He swallows hard, his eyes a little haunted. ‘I’m still sorry you had to go through that on top of everything else.’ His fingers curl into a loose fist next to mine on the table.
I hold my breath—I can almost feel his touch, but the moment passes. ‘It’s okay—I used my redundancy pay to pay for chef school. And here I am.’
His smile builds, forcing the corners of his eyes into a fan of creases. ‘Good—I’d say you’re at least halfway to your dream already.’
For a moment I’m overcome with an unnamed emotion. This is what I wanted when I came to him—someone to believe in me enough to offer me a chance.
His eyes are still on me, so I try to pull myself together. ‘So, if we’re going to be fiends now, tell me one of the things I’d find surprising about you, apart from your impressive, encyclopedic knowledge of all things Harry Potter.’ I stop myself from prying about a wife and kids. I don’t want to know if Drake has aspirations for future marital bliss.
He laughs, but the laugh doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s hardly a difficult question. He’s still cagey. Still doesn’t want to talk about himself.
‘Let’s start with work. Do you enjoy being a hotelier?’
His smile grows into that boyish twist. ‘I do, actually. A complete change of pace has really helped. Of course, I have to spend quite a lot of time at the gym to counter the delicious food, and my degree wasn’t much use, but I learned the ropes quickly—couldn’t have Kit and Reid outsmarting me.’
I laugh. All three Faulkners are savvy businessmen who grew up learning the family business. I doubt either of his brothers could outsmart Drake, and they definitely don’t out-suit him.
‘And your father is almost retired?’
‘Yes. A good thing.’ He grins and my belly flips. ‘He’s getting a bit forgetful. Too many G and Ts at the golf club, probably.’
&nb
sp; To distract my wandering mind from that smile, I check the time. ‘Bugger. I need to go. I don’t want to be late.’ I stand, tugging on my coat and untangling my scarf from the strap of my bag while Drake pays the bill, despite my protests.
He puts his hand in the small of my back as we leave the warm, crowded restaurant. ‘Don’t worry—we’ll take a taxi.’
Inside the cab, it hits me like a lead weight: his kindness towards Tilly, the passion we share for good food, his belief in my fledgling dream—now we’ve reacquainted, I can’t mess this up with something as trivial as...lust, no matter how great the sex and how much I’d love a repeat. I have few enough friends, or even contacts, in London.
Sucking in a breath, I pull up my big-girl pants. ‘Thanks for everything today. So—we’re good? You and I?’
His stare lifts from my mouth, inscrutable, where all morning it’s been clear, open and friendly. ‘I’d say we’re good.’
‘So, friends?’ The term chokes me but I force a smile, letting him know I won’t be pawing at him for any more orgasms.
Before he can confirm our new-found status, my phone pings, covering my erratic reaction with an incoming text.
I show Drake the picture from Tilly, who declined his invitation to brunch in order to fill her new bookcase with her Harry Potter collection.
Drake laughs—a deep rumble coming up from his chest. ‘Gotta love Harry.’
His laugh, like his smile, gives me butterflies, the tense moment of seconds ago likely a figment of my imagination. ‘Yes, who knew you were such a nerd...?’ I bump his shoulder with mine and then instantly regret touching him—my body wants more than friends.
‘Has she been to the Harry Potter studio tour?’ he asks.
I roll my eyes, grateful he’s steering us back to safety. ‘Six times, but it’s on her birthday wish list.’
‘Perhaps we could all go together—I haven’t been for years.’
I nod, my chest hollowed out. My determination to shelve the sex solidifies. Tilly and I have a new friend.
‘It’s a date,’ I say as we pull up outside the Faulkner, my blush flaring when I realise the phrase I’ve tossed out.
He nods. ‘A date.’ Drake pays for the cab and we head in different directions, while I try to see his friendship as something more than a consolation prize.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drake
I CLOSE MY laptop and fist my hands on the desk, finally admitting no amount of work can distract me from the thoughts that have dogged me for the past twenty-four hours.
Kenzie.
I expected the brush-off the minute she opened the door to her flat. She was right to steer this away from the murky waters of no-strings sex, because that only works for people with no prior feelings. Kenzie and I...we have history. We’re complicated. And spending today with her was a mistake.
Discovering she lost her job just after Sam died and seeing first-hand the impact of Tilly’s growing independence left my stomach so contorted I could barely swallow a morsel of the food I’d raved about.
She needed me, needed someone, and I wasn’t there for her because of my burden of guilt and my need for self-preservation.
And don’t get me started on the sex...
I don’t begrudge her the safe space to help her back into the intimacy saddle, and being friend-zoned where I belong should offer relief. Instead, I’m crawling out of my skin.
If we’re going to be friends now...
So, friends?
I think Drake will be your friend, too, don’t you, Tills?
I push away from my desk with enough violence to send my chair crashing to the ground four storeys below but for the reinforced glass that gifts me a view of Sloane Square.
I should be happy. I had one night to slake my long-held attraction. Of course I pretended we were on the same page—the last thing I want is to make her feel guilty for what we did. And friendship is the logical and mature next step.
Except I’ve always wanted more and now I know—one night with Kenzie won’t be enough.
I don’t blame her for slotting me into a platonic role. I’m her husband’s friend. Of course she would regret what we did. And I aided her decision by shutting down with the finality of a fucking mousetrap.
My stomach lurches as guilt robs my breath.
She deserves better than a man with secrets. A selfish man who caused her dire predicament three years ago and then walked away, leaving her to deal with the fallout alone. And she’s more alone now than ever. She needs a friend. The last thing I can be.
Because a real friend would be honest.
I scrub a hand over my tired face, so torn the floor should be littered with my pieces. I groan aloud and thump the arms of my chair, impotence dragging my twitchy body upright with the speed and grace of a man three times my age.
I can do this. Be her fucking friend.
I can keep my guilt hidden and do it for Sam.
I can do it for Kenzie.
Snagging my jacket, my phone and my keys, I start to head down to the lift for the underground car park. As I pass the foyer my eyes stray to the staff entrance leading to the kitchens.
Kenzie’s domain.
I busied myself with some paperwork this evening, deliberately staying away from the kitchens. If Rod gets any whiff of my connection to Kenzie, it might jeopardise her fair shot at the sous-chef position. One I made happen, despite knowing I’d somehow end up in my current untenable position.
I dawdle in the foyer, picturing Kenzie at work and ignoring the odd looks I’m attracting from the night manager behind the front desk. How is she faring under Rod’s brusque tutelage? Did she make any part of the delicious beef Wellington I had delivered to my office four hours ago?
My stomach growls, the tender meat and rich mushroom and red-wine sauce a distant memory. I skipped dessert, as I always do. But perhaps there’s some delicious concoction left in the fridge. It’s 2:00 a.m. The restaurant closed two hours ago. But I have nothing at home to appease this uncharacteristic sweet craving, the only craving allowed. It’s as if my body knows it can never have another taste of Kenzie, so it’s compensating with common or garden sugar.
Fuck it; if I want a midnight snack instead of driving around to Kenzie’s flat and knocking her awake for more sex, I can damned well have one. I can spend an extra hour on the treadmill tomorrow.
Decision made, I head for the kitchen, certain whatever I find will taste sweeter just knowing Kenzie might have had some hand in its creation.
At the door to the kitchen I come to a standstill. The lights are still on. I catch movement through the glass.
My pulse races. She’s still here.
Her back is to me. She’s busy. Concentrating. My tired arse forgets the time, my hunger banished. One glimpse of her and I could run the London Marathon.
I push open the door, rearranging my face to hide ninety per cent of my delight.
‘Why are you still here this late?’ I let the door swing closed at my back.
She jumps, startled, spinning to face me, one hand covering her heart. The piping bag she’s holding spurts out green icing onto the stainless-steel bench.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you—’
‘You scared the shit out of me—’
We talk together and then laugh together.
‘I’m going to throttle Rod if he’s pushing you this hard.’ The urge to go to her, to kiss her, leaves me brusque.
‘Whoa, there’s no need for that look. Rod doesn’t know I’m here.’ Her eyes dance in the lights focussed on the bench and on the cake she’s making.
‘Which look?’ I stand taller, preening and fucking peacocking under her inspection.
She waves the piping bag in my direction, mirth flashing in her eyes. ‘You know, that scary regimental sergeant
-major look.’ Wisps of hair have escaped from her ponytail to kiss her flushed cheeks and she has a smear of icing sugar on her forehead. I love that she’s comfortable enough to tease me.
‘I’m not scary.’ Unlike wanting you or envisioning never touching you again... Heat boils in my belly and I succumb to the roar inside my head—forget friends.
I want her.
Same as always.
This sexy, sassy woman. A woman who’s had to fight to make life for herself and her sister better. A woman who dunks biscuits in her tea, tries to hide the sheen of moisture in her eyes when she’s proud of Tilly and pretends she’s Slytherin when really she’s Hufflepuff.
Kenzie quirks one eyebrow. ‘I think you could be. And you’re still here, too. Working late?’
‘For my sins.’ Her corner of the kitchen is a bomb site. Cake tins fill the sink, bowls filled with different-coloured icing are spread over the bench and the floor is dusted with flour.
‘I’m sure you don’t have any.’ She laughs and my smile threatens to slide from my face.
If only...
She looks around at the mess, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Oh... I’m going to clean up. I’m almost done.’ She returns to the cake, piping rosettes of icing around the base of the three-tiered creation with expert speed. ‘I’ll be out of your hair in ten minutes.’ She looks up, eyes uncertain.
‘I don’t care if you’re moonlighting. As long as you don’t burn yourself out.’ I step closer to watch with fascination as she swirls and pipes with proficient accuracy. Then I take in the whole cake. ‘You made Hogwarts!’
The cake has a castle on the top, turrets, flags, a quidditch pitch, the whole shebang. ‘She’s going to love that.’ Of course—Tilly’s birthday.
Kenzie grins, nodding and swirling the cake around on its stand with a flourish. ‘I know, right? Her birthday is Thursday—today was my only late shift and I thought no one would mind if I stayed behind to use the kitchen.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve seen my tiny flat...’ She trails off while she twists the icing bag tighter, looking uncertain. ‘I...I bought all my own ingredients...’