If You Give a CEO a Chance (Aspen Grove #3)

Chapter 16

T he next morning, I’m back in the kitchen, and I realize how much I missed it. I catered a few events while Harrison was away, but it’s far more satisfying cooking meals for clients every day and having a steady routine. For breakfast, I’m making a gluten-free quiche with caramelized onions, mushrooms, spinach, shredded cheddar cheese, eggs, and cream.

Harrison mentioned that he liked it, and figured it would be a nice gesture to make it for him as a thank-you for letting Cat stay. An unexpected warmth fills my chest at the fact that he agreed. Part of me figured he might grab the little guy by the scruff and boot him to the curb in retaliation for me bedazzling his hockey stick. But instead, he handled it with more patience than I expected.

Maybe the carefree and thoughtful man I met all those years ago is still under that hard exterior.

I put Cat in the bathroom with his bed and toys, wary of letting him roam free. Not only would he try to sabotage breakfast, but he’d probably create another mess, and I’d prefer to keep the peace between Harrison and me. I’ll make it up to Cat with a turkey and green bean medley when Harrison leaves for work. Plus, the bathroom is nearly as big as my bedroom, so he has plenty of space to explore, and undoubtedly, cause more chaos.

All bets are off if Cat goes on a rampage and ruins anything else in the penthouse, like another piece of furniture or scuffing Harrison’s shoes. So, I’ll do my best to prevent any other mishaps.

Once I’ve plated the breakfast bowl, fresh fruit, and coffee, I carry the tray into the dining room, stopping short when I find Harrison at the table, reading the newspaper with his reading glasses on. The sight of him wearing them will be permanently etched in my mind, and it’s totally unfair how good he can make something look that’s so ordinary.

I avert my gaze, checking the clock to confirm I’m not late. “Were you waiting on me?”

Harrison folds the newspaper and sets it aside. “No, I just wanted to get a jump on the day after being out of town for so long.”

I nod, setting the tray in front of him.

He stares at the quiche as if it might bite him first. “Why did you make this today?”

I frown, shuffling from side to side. “Because you said you liked it.”

Harrison furrows his brow. “That’s the only reason?”

I guess we’ve pulled one too many pranks if he’s this skeptical of me being nice. Then again, given how we’ve butted heads since I arrived, I suppose I can’t fault him.

“Yes. I swear.” I cross my heart with my finger. “I was hoping we might call a truce, at least for now.”

Harrison leans forward in his seat, eyeing me warily. “Why? Afraid I’m plotting payback for my bedazzled hockey stick?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Okay, maybe a little.

Harrison digs into the quiche, briefly closing his eyes as he savors the first bite. “This is even better than I remember,” he remarks.

“I’m glad you like it,” I say. Wanting to let him eat in peace, I slowly move toward the kitchen. “Have a good day, Harrison.”

“You too, trouble.”

I turn away from him, concealing the small smirk on my lips, secretly enjoying the fact that he gave me a nickname.

Harrison: I won’t be home until late, so don’t worry about dinner.

The tightness in my stomach eases. I agreed to cater an event tonight under the assumption that Harrison would still be out of town. The topic slipped my mind during our exchange, and I was worried he might not be okay with it.

The pay for this event was too tempting to turn down though. The Mavericks, the local pro hockey team, is sparing no expense to ensure their players are well-fed before and after the game. I wonder if Harrison ever attends their games or uses their training facility. Some mornings, he leaves with his hockey gear, so he’s obviously practicing somewhere.

I’ve always been curious about why he left hockey. As a rookie, he was already one of the league’s best players with a promising future.

The season following our weekend together, a friend invited me to a hockey game. The Huskies happened to be in town to play, and despite my resentment toward Harrison, curiosity won out. I hoped that seeing him would bring closure to the mystery of his disappearance that left me with so many unanswered questions. But when I arrived, I was shocked to learn that Harrison wasn’t on the team anymore. No explanation given. I’d always assumed he was traded to a new team or something, but now I know that wasn’t the case.

Fallon: Okay. I’ll leave a couple of turkey sandwiches in the fridge in case you’re hungry when you get back.

Harrison: Thanks.

Harrison: Are you going out tonight?

Fallon: Why do you ask?

Harrison: Don’t want you roaming the city alone or meeting up with some weirdo.

Fallon: Weird how?

Harrison: Like someone you matched with online.

Fallon: Since when do you care who I date?

Harrison: I don’t.

Fallon: Sure.

Harrison: I can’t have anything happen to you. No one else can make a quiche like you can.

Fallon: Admit it. You’re worried about me.

Harrison: I’m late for a meeting.

Fallon: Can’t wait to tell you all about my date later.

Harrison: So, it is a date?

Fallon: Don’t you have a meeting to get to?

Harrison: If I say yes, are you going to ignore my question?

Fallon: You know me well.

A smug smile tugs at my lips as I slip my phone into my pocket. There is no date, but Harrison doesn’t need to know that. Let him stew about it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the idea of him being jealous. Not that it means anything. Except the flutter in my chest suggests otherwise.

After making the sandwiches for Harrison and giving Cat an early dinner of leftover turkey and green bean medley, I head out.

The team eats three hours before their game, so I have to be ready in advance. Fortunately, I was at the arena yesterday to handle the deliveries and prep the ingredients. All that’s left now is to assemble everything when I arrive.

The apartment lobby is quiet when I head downstairs, and Walter is thumbing through a sports magazine at his desk. The moment he notices me, he stands up.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fallon. Heading out?”

I nod. “On my way to a catering event.” I hold out a box of gluten-free chocolate chip cookies. “These are for you. I wanted to make you dinner, but I ran out of time after prepping.”

He waves me off. “Nothing beats your homemade sweets. Thank you.”

“Always.” I smile as I adjust my bag on my shoulder. It’s heavier than normal since I brought some of my own kitchen supplies with me.

“Where is your event?” Walter asks.

“The Ironblade Arena, for the Mavericks game. If Harrison gets back before I do, tell him I’m on a date, will you?” That’ll get a rise out of him.

He arches a brow. “Do you know where Mr. Stafford is tonight?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Does he know you’re catering?”

I let out a short laugh. “No, but I doubt he’d care.”

Walter laughs, quick to cover his mouth. “I’m not so sure about that.”

I furrow my brow. “Why do you say that?”

He waves his hand to dismiss me. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

My gaze sharpens. He’s hiding something, but I’m not sure what.

He glances at his watch and ushers me out the door. “You better go, or you’ll be late,” he says, deflecting.

My suspicions that he’s hiding something from me are long forgotten as I pull out my phone to check. “Shoot, you’re right. Looks like it’ll take forty minutes to get there with traffic. Thankfully, the food is already prepped so I don’t have to worry about hauling everything across town.”

He opens the front door for me. “Have fun.” He waves as I dash down the street.

“Thanks, Walter. Wish me luck.”

“You’ll do great.” He winks. “And who knows? The night might hold a surprise or two.”