Chapter 11
TORI
I’m off-kilter the entire day after the yacht club gala.
I tell myself it’s the stress of being away from the office. Falling out of sync with investors, missing the water cooler chit-chat with colleagues.
That it has nothing to do with the bombshell about Preston’s engagement.
And even less to do with the bad boy hockey player living next door.
When the markets finally close for the day, I do myself a favor and uncharacteristically power down my laptop.
I need a break. From today, from my job.
Hell, from life in general.
Pouring myself a generous glass of Cab, I preheat the oven.
It’s time to unwind.
Some people do yoga. I stress bake.
Pulling the dry ingredients from the tiny pantry — flour, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, chocolate chips — I plop them one by one onto the kitchen island. I shuffle through my music and crank up my chill vibes playlist. Lots of instrumental songs and jazzy renditions of Broadway musicals.
Perfect.
My favorite song from The Greatest Showman comes on and I hum along, measuring the flour into a mixing bowl.
So who cares if Preston got engaged? We haven’t been together for a year and a half. And like I told Bennett last night — it wasn’t exactly a love match from the start. More like an arranged marriage that didn’t happen. Plus, I’ve had plenty of time to get over him, move on with my life.
Still, the news stung. Hearing he moved on, is taking the next steps.
Romantically I don’t care. Emotionally, though? The wound still aches.
I couldn’t close.
The asshole strung me along for three years. Then a new woman waltzes in and locks it down in less than half the time.
Which is maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to you.
I freeze, gripping the edge of the island. I can’t keep thinking like this.
Sure, Bennett looked great in a tux. He was surprisingly well-mannered and a really great dancer.
But that’s all.
There’s nothing between us. There can’t be.
I’m not a puck bunny. Another groupie.
I run a hedge fund out of New York City. He plays professional hockey down in Florida.
We’re nothing alike.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
Swirling the dark wine in my glass, I take a long sip and stare out the window into the dark.
Nothing about the two of us together makes sense.
And we’re most definitely not together.
He’s not my type.
And I’m sure I’m not his.
Still. The way he looked at me last night, those ocean blue eyes dark. How he stalled at my door, teasing me.
Like he wanted more.
I can’t go there.
My phone vibrates on the counter, dancing on the shiny surface. Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I tap the glass.
Bennett: You didn’t ask about my shrink session
I smile down at the screen, my chest loosening.
Tori: I checked in with Leighton. She told me you showed
Bennett: And here I thought you were dodging your warden duties
Tori: Never
Bennett: Knew it. So I get a gold star for compliance
I laugh, shaking my head.
Tori: Don’t get smug, Steele
Bennett: Smug’s my entire brand
God help me.
That should not be attractive.
And yet…
Shit. I’m losing my grip on reality here.
Tossing the phone down, I recommit to the baking project. Dicing the butter and cracking eggs into the mixer, I flip the power on and focus on blending the ingredients to the exact right consistency.
Baking’s all about precision. Following instructions step by step.
Being mindful.
Unlike the man next door.
I turn off the mixer and grab my phone, texting back.
Tori: Reckless is your entire brand
Bennett: Some people call that fun
Tori: Reckless got you into trouble
Bennett: I was defending the team’s PR woman
Bennett: I’m calling it noble
I chew at my bottom lip, stomach swooping. Not from anxiety or nerves.
From something messier I don’t care to think about.
Because reckless is one thing.
But reckless for the right reasons — that hits different.
Tori: Next time, try words instead of fists
Bennett: Fists worked faster
I should not be smiling at that.
Setting the phone aside, I stir in the chocolate chips, then scoop small balls of dough onto the baking sheet. Neat rows, perfectly spaced. I pop the tray into the oven and set a timer.
Tori: And now you’re paying for faster. Worth it?
The blue dots appear, then disappear. I sip my wine and lean against the counter, waiting.
Bennett: Yeah, it was
Bennett: Now I’m a local legend
The timer dings and I slide the golden-brown cookies out of the oven, the scent of chocolate and brown sugar filling the condo. I pluck one from the baking sheet and take a nibble.
Delicious.
I savor the treat, some of the work tension easing with each bite. Topping off my wine glass, I stare at the second tray of cookies.
Too many to eat myself. I’ll be sick for sure.
I walk away, top off my wine. Circle back to the counter.
He did go to the therapy session.
Grabbing a small bakery box, I quickly pack up a dozen of the cookies and secure the lid with a white ribbon.
Without overthinking things, I slip out of the condo and dart next door. Bishop’s standing guard outside, leaning against the wall and watching something funny on his phone. Lifting his eyes, he stands up taller when he sees me. He doesn’t ask any questions and I don’t offer any answers.
Wordlessly, I drop the box at Bennett’s doorstep and knock once before hustling back to my condo, pretending my pulse isn’t sprinting.
Safely inside, I lean against the door and exhale.
The ‘noble’ man deserves dessert.
It’s a chocolate chip cookie, not a peace offering.
It doesn’t mean anything.
There’s a buzz from the counter.
Bennett: A ribbon? That’s dangerously close to a gesture, Sunshine
Warmth blooms in my chest and I can’t stop smiling at my phone. I fiddle with the delicate gold chain at my throat, fingers trembling.
I need to be careful before this situation with Bennett turns into something I can’t control.