Chapter 12 The Chase
Chapter 12
the chase
She wanted him gone.
Wes didn’t know why he should be so surprised or hurt, but there it was, that same ache that came with being unwanted. It was a rusty but familiar feeling that stemmed from summers spent at his father’s, where his stepmother had gone out of her way to let him know she was counting down the days until his departure. That was why, when he’d been old enough to make his own decisions, he’d told his mum he didn’t want to go to the States anymore. He’d been twelve. And his father hadn’t tried to convince him otherwise.
Wes had promised himself that he’d never allow someone to make him feel unwanted again. Yet, here he was, sitting around the dinner table with a family who could make Attila the Hun feel welcome—except the woman next to him, who would rather gut herself from throat to belly than be in his company. And, as fate would have it, the only available seat was next to Summer. Even though she was sitting on the edge of the cushion, as far away from him as possible without falling off, he could still smell her airy scent, see the faint hint of freckles on her nose, feel the heat her body was radiating.
“What?” she whispered.
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re staring at me. Did you spit in my serving?”
“No, I’m just waiting for you to take the first bite so that I can see the exact moment you realize that I’ve won.”
“You drenched your pasta water with olive oil. What kind of Italian does that?”
“I merely added a dollop to the boiling water so that the noodles wouldn’t stick and become gummy.”
“Well, if you use the precise amount of flour, it won’t stick or become gummy.”
“Then why did I see you cutting off the ends of two noodles that were stuck together?” he asked, and saw the anger simmering in her expressive eyes. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to enjoy my meal in peace.” She swatted at him like he was an annoying hornet, although she was the one with the stinger out.
“Enjoy away.”
The rest of the family were already halfway through their meal and Summer hadn’t touched hers. She’d been too busy scrutinizing her relatives as they compared the two dishes, analyzing every nuance and twitch.
Wes’s dish was on the right and he was proud of the plating. It was the perfect helping of pasta, twisted into a volcano-esque mound, sprinkled with fresh-cut Italian parsley and coarse ground pepper. It was sophisticated and could rival any five-star establishment in the city.
Summer had gone for everyday dishware, with her linguini piled high in the pasta bowl, giving it a homestyle feel. It reminded him of dinners spent with his nonna when his mother was working late or pulling a double shift. It was rustic, real, and not pretending to be anything other than what it was—a homecooked family meal. It awoke a yearning inside of him that he’d suppressed ever since his grandmother’s passing.
He watched Summer pick up her fork and twist up a giant helping of his pasta that filled the entire utensil, and his palms began to sweat. He didn’t know why he cared what she thought about his cooking, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out of his way to impress a woman, but he wanted to impress the hell out of her—and her family.
Suddenly, it was about more than just winning a bet. It was about proving to Summer that he wasn’t this monster she’d made him out to be. And he needed time to do that. Time to turn her opinion of him in his favor.
They were going to be working next door to each other—at least until he moved on to the next project, which would be Los Angeles. It would be nice to live in harmony. Even better would be to take the feud between the sheets and argue it out in bed. He’d meant what he’d said, they’d shatter the sheetrock. He was sure of it.
But while he knew she wanted him, he was pretty sure she still hated him. Which meant he needed a plan. And a good one. He only had a week to prove to her that they’d be great together—physically. Emotionally, they were like oil and vinegar. But if he could just occupy her mouth for two minutes, he knew he could get into her bed.
“Go on, love. Take a bite,” he encouraged.
She took a sniff and then crinkled her nose at him. His stomach dropped. Then those lush lips of hers parted and she put the fork in, and he knew the minute she realized that he wasn’t bullshitting about his cooking prowess. Her extraordinary eyes went wide with genuine surprise and then something resembling panic flickered there. This wasn’t going to be the sweep she’d expected.
“So?” he asked. “Too much olive oil?”
“It isn’t terrible. A little overcooked, but not terrible,” she said quietly, and he laughed. “I’d give it an eight out of ten.”
“It’s a winner and you know it.”
“We’ll have to see what the judges say,” she said primly. “But don’t get your hopes up, you still haven’t tasted mine.”
“Then let’s rectify that.” He picked up his fork and spoon and twisted up a small bite of noodles, twirling it against his spoon so that it didn’t splatter everywhere. He took a sniff and examined the noodles.
“For God’s sake, this isn’t a wine tasting. Just eat the damn pasta,” she whispered, exasperation in her tone.
“Nervous?”
“Irritated.”
“Turned on?”
“You wish. Now take a bite.”
He catalogued the nerves tugging at her lower lip. Interesting.
To put her out of her misery, Wes took a bite, and bam, it was like a food-induced orgasm. Perfectly cooked, the right firmness, and the exact right ratio of flour to egg yolks. Perfection.
He took his time chewing, really dragging it out to piss her off. She sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest with impatience. He licked his lips.
“So?” she asked when he was done with the big display.
He took the cloth napkin and dabbed the corners of his mouth. “In one word?”
He leaned in until their thighs were brushing and he could smell the faint scent of jasmine, sea air, and parsley on her skin. He ran his nose down the shell of her ear and whispered, “Orgasmic.”
He could hear her breath catch and see the pulse at the base of her neck race. She slowly turned to look at him and her eyes dilated with desire. They fell to his lips and slowly tracked back up, and when their gazes locked again he could have sworn she moaned.
Yup, she felt it. He wasn’t in this craziness alone.
“What are you two talking about over there?” Autumn said, with brows raised and suspicion in her words.
“Noodles,” Summer said casually, but her voice was pitched.
“From here it looked like the topic was closer to ca- noodling.”
Summer shot Autumn a murderous look and Autumn just smiled. The rest of the family exchanged looks of their own, as if having a conversation about him and Summer without including him and Summer—and he didn’t think he’d like what they were saying. It was one thing for him to shag her, it was another for her family to play Cupid.
“Now that you mention it,” Blanche said, “they are sitting quite close together.”
Summer moved so fast to the other side of her chair that she nearly fell off. Wes reached over to steady her with a hand on her thigh and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Cecilia pressed a palm to her chest. “Oh my.”
That was it, just “oh my,” but Summer reacted as if she’d just announced that her nonna had arisen from the dead.
“Yeah, oh my,” Randy said, in a WTF tone directed at Wes.
“What is your heritage, dear?” Cecilia asked Wes.
“Half Scottish and half Italian.”
“Italian, you say. Isn’t that interesting, Summer?”
“Very interesting,” Autumn chimed in.
Summer looked as if she wanted to curl up and die, and Wes felt a protectiveness wash over him. He didn’t mind putting her on the spot, pushing her buttons, but he didn’t like it when other people did. Even if they were her family.
He needed to erase that discomfort from her face—immediately. So he moved his leg so that it bumped her thigh. Instead of pulling away, she actually swayed closer to him, and then to his utter surprise she took his hand under the table.
“What’s interesting is that nearly everyone finished their plates,” Wes said. “I think it’s time for a vote. Push forward the plate you think is superior.”
Everyone glanced at the others while Summer nervously squeezed his hand—hard. Clearly, there was more to this than just besting him. Coming out the winner went deeper than a bet for her. Summer was a people-pleaser to her core, and wanted desperately to have her family on her side. Wes almost said that they should call off the bet, but then Frank made the first move, pushing his daughter’s dish forward. Wes was surprised when Cecilia pushed his forward.
One by one they went around the table until it was three to three, then Summer pushed her plate forward and glared at him.
“A tie? This can’t end on a tie,” she said. “There has to be a winner.”
“Why, dear?” Blanche asked. “Does the loser do the dishes?”
“Oh, my senses are telling me there’s more at stake than a dirty kitchen,” Cecilia said.
“I don’t know,” Giuseppe said. “We all know what the kitchen looks like after Summer’s been in there.”
“Pig Pen,” her family said in unison, and there it flashed again. That same look she’d given him earlier in the kitchen when he’d poked fun at her cooking style.
She went from smiling to shutters closed in no time flat. Being called out for her free-spirited nature clearly upset her. But it was as if everyone else in the room was too busy laughing at the inside joke to realize that it was leaving Summer on the outside.
Before someone could say anything else to upset her, he said, “Actually, we have a winner.”
Every expression in the room went wide with surprise when he cast his vote and pushed Summer’s bowl forward.
“You’re voting for me?”
“It is the superior dish,” he said quietly. “I might hate to lose but not as much as I hate to lie. Congratulations.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected. For her to burst into song and dance at his early departure? But it sure as hell wasn’t a frown. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes.” He wiped his lips with his napkin and stood. “Yes, I do. As for our deal—”
“Forget the bet. Let’s just call it a tie.”
“A bet is a bet, love.”
“Speaking of love,” Randy interrupted. “I have an announcement. Well, more of a gift.”
Wes’s stomach bottomed out. Less than a few hours ago his brother had promised to take things slow and now he was presenting a small jewelry-shaped box like it was the Crown Jewels. Jesus, this couldn’t be happening. Summer was right—their siblings were losing their minds.
“It’s not a ring,” he said, and thank Jesus. “But it’s a promise of sorts.”
Autumn squealed with delight as she took the gift like a lady who was used to getting jewelry-shaped boxes. It was hard to give her the benefit of the doubt when she was so easily accepting of what probably amounted to a fifty-thousand-dollar gift a month into a relationship. It just proved love had a price.
Autumn’s smile was as wide as Summer’s frown. It was like Pooh Bear with a pot of honey versus Eeyore with a prickly thistle.
After some fanfare, Autumn opened the box and gave a dramatic gasp. “Is this what I think it is?”
Jesus, what was it? She held the box to her chest so that no one could see what was in there. But her face said it would set the family back more than fifty grand.
“It is, babe.”
“The one on the Upper West Side?”
“It is.”
“It’s too much.”
“My woman deserves the best.”
“Would you two like to fill us in?” Summer said, and although the rest of the family couldn’t see, her hands were in her lap wrung so tightly they were white.
Autumn flipped the box around and his stomach didn’t just bottom out—it felt like a wrecking ball went right through his middle. Because attached to some gaudy keychain was a set of house keys.
“Randy bought us our dream house,” Autumn said, and the ladies at the table swooned in harmony. All except Summer, who looked confused.
“You hate that part of town,” Summer said.
“Not the Upper West Side in Ridgefield, silly. Manhattan,” Autumn said, and Wes watched the color drain from Summer’s face and quickly catalogued the devastation bracketing her mouth.
“Manhattan?” Blanche asked. “You’ve always dreamed of living there.”
“What a wonderful place to start your new life,” Cecilia said.
Frank said nothing, but quietly reached under the table to take Summer’s hand. She gripped it like it was the one thing holding her together.
Autumn looked at Randy all cow-eyed. “That’s what we said when we saw it. Summs, you’ll die when you come visit. It’s this cute brownstone with brick steps and an iron rail, just like You’ve Got Mail . And, Dad, there’s an actual yard, which is so hard to come by in that neighborhood. I’m going to have the best garden.”
“You hate getting your hands dirty,” Summer pointed out.
“Oh, we’d hire someone,” Randy said.
Of course he would . I mean, what’s an extra five hundred bucks a month when you blow a cool three mill on a “starter house.”
“You bought a house for my sister without consulting her?” Summer asked.
Randy looked uncertain. “It’s romantic, right?”
“It’s selfish. You’re assuming she wants to leave the state, leave her family.”
“It’s a sign of maturity to stop wasting money on rent and invest in a home,” Randy countered softly.
“It isn’t if half the partnership can’t afford the mortgage,” Wes said under his breath.
“Oh, I never expected her to pay for it. I’m doing this for her. It’s a surprise and a gift.”
“What the actual fuck?” Wes said. “What happened to taking it slow? And how are you going to run the Ridgefield location from New York? We still have to get it running and profitable. Then there’s the LA location.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“No, you mean I’ll make it work.”
“Don’t ruin this moment for me, man. I’ve been waiting to do this in front of her family for weeks. Hell, since I met the girl.”
Funny—Wes had been trying to get him to just come back to the country for weeks without much success. Now he knew why. Wes was trying to avoid a board takeover while Randy was busy playing house with a gold digger.
There were a ton of questions from around the table about square footage—two thousand and eighteen to be exact—was it close to restaurants—only the best for his baby. Summer, on the other hand, had gone uncharacteristically quiet. Sitting stock still in her chair, devastation written in every inch of her posture, her lips working really hard not to quiver.
“So you’re leaving Ridgefield?” Summer asked in a hushed whisper, and the table went silent.
“I know what you’re thinking, Summs, and I promise you nothing will change. Ridgefield is only a couple hours by train. We’ll see each other all the time.”
“When did you even have time to look at houses?”
Autumn and Randy shared a guilty look. “We actually came back to the States a few days ago and spent the weekend in New York, and thought it would be fun to go house hunting on a whim.”
“When were you going to tell me you were thinking of moving out?”
“I didn’t know it would be this soon. I mean, why get everyone all excited if it didn’t work out. Plus, you know I’ve always dreamed of living there.”
“I know,” Summer said with the saddest fucking smile Wes had ever seen. “I’m happy for you. But it’s just a big change all at once. I mean, your job is here, your friends are here.” I’m here hung in the air, but Autumn wasn’t reading the room.
“Those things come and go, and you can’t move forward when you’re stuck in the same place.”
Summer winced at her sister’s statement, because she was stuck. Her business was in Ridgefield, she couldn’t just pack up at a moment’s notice and move based on some whim. Another reason why they could never work.
“You’re happy about this, right?” Autumn asked, once again playing on Summer’s loyalty to her family and selflessness.
“Why not? I mean, people come and go.”
“She just learned about this, maybe we should let the happy couple work it out,” Wes said.
Randy looked flustered. “I really thought I was doing a sweet thing. This is sweet, right, babe?”
Autumn took his hand and smiled. “It is. You are the most romantic person on the planet.”
“Eventually, my work will be stationed in New York, and I don’t want what happened between Wes and his ex-fiancée to happen to us. Distance is brutal on a relationship and he had to walk away from love.”
Summer’s eyes met his, and he felt the full weight of her judgment. “You gave up love for a job?”
“Not all of us have your choices.”
“Yes, you do. And you should choose love, every time. No question.”
And that was when he was reminded of the true romantic and naive girl who believed love ruled the world. She was a dreamer and he was a doer. Not that she didn’t work hard, but her dream was wrapped up in a thousand square feet of romance novels. His was one billion-dollar project after another. Another reason to not get involved—he’d already left a woman once for a job.
Randy raised his hand as if to speak. Frank, who seemed about as excited by the news as Summer and Wes, gave him the floor. “I want to do this right.”
Summer gasped. “So the right thing is she gives up her life for yours? How 1950s of you.”
Her dad put a hand on Summer’s arm. “I think what Summer is trying to say is that she and Autumn are very close and being away from each other will be hard.”
“But Wes and I did it. We flew back and forth for years.”
“But we’re not you and Wes. It’s not apples to apples. My sister and I mean everything to each other,” Summer said, her misery so acute it physically pained him.
Autumn straightened. “If I meant everything to you, you would be happy for me right now. No one has ever done anything this sweet for me. Ever.”
“I just feel like you’re giving up yourself to make someone else happy.
“Isn’t that the definition of love?”
“Not if you’re the only one sacrificing,” Summer said. “Can’t you two see that this is moving too fast?”
“You are such a hypocrite. You were willing to give up huge parts of yourself to make it work with Ken. I mean, you’re even considering going to his wedding to prove to, well, who knows, that you’re still friends.”
“We are still friends.”
This was news to Wes and he didn’t like it—not one bit. Sure, it was one thing ito retain a friendship with an ex, but going to his wedding because she had something to prove surely meant that she wasn’t over him—and where did that leave Wes?
“In what dream world? He left you for a stupid entry-level job. And you’re upset that a man who loves me and wants to be with me took a step toward being in a serious relationship? Oh, I forgot, you don’t know about those.”
“Low blow, Autumn,” Summer whispered. “Am I the only one seeing red flags here?” she asked the room. “This isn’t like Autumn.”
“Maybe it’s Autumn in love,” Blanche said.
“And didn’t you just say that you should choose love every time,” Randy said, and those misty eyes went pissy. They were hot with anger.
“Thanks for that helpful reminder,” she said as she stood. She set her napkin on her chair and left. Wes was torn between going after her and killing Randy. But Summer purposefully didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, a clear fuck-off to the room, and Randy was filling everyone else in on the house’s history and multiple patios.
Wes hadn’t felt as helpless as he did right then since he’d been the unwanted kid on the outside who didn’t fit into either world in front of him.