11. Tasha
CHAPTER 11
Tasha
B y the grace of God, July flew by. Monty did his best to avoid the kitchen when I was in it, but I’d often spy him taste-testing my Crock-Pot creations when he thought I wasn’t looking. With him eating half the leftovers, I had to cook more often, but I didn’t mind.
It gave me more chances to experiment. Monty made up for eating my food by regularly having groceries delivered, which decreased my trips to the wholesale club and farmers’ market, and there were always more than enough ingredients in the orders for whatever I wanted to make. I suspected he’d raided my cookbook. How else would he have known to order some of the obscure items I regularly kept on hand, like specific gluten-free snacks and rice paper wraps?
One Saturday in August, I was in the kitchen chopping veggies when he walked through the door juggling multiple empty boxes I’d just unpacked and set in the hall for my next trip down to the dumpster. A huge smile was plastered on his face. He let the boxes fall to the carpet as Parfait ran to greet him. He scooped up the cat and carried him to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living area.
“Do not let him on the counter,” I warned. The cat liked to drink from the running faucet. I’d given up trying to train him not to, but I drew the line when his fluff was close enough to shed on my food.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Monty said in the bored tone he liked to use with me.
“And why did you bring the trash back in?”
“I had an idea for a project. What are you making today?”
Monty was always collecting odds and ends the kids at the children’s hospitals could use in arts and crafts projects. “I thought I’d try out a chicken curry recipe. One that’s not too spicy.”
“Sounds good.” He tipped his chin toward the bundle of carrots next to the cutting mat. “You ever going to open up that restaurant you dreamed about when we were kids?”
I stiffened. That dream had died long ago, and it hurt to think about it.
“Palmer City has enough restaurants,” I said tightly, increasing the pressure on the knife. A carrot tip went flying across the counter, causing Parfait to paw at Monty’s arms to let him go so he could chase it. But Monty held on, his ridiculously big biceps twitching ever so slightly.
I looked away. From the muscles, and from the man whose pitying gaze was fixed on me.
“None of the restaurants in Palmer City are safe restaurants, though,” he said softly.
I shrugged. “The world isn’t safe. When my time is up, it’s up. Like I told Astoria last month, no restaurant can be completely safe. ”
“But the food can. Have you thought about opening a meal prep service?”
Had I thought about it? Only every other day.
I shrugged again. “Yeah, but I don’t have the startup cash. Never will.”
I pushed the diced carrots to the side of the mat and snuck a glance up at him. He looked thoughtful, watching me as I pulled the chives into my cutting space. I hoped that meant he was done speaking.
When I got to chopping the fresh coriander, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “What?” I asked him.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at me.”
He adjusted Parfait so the cat’s front paws were over his shoulder. “I like watching you work. You’re so good at it.”
Compliments from Montgomery Biddington were few and far between.
I almost smiled.
But my cheeks heated, and that was enough. He couldn’t know that the compliment affected me deeply.
“Thanks,” I squeaked out, my head still down.
He was quiet for a few beats, then blurted out, “I want to invest in your business!”
My head jerked up. “What business?”
“Your safe meal prep business. You have to do it, Tasha. People need it. And you’re the perfect person for the job. I bet you could put together the most amazing sugar-free dishes and desserts for Nana that wouldn’t send her A1C through the roof.”
I laughed. He really had no clue what it was like for anyone who didn’t have money coming out of their ears. “Montgomery, I can’t ever own a business. I need a job with insurance. Right now, my only dream is to pay my medical bills so I’m not dependent on my parents forever. They work too hard to work for my digestive problems.”
The look that crossed his face was one of confusion, then pity. “Well,” he said, “if that isn’t one of the most depressing things I’ve ever heard.”
“Yep, it stinks,” I said through my teeth. “But I don’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity you,” he said in a surprised tone. “I admire you.”
“Yeah, sure.” I waited for the rest of the statement, the part where he would leave a jab that was worse than the first part.
But it didn’t come. I continued prepping the food for the Crock-Pot and tried to ignore the tension in the air.
“What if we were partners?” he said slowly. “I can invest the initial startup costs, and then, once your business takes off, you’ll be making enough that you won’t need insurance and can pay cash for all your expenses.”
My heart warmed at his confidence that I could ever make enough money to cover my expenses. I had more medical debt than college debt at this point, and the only way I’d ever erase it was to marry a millionaire.
I shook my head. “It won’t be enough.”
“How much money could you possibly need? Let me take care of it. It’s the least I can do for you letting me live here.”
I gaped at him. “I’m not a charity case! I don’t want to be another of your pet projects.”
Monty set his shoulders back in defense. “My Cheerdanas have made me enough money to retire and fund Christmas gifts for pediatric oncology units at three hospitals.” He spoke plainly, not bragging. I could tell he was both proud of his achievement and wanted to keep private about its success.
I set the knife down and met his gaze. His sweat-wicking, stretchy, and easily folded bandanas were perfect for cheer athletes and stayed put through the most grueling practices. “That’s wonderful for you. I love that you’ve made your own money and aren’t dependent on your parents. That must be…” I swallowed and fought back the lump forming in my throat. “Such a relief and … freedom.”
I averted my gaze, not wanting any more of his concerned look casting on me. Some people were born with silver spoons in their mouths. Others weren’t. It didn’t matter that my ancestors had founded this town. Their fortune was gone, and I was on my own.
“I can help you get that, too,” he said softly. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t help my friends?”
He considered us friends? I turned away, not wanting him to see the water that was rimming my eyes. I walked to the fridge and did some rearranging, calling over my shoulder in as cool of a voice as I could muster. “I appreciate your offer. I do. It’s generous and kind. But I just can’t accept.”
“If you change your mind?—”
“I won’t!”
I closed the fridge and straightened up, setting my shoulders back and taking a deep breath, steeling myself to continue the conversation.
But Monty wasn’t at the bar when I returned to my cutting station.
And, if I admitted it to myself, I was kind of disappointed he’d given up on persuading me so quickly.