20. Wren #2
“Mmm,” Ridley purrs, sucking my earlobe between his teeth for a second. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I woke up at all.”
“Same. I’ve only been up for about ten minutes. Maybe you’re the cure for insomnia.”
His words make my brain stutter. Is that possible? After years of struggling, all I need is Ridley? I shake the thought away. No way am I indulging in dangerous fantasies like that. It had to be the supreme level of exhaustion finally taking over.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” he continues, forcing me to consider it. “You’re kind of special, rabbit.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I poke around in my brain for the reason I need. I know Ridley isn’t a love bomber. He doesn’t just say shit, and frankly, he has no reason to. He already has what he wants from me, so that means he actually wanted to say that to me. He believes it.
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing, jerking with surprise when Ridley’s phone vibrates loudly on his nightstand.
He groans, releasing me and twisting to pick it up. He sets it down without looking at it, but then it buzzes again and he grunts. “The house better be on fire.”
I turn over and watch him read the text, curious as a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Our presence, specifically yours, is being requested.”
“What do you mean?”
“Indy messaged asking if I know where you are. I guess Bane and Jerryn tried to make a soufflé for brunch and… well, look for yourself.”
He hands me the phone so I can look at the picture of exploded soufflé batter all over the oven. “Yikes.”
“They’re working on the second batch using the same recipe, so maybe an intervention’s needed if you’re not too tired.”
I hand the phone back, my gaze moving down Ridley’s etched and inked body to where the bedding barely covers his cock.
“Soufflé is tempting, but so are you.”
He grins. “I’m here all day, rabbit. Why don’t we pick up where we left off after brunch?”
“I could eat.”
“Mm, so could I, but regular food would be a good idea too.”
I find myself laughing as my chest fills with a new lightness I’m not at all used to. Is this how people feel after a solid night of sleep?
“Let’s do this. Tell Indy to stall them; I’m on my way. Meet you down there?”
Ridley nods. “Right behind you.”
I force myself out of bed, scooping my shorts off the floor and tossing them on before creeping from Ridley’s bedroom across the hall to mine.
I brush my teeth, run water through my hair, then find a clean t-shirt to toss on.
When I exit my bedroom, Ridley is coming out of his at the same time.
He smiles, glancing at the stairs with an inquisitive look on his face.
Here goes, I guess. We’ll walk down together and everyone will know, or at least assume, but I think I’m okay with that. More than half the people in this house are coupled up. So what if me and Ridley have a thing going. Right? Right.
He briefly squeezes the back of my neck as we walk down the stairs, but he releases me at the bottom to continue our walk to the kitchen. When we walk in, no one stares or gives us weird looks. We’re greeted as we usually are, except Bane looks relieved.
“Not sure where we went wrong, Chef.”
“Let me see your recipe.”
Frowning, Jerryn slides his tablet across the island toward me. “It had good reviews, and I’ve used this recipe blog before. I hate asking you to work on your day off.”
“You didn’t. I’m offering.” I look over the recipe, noting several flaws.
“The thing about soufflés is they’re finicky.
You have to beat the egg whites to the right consistency and fold them in with precision.
Outside of not knowing your technique, I would say your oven heat is too high and maybe this isn’t a big enough dish for it.
” I look up to see the guys’ deflated expressions.
“Would you like me to demonstrate it and then maybe you can try again next week?”
Jerryn’s expression lifts and he nods happily. “If you’re okay with it?”
“I am. I actually enjoy making them. Let’s start from the top.”
I walk through the process step by step using my own recipe I’ve been making since I decided I was into cooking.
It’s a simple cheese and ham with yummy chives, and I’m thankful to live in a house with Lowen, who insists on having a variety of fancy cheeses and fresh veggies in the house at all times.
“I like to use gruyère. It’s got a lovely nutty flavor that bites through the egginess,” I explain as I grate the cheese into the batter. “Did the oven get wiped down?”
“I took care of it,” Jerryn says.
“Great. Could someone turn the oven down to three seventy-five please?”
Lowen is cutting up fruit while Indy pours glasses of juice, and as I finish mixing the ingredients, a surge of warmth spreads through me.
The domesticity and normalcy of this moment isn’t lost on me.
It’s nice. For the first time in ages, I feel a sense of belonging both personally and professionally.
“The dish.” I hurry to the pantry, choose the best one, then return to the kitchen. “I like this one. It’s got high walls to give the soufflé room to spread and rise evenly.”
Jerryn nods, taking in every word as Bane hovers over the island, watching intently. I pour the batter into the casserole dish, then Jerryn opens the oven for me.
I set the timer. “Use the oven light to monitor progress. You absolutely do not want to open the door or you’ll risk the soufflé deflating, which is even sadder than exploding.”
“You made that look so easy,” Bane says. “It took us twice as long to pull that batter together.”
“Practice. I’ve done it more than you, but you both have the skills and enthusiasm for it. You’ll nail it next time.”
Lowen reaches across the island and squeezes my hand. “You’re going to do so well on the cooking segment. What we just witnessed is proof of that.”
I feel my cheeks heat, but I try to accept the compliment. “I hope it goes that smoothly. I’m comfortable with you guys.”
“We’ll be there to support you.”
“Thanks.” I’ve successfully ignored the impending TV appearance, but it’s coming soon. I selected two easy dishes to make that highlight what’s great about the restaurant but also don’t put too much pressure on me since the whole thing is only twenty minutes.
When I let myself glance over at Ridley, he’s looking at me like I just invented the soufflé. A mixture of excitement, fear, and borderline panic creeps through me. I want to keep this, but I don’t want to mess it up by wanting too much. I don’t want him to regret me.
I know what I need to do. It’s been pinging around my brain for months, but I think the time is now. If I’m ever going to have a healthy relationship again, I’ve got to exorcise the ghosts of ex-boyfriends past.
Guess it’s time I schedule that therapy appointment.