30. Ariel Cambridge
Chapter thirty
Ariel Cambridge
I walk into Brock’s kitchen feeling as if I’m living in a fever dream. Brock is standing at the stove cooking while Wyatt Parker’s song “Angel Baby” plays through a nearby speaker. Brock’s messy blond hair looks like spun gold in the soft glow of morning.
He turns toward the kitchen island and smiles when he sees me. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
I blink a few times, wondering if perhaps I really am still asleep. He watches me, amusement in his gaze. “I slept well. Did you ever go to bed?”
I walk over to the stove. There are mushrooms in the pan. Brock adds a handful of spinach, and it begins wilting. The kitchen air smells like butter and salt, two things I happen to adore.
“I managed to snag a couple of hours. When I woke up before you, I thought I’d return the favor of all the meals you made while we were at the cabin.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That’s sweet of you. Do you need any help?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t have much here. Shocker, I know.” He shoots me a boyish grin that makes my stomach flip. “But I think this will make for a decent omelet. Just remember you’re the chef between us.”
Us . The word floats on the air like the petals of a dandelion. I want to snatch it and tuck it against my chest, but I know I shouldn’t. Brock and I are nothing more than friends.
“It smells amazing. I’m sure it’ll be great.” I give him an encouraging smile.
The song changes to another Wyatt Parker one called “Willow Tree”.
“This is a favorite of mine,” I say to Brock as I lean on the counter nearby.
“Yeah?” He smirks. “I know you’re obsessed with him, so I figured you’d like to be woken up this way.”
I roll my eyes. “Obsessed is a strong word.” And entirely correct.
“So if he showed up asking you to marry him, you wouldn’t immediately say yes?”
“He’s already married, and he has kids. His family is adorable.” I eat up every glimpse of them shared online. They stay offline a lot, but his wife Grace likes to share snippets of their home life occasionally.
“Let’s say he wasn’t married.”
“I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” My tone makes it sound obvious. “He’s hot, blond, and can sing.”
“So you have a thing for blonds?”
“Of course that’s the detail you latch on to,” I say, trying to keep my tone level. Meanwhile, my heart has picked up speed. I wouldn’t say I have a thing for blonds, but I do find certain ones attractive. Brock included, unfortunately.
“It was important enough that it made the top three for you.”
He pours beaten eggs over the mushroom and spinach mixture.
“I wouldn’t say that’s the top three things I want in a man. It’s just what came to mind about Wyatt first. I’m not shallow.”
Brock chuckles. “I didn’t say you were, Duke. I’m teasing you and flattering myself with the thought you find me attractive.”
My face heats. I look down at my bare feet.
“Out of curiosity, what are the top three things?” he asks as he sprinkles cheese over the omelet.
“Oh, um, I don’t know if I have just three.”
“Name a few, then.”
I toy with the hem of his shirt. I’ve thought of this sort of thing plenty, but never shared it with anyone other than Sutton and occasionally Bethanne.
“I guess I’d want him to be ambitious and goal-oriented, since that’s how I am.
Into fitness, but maybe not so much so that he wants me to run a marathon.
” Brock and I both share a laugh. “Of course I need to have chemistry. The bane of my existence.” I sigh.
“But I think the most important thing is that he would care about me and put me first. The way that Shaw does for Sutton, you know?”
He nods and flips the omelet.
“I want an earth-shattering kind of love,” I continue. “The kind that others would take one look at and just know we were in love.”
“So you want to be as sickening as Shaw and Sutton?” he asks.
I smile. “Worse, I think.”
He laughs. “I don’t know if it can get worse than them.”
“Maybe not, but I want to find out.”
Brock sets an omelet on a plate in front of me. He meets my gaze. “You will. A woman like you is made for that kind of love.”
Unexpected tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“Thanks,” I whisper, afraid to say anything more for fear I’ll start crying.
Brock looks like he’s about to say more, when his phone starts to buzz on the counter. He pauses for a second before turning and grabbing it.
“Jones,” he answers. “ What? ” The tone of his voice makes my eyebrows raise. “When? Last night!” he exclaims. “Get me the next flight out. Tell them I’m on my way.”
He hangs up and starts haphazardly throwing stuff in the fridge.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“One of my clients is in some kind of trouble. I have to head to California for a few days to fix it.” His voice is tight. “I should already be on a flight. I can’t believe I missed the news alert yesterday.”
“I don’t think anyone can reasonably expect you to know about everything as soon as it happens,” I say, hoping to help him feel less frustrated.
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Yes, they can, and they should. This is my job. I’ve been trying to explain that to you.”
I flinch at his sharp tone. “I was trying to help. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Yeah, well, your help has distracted me, and now I’m a beat behind when I should be a step ahead.”
He slams the fridge shut. I stand in front of him and cross my arms.
“No, you don’t get to talk to me that way. Not after this.” I gesture to the breakfast. “Things are different now, Brock. You can’t flip a switch and change because of one incident.”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t changed anything. That’s the problem. You think that a couple of days away from work is going to make me want something different, but it hasn’t. This is what’s most important.” He holds up his phone.
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t have to, but it’s true.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I need to get going. I have a flight to catch. Your car is out front. Stay as long as you need to.”
“So, that’s it? You’re going to leave like this.”
“What more is there to say?”
We stand in his kitchen watching each other. There’s so much I could say, but what’s the point? After all we’ve gone through, I thought he was changing. I wasn’t so delusional as to think he didn’t have a long way to go, but I thought I saw a marked difference. Maybe I was wrong.
“Nothing, I guess.” My voice falls flat. “Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks.”
He stalks out of the kitchen. Wyatt’s music still plays softly. I go to the speaker and turn it off, abandoning the omelet on the counter.