Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
GAbrIEL
T he concierge called to inform me that Leah’s things had been delivered, and she was now in the building. Before I could stop myself, I was outside her apartment. I had to divert my gaze when she opened the door, her hair in a messy ponytail, her hips hugged in tight faded jeans, the sloppy off-the-shoulder sweater showing glimpses of her ivory skin. Gone was some of the tension she’s been holding all week. Instead, she looked stunning in her casual clothes.
My phone pings.
LEAH:
Thank you for all the food. You didn’t need to do that.
ME:
No problem, I had an order myself.
I lie.
I keep in the basics but buy my dinner nightly from one of the local restaurants. But Leah mentioned earlier in the week that she would need to shop when she arrived. She didn’t want to cart food with her, so I thought I’d save her the trouble. I’ve never been one for cooking myself.
LEAH:
Let me cook you dinner as a thank you.
ME:
You don’t have to.
LEAH:
I’d like to. You’ve been so kind.
ME:
What time?
There’s a pause. Oh shit, maybe she didn’t mean tonight.
ME:
Don’t worry if you didn’t mean tonight.
LEAH:
It’s fine. I’m cooking for myself. Say 19:30?
ME:
I’ll be there.
LEAH:
See you then.
I spend the rest of the day in my home office, counting down the hours. A thought hits, will Leah’s friends still be there? My stomach rolls at the prospect. They seemed nice, but...
I pick up my phone, ready to cancel, but put it down again.
Cancelling at the last minute is not cool. I jumped at the chance to see her, not even waiting for a formal invite, so it serves me right.
Grabbing two bottles of wine from my stash, I head to the elevator, taking the trip down one floor. Stepping out, an amazing smell assaults my senses. I follow my nose, and it leads me to Leah’s door. I knock and wait.
The door swings open, and I take in the sight. Leah has changed into blue skinny jeans and a tight-fitting jumper. When she smiles, my mouth goes dry.
“Gabriel, come in,” she says, stepping away from the door to allow me to enter. I step inside. The transformation in such a short time is unbelievable. This place has gone from a sterile apartment to a home in just a few hours. Photos, souvenirs, cushions, throws.
“Quite the transformation,” I say, following Leah towards the kitchen and placing the bottles of wine on the unit. “I wasn’t sure what we were having, so I brought one of each,” I say, gesturing to the wine.
“That’s kind, but you didn’t need to. This is, after all, a thank you meal,” she says, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. “Would you like to do the honours? We’re having a vegetable lasagne,” she adds, colour rising in her cheeks. “I hope that’s okay? I’m a pescatarian.”
“It’s fine,” I reply, before realising what I’ve just said. I hold up a hand. “What I should have said is that no one other than my mother or Betsy, my mum’s cook, has cooked for me in a long time. So, home-cooked food is well received.”
A furrow appears between her brows, so I elaborate. “I don’t cook. I get most of my food from the local restaurants.” I list Monday, Tuesday, etc., and which restaurants supply which days.
Leah places her hands on her hips and gives me a stern look. “That’s just sad and stopping now. If you enjoy tonight’s meal, I’m happy to cook extra every night. I always cook for myself, and cooking for two is better than cooking for one. I can deliver it up, or you can join me. I’m easy either way.”
I stare wide-eyed at the woman in front of me. I meant what I said. No one ever has cooked for me, not nightly. Rachel and I didn’t live together. One of her many bugbears. She also preferred eating out.
“I didn’t mean. I don’t expect,” I say, suddenly wondering if Leah feels indebted, and this is her way of making it up to me.
“You might want to try my food first,” she laughs. “Saying no won’t offend me, but the offer is on the table.”
She smiles, and I know I’ll be taking her up on her offer.
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
“Pour us some drinks, and if you can grab the salad out of the fridge,” she says, opening the oven to a whoosh of delicious-smelling air. My stomach grumbles, and I do as she asks.
I open the red and pour it into two glasses. It’s the same red I tried at Tristan’s. He delivered my latest wine order earlier in the week.
I move to the large American fridge freezer and open it. A salad bowl sits, pre-made, on the shelf. I pick it up and carry it over to the table, where Leah has set two places.
“Are your friends not eating with us?” I ask.
Leah smiles as she carries over a large oven dish bubbling with lasagna.
“No. They have prior engagements. It’s also not much of a thank you if there are other people here too.” She places the food on a mat and returns to the fridge, grabbing a small jug of something. She places it next to the salad as I return with our wine glasses.
When we finally sit, Leah dishes up.
“Help yourself to salad,” she says. “The dressing is my mother’s recipe.”
“Thank you.”
I help myself.
We sit in silence until Leah raises her glass .
“To new beginnings. Bon appetite,” she adds, clinking her glass to mine.
“To new beginnings.”
We eat and talk, and most surprisingly, I laugh. I’m shocked at how easily the conversation flows. I usually hate small talk, but Leah keeps a balance at work and at home. In the end, we’ve left the office behind and are sharing our likes and dislikes in movies, music and places to eat.
“So, what do you think?” Leah asks when we’ve finally finished. Not just the food but the bottle of wine.
“Delicious,” I say honestly.
“Would you be interested in home cooked from now on? I cook for myself, so it’s really no bother.”
“Let me pay for the food,” I say, only to receive a scowl.
“Hard no!” Leah says. “You can see this as another item on the list you gave me?”
“Only if I can supply the wine.”
Leah picks up the bottle and studies it. “Deal. You have impeccable taste. Although I don’t tend to drink during the week,” she says, her lips tilting.
“I have the occasional glass, but it’s not much fun drinking alone,” I admit.
I have a feeling the comment about the wine holds more significance than I realise. But then her fiancé was at Tristan’s. Maybe Leah is used to drinking good wine.
As if sensing my unasked question.
“Vince and his trader buddies drink expensive wine.”
I notice she doesn’t mention she does.
We leave the conversation, as I don’t really want to talk about her ex and instead help Leah tidy up.
“Thank you,” I say, making my way to the door.
“You’re welcome,” Leah says. “I’ll draw up a menu, and you can let me know if there’s anything you don’t eat. ”
“I’m not fussy,” I say. “Any home-cooked food will be a bonus.”
I head back upstairs, not sure what to make of the evening, but knowing I’m already looking forward to our next meal.
Over the next couple of weeks, Leah and I fall into an easy pattern. Some evenings, we eat together, but usually, if she knows I’m going to be working late, she plates me up a dinner and places it in my warming drawer. Those nights, I find myself missing her and her insights into business and life.
The Callahan presentation goes incredibly well, as I knew it would. Leah is present, along with the rest of the team.
“I’m impressed, Frazer,” he says, shaking my hand after I walk him to the elevator.
“Thank you. I hope you will see it as a reason to move your business to Frazer Investments. As a boutique hedge fund, we offer a more personalised client service than some of our larger competitors.” I use the words I’ve heard Leah sprout a hundred times over the years.
Callahan nods, his smile giving me positive vibes.
“I like you, and I like your team. A very professional outfit you have here.”
It’s at that moment Leah joins us.
“Here are the extra packs you wanted,” she says, handing over the printed prospectus.
“Thank you, Leah,” he says, motioning for his PA to take them. “I was just saying to Gabriel here what a professional outfit he has created. I like it. That and the longevity of the staff. You keep your staff happy, Gabriel. That’s the sign of a good leader. ”
I freeze at his condescending tone. I may only be twenty-nine, young in terms of all I’ve achieved. But I know how to run a business. Callahan is in his sixties. Old school. One look from Leah, and I know not to take offence.
Leah nods and smiles at him. “I’ve been here since the beginning and wouldn’t want to work anywhere else.”
Callahan seems to like her reply. He shakes our hands and leaves. Leah follows me back to my office.
I motion for her to close the door.
“I think that went well,” I say, only to have her squeal and throw her arms around my neck.
She steps back, her eyes wide.
“Sorry,” she says awkwardly, smoothing down her dress. When she looks up, she gives me a shy smile. “I’d say it went better than okay. You were amazing. Looking at his response and everyone on his team. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t come on board.”
I stare at her, speechless. In eight years, I’ve never seen Leah so animated. She never really lets on how a meeting has gone. She’ll congratulate me, celebrate with the team when we gain a new client. But she’s always held herself apart, maintained her professional boundaries.
Now, there is this. Our growing friendship. We have spent quite a few evenings working on this presentation over dinner. Pride swells in my chest at her praise. Not that I need it. I’m good at what I do - better than good. But for some reason, her recognising it makes it feel—more.
“Tonight, I’ll make us an extra special dinner to celebrate,” she says, after we discuss a few additional points that came up in the meeting.
“I’ll look forward to it,” I say, watching her leave and finding myself meaning every word.