Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
H e heard Iris’s footsteps this time, so he was prepared for her appearance in the kitchen and didn’t make a fool of himself by pouring pancake batter down his front.
‘Did I wake you?’ he asked as she settled herself at the stool across from him on the island. She was wearing a pair of shorts under her T-shirt tonight, thank God.
‘No, I was just having trouble falling asleep.’
‘Is your room not comfortable? Because I could…’
‘No, no, the room is fine. Very comfortable.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, just couldn’t sleep.’
‘Hmm.’ He went back to sifting the flour into his bowl. Maybe the pancakes weren’t fluffy enough.
‘What are you making?’
‘Pancakes.’
‘You’re making pancakes at midnight?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why?’
He let out an exasperated sigh, but only found Iris smiling at him when he looked up. She was beautiful when she smiled.
No. Not allowed.
‘The diner patrons aren’t happy with my changes to the menu.’
‘Oh, yeah that doesn’t surprise me. This town can be very stuck in its ways.’
‘Hmm.’
‘So why don’t you just go back to the old recipe?’
‘Because I don’t know it,’ he ground out, getting more frustrated the more they talked about it.
‘But you’re a chef.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you can’t figure out how to make pancakes?’
He dropped the whisk he was using into the bowl with a clatter. Iris flinched.
‘I can make pancakes just fine.’
‘So, the problem is…’
‘The problem is that the people in this town want them to taste exactly how they used to taste, and I don’t have the recipe and the old cook is gone and the rest of the staff won’t cooperate, and I just need to figure it out…’
He pressed his hands flat onto the counter, his head hanging between his shoulders. Iris laid her hand over his and stopped his spiraling thoughts. Her fingers were cool and comforting. She gave him a little squeeze before pulling her hand back again.
‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out.’
‘Why would you be sure about that?’ he asked, and he really wanted to know. Why on earth would Iris be sure about him doing anything? He’d done nothing but fail spectacularly since he got here.
She shrugged, her long braid sliding over her shoulder. ‘You seem like a guy who figures things out. You know,’ she gestured toward him, waving her hand in his general direction like she had when she’d been wondering about his tattoos. He felt his body light up, like she’d actually touched him. ‘Very competent and all that.’
He huffed a laugh. ‘Yep, super competent. A chef who can’t make pancakes and a dad who can’t get his kid to talk to him.’
‘She talked to you today.’
He frowned. ‘Only because you tricked her into it.’
‘I’m pretty sure half of dealing with kids is just tricking them into doing stuff.’
He couldn’t help his gruff laugh. Maybe he should be more concerned about his nanny talking about tricking his kid, but at this point he was just so grateful that he and Olive had had a positive interaction that he wasn’t going to question Iris’s techniques.
‘I think she’s a little afraid of you,’ she said.
‘Afraid of me? Why would she be afraid of me?’ Was that true? He’d tried so hard to be gentle around Olive, soft. He’d offered to color with her for Christ's sake. What else did he have to do, sing nursery rhymes?
It was Iris’s turn to sigh in frustration. ‘Because Olive spent her whole life with her mom and now you’re like this big, intimidating man in her life.’
‘I’m not intimidating.’
Iris rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, okay.’
‘I didn’t … I mean, I’m trying … I don’t yell at her or anything.’
‘You don’t have to yell, it’s your whole vibe.’
‘My vibe?’
She sighed again. ‘Yes, your very intense vibe. Like the way you’re staring at me right now it’s as if you can see through to my bones or something. It’s unnerving.’
He blinked and looked away. He hadn’t realized he was staring at her.
‘I have a hard time believing you didn’t know any of this. You spend your day bossing around people in your kitchen, right? I mean, aren’t you intimidating on purpose?’
‘Not here. Not at home. I just…’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know how to do this.’
‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out.’
‘Like the pancakes?’
She gave him a soft smile that permeated through all the shit he was feeling at the moment, leaving him warm. ‘Like the pancakes.’
He looked away again, busying himself with adding the wet ingredients to the dry. ‘Do you want to be my taste tester?’ he asked when the batter was done, and Iris was still sitting at the island watching him.
‘Do I want to eat pancakes in the middle of the night? Uh, yes please.’
He couldn’t help his smile. There was something contagious about Iris’s easy comfort. He shouldn’t have encouraged her being here with him in the middle of the night. He should have sent her back to bed, drawn a line, set a boundary between them. They weren’t lovers or even friends. She worked for him. He shouldn’t be pouring out his problems to her and he certainly shouldn’t be letting her comfort him.
But as disciplined as Archer was in the kitchen, he’d always been reckless with women. He could never seem to help himself. He liked women. He liked their softness. Too many times he’d fallen into bed with the wrong woman just because he’d needed a soft place to land.
Archer made bad choices with women. And so, he melted butter in the pan and poured in enough batter for one big pancake.
‘Will you do the fancy-flip thing?’
‘Fancy-flip thing?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, trying and failing to not be thrilled that Iris wanted to watch him cook. For the first time in two weeks, he felt like he knew what he was doing, that he was in control. Like his real self was clicking back into place.
‘The thing where you flick the pan and flip the pancake without using a spatula.’
Archer flashed her a cocky smirk and flipped the pancake with just a flick of his wrist. Iris clapped and he felt like he could do anything.
He slid the pancake onto a plate on the counter between them and handed Iris a fork. Her gaze drifted to his before taking a bite. Archer might be failing at a lot of things at the moment, but he still knew when a woman was into him and the heat in Iris’s eyes was irrefutable.
She chewed slowly, a little sigh of happiness leaving her lips. Archer watched intently, waiting for the verdict.
‘It’s delicious,’ she said, taking another piece. ‘But it’s not the same.’
Archer was leaning on the counter now, elbows on the smooth surface. He took his own forkful of pancakes. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
Iris shrugged. ‘Is it weird if I say it’s too good?’
‘Too good?’
‘It tastes too good. Too fluffy. I think maybe the old diner pancakes were denser.’
Okay, so sifting the flour was out.
‘Did you try a mix?’ she asked, popping in another bite. ‘Aunt Jemima or something?’
‘You want me to make pancakes using a mix?’
Iris laughed. ‘Jeez, you sound like you’re about to have a stroke. It was just a suggestion.’
He tried to calm down whatever horrified expression was on his face, but seriously, a mix? There was no way he was serving people food made from a mix. That was unacceptable.
‘I’ll tweak the recipe again, but I’m not using a mix.’
Iris smiled at him as she finished off the pancake. ‘So, you’re really good at this, huh?’
‘Cooking? Yeah, I hope so at this point.’ He smirked and made more bad decisions. ‘Stay home for dinner tomorrow and I’ll make you some real food.’ She’d been out to eat with her cousin her first few nights here, but suddenly he wanted to see her face when he fed her more than this disappointing pancake.
Dangerous thoughts, Archer. She’s not yours to cook for.
But when everything else felt like failure, Iris’s smile felt like success. He wanted more of it.
Iris’s smile grew. ‘Okay, I’ll let you make me dinner.’ She hopped down from the stool. ‘Goodnight, Archer.’
It wasn’t until she was out of sight that he realized he was staring again.