Chapter Three
Aasia carefully measured, took great pains in mixing, and sampled the product.
Yikes!
She spit out the mouthful into the trash can then scanned the ingredients on the counter in confusion. “Apples. Butter. Sugar. Cinnamon. Salt. Oh no.” She’d used a quarter cup of salt instead of a teaspoon.
She’d misread the recipe written in Aunt Pedora’s messy handwriting.
Aasia slumped her shoulders, feeling her frustration growing. Why couldn’t she learn the skill of making a simple dinner? She’d ruined the pie. The pie that was supposed to be the shining star.
Picking up the bowl and dumping the contents into the sink, she turned on the garbage disposal and watched the big fail disappear along with her pride.
Why was she trying so hard?
Why did she care that she couldn’t create a masterpiece?
What could be so difficult about making a pie anyway? Pedora made it appear as easy as mixing up a little of this and a little of that. And poof. A pie was born that made people nearly cry.
For heaven’s sake.
She couldn’t even roast a chicken for that matter…
The bird was burning.
She sprinted over and nearly choked to death on the smoke that rolled out from the oven when she opened the door.
Reaching for the oven mitts, she took out the pan of chicken cooked to a crisp and dropped it into the sink.
She used her foot to close the oven door as she stared in disdain at the ruined meal.
She leaned against the counter and stared at the chicken as if it had personally betrayed her. Everything was dusted in flour with nothing to show of it.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I can synthesize compounds with six-step reaction chains, balance equations, mix chemical experiments, but this…”
“What is room temperature butter?” She poked the recipe card as if it would answer back. “What room in what country?”
She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache brewing. She’d spent her life turning uncertainty into certainty. Living by formulas and logic. Flour and butter refused to be quantified.
Why did Bentley make her so stressed?
He’d called her that morning and said he would be dropping by that evening.
There was something they needed to discuss.
They’d barely said two words to each other since he’d been whisked away by work at Oscar’s three days ago.
Although she didn’t feel it was her duty to prove anything to him regarding her domestic skills, she wanted to prove something to herself.
She could do anything she set her mind to.
So why did preparing a decent meal seem like orchestrating a trip to another universe?
Pedora’s words that morning before she left for her road trip with her friends resounded through Aasia’s mind… “Don’t be too hard on yourself. How many people do we know who can recite the definitions of cellular structures and atomic behavior? Just one comes to my mind. You.”
Although Aasia appreciated her aunt’s boost of confidence, Bentley had instilled in Aasia that to be a part of his life a woman would have to prove to his mother that she could run a household.
Had they traveled back to the nineteen fifties?
Aasia didn’t need to prove anything, to anyone, and yet she felt like Bentley had placed a challenge before her.
Most mothers liked Aasia, but Francine was in a league all her own.
Aasia had a saying, “If the experiment fails it’s still a result.” Nothing in life was a failure, not even apple pie and burnt chicken. She might not be a skilled cook, but she was resourceful.
Going to the freezer she dug out a frozen lasagna and placed it into the oven.
After setting the timer, she refilled her wine glass and took it out onto the patio with her laptop.
She had time to relax before she had to face Bentley.
If he didn’t end things, she would. They’d come to a fork in the road.
She’d never add up to his expectations and she didn’t want to try any longer.
He’d come from a long line of housewives who supported their powerful husbands.
His mother and father had been married for at least thirty years and Bentley always bragged that his mother was the epitome of the perfect wife.
Aasia didn’t touch that statement with a ten-foot pole.
After fifteen minutes of meeting the haughty, borderline conceited, buttoned-up woman Aasia knew her future mother-in-law wasn’t the definition of perfect.
Far cry from it. She’d practically single-handedly tossed Aasia out on her ear when she admitted she didn’t cook or had any clue what “pressing trousers” meant.
Aasia had wanted to ask Francine when the last time was that she’d prepared a meal or did “pressing” or anything else on a man’s trousers, but she’d bit her tongue.
The cook and housekeeper weren’t in the Fletcher home just for looks.
Aasia sat in the wicker chair under the stringed lights surrounding the patio and read a text message from Bentley…
“See you at seven.”
He’d become consumed with his campaign for running for senator.
He’d been spending all his time attending political functions and usually dragging Aasia along with him to the high-society events.
Until lately. He seemed satisfied to attend alone.
That was fine by her. She had her own career that needed attention.
Her mind naturally wandered to Bear. She hadn’t seen him since that night at Oscar’s either.
They’d left things in a bit of a mess to say the least. She did find him attractive, and undeniably sexy.
Bear was a walking archetype of a rebellious, confident man who had an underlying dangerous quality.
After learning her lesson with the “bad boys” she dated during most of her twenties, she’d made a promise to herself that she needed someone predictable.
Aasia liked working with variable she could control.
Temperature. Time. Outcomes that could be measured.
Bear wasn’t a formula. He was a variance.
Logically, she knew they weren’t a match, not when she wanted safety.
He was far from predictable. And yet, every time he looked at her, she felt something shift, like atoms changing under heat.
Bentley couldn’t quite be described as entirely stable.
He had good looks that drew attention. Tall, sharp-dressed, and handsome.
If all that didn’t grab a person’s attention, then his accent certainly would.
However, after he’d taken all the speech lessons his British accent was a thing of the pass—almost.
She should respond to his text.
Instead, she found herself pulling up the last text thread with Bear. She shouldn’t but she did type in, “How are you? Are we still friends?”
Hovering her thumb over the screen for a good “should I really do this” moment, she finally hit send.
Aasia needed to focus.
Lifting the lid to her laptop, she clicked on her email account.
Nothing from Taylor. Aasia had sent the office assistant for MedLabOne a message asking for all the records on insurance payables.
This wasn’t usually something one of the scientists handled at the lab, and Aasia wasn’t certain what she was looking for, but she’d been tracking an issue regarding missing data reports that had accidently came across her desk.
The numbers didn’t seem correct. She’d casually mentioned the concern to Bentley, but he’d brushed her off.
She couldn’t quite shake her unease though.
Aasia started to close her laptop when an email came through. It was from Taylor. Attached were the financial reports.
She worried her lip as she stared at the financial records. She scrolled through the list of tests which were all signed off by her, but she didn’t recognize several of the orders.
There had to be a mistake. What was she missing?
Dialing the number to Deacon Clark, the MedLabOne’s account manager, he didn’t answer. Disappointed, she left a quick message asking if he would call her ASAP and she hung up.
Setting her laptop aside, she stepped back inside to see what else she could make with the lasagna.
In the refrigerator she found a container of leftover Chinese.
A block of moldy cheese, which she tossed into the trash can.
A container of almond milk. And a jar of mayonnaise.
Aasia wasn’t much of a grocery shopper. She slammed the door shut, grateful when her phone rang.
She would have gladly taken a call from a telemarketer just to get away from the current situation.
A smile curved her mouth as she saw the name on her screen.
“Hi, Bear,” she said a little too excitedly.
“Hi, Aasia.” His laughter skated across the line.
“The crew and I are at Oscar’s. I’m looking for that rematch you promised me so get your behind over here.
” The playfulness in his tone tickled the back of her throat as relief spread over her.
Maybe they could be friends again and get over the awkwardness. It never failed that he made her smile.
“Sorry. I can’t tonight. I’m making dinner.” The “rematch” Bear referred to was a game of pool. Last time she’d beat him in three games, fair and square, and walked away with his money and a free beer. She thought he’d learned his lesson not to challenge her again.
“You? Cooking dinner? Let me hang up and call the right number.”
She laughed but it sobered. “Bentley’s on his way too.”
“I should have guessed.” There was a new hitch to Bear’s voice. “Are things good now?” Doubt clung to his every word.
“I wouldn’t say “good’.” The line went quiet. “You still there?”
“I’m still here.” She heard a muffled “you talking to your girlfriend” in the background. One of the hands was teasing him about being on the phone with her. “Can you shut the hell up for one damned second?” Bear growled.
“Excuse me?” Aasia said.
“Not you.” Bear chuckled. “I’m talking to Echo. He’s a sore loser. I need a worthy opponent.”