Chapter 65
Harper
"So, he let you move in with your sister, and he’s been fine about it?" Zoey swigs from her bottle of water.
We’re jogging along the Regent’s Canal. It’s Tuesday morning. Six days since I moved out of James’ penthouse.
It’s my day off, and I woke up, determined to get some outdoor time.
Zoey joined me.
"He says he’s fine." I say between pants. "But the way he looks at me in the kitchen, implies he’s slowly losing it."
It hasn't been easy, being in the kitchen with him. Oh, he’s been polite. Very polite. Which adds to the feeling of slowly building tension.
He has been unnervingly even-tempered. The cold, surgical anger that defined him has vanished. No cutting remarks. No scathing critiques that leave me wanting to hurl something at him.
He hasn't compromised an inch on the food. Yet, he’s leading the team to perfection without the usual psychological warfare.
The brigade is rattled.
They glance at him out of the corners of their eyes, whispering in the shadows of the prep station. A few have cornered me, asking in hushed voices what’s wrong with him. We haven’t told them I’ve moved out, but they can feel the shift in the air.
The tension in the kitchen is thicker than a reduced sauce. They’re all just waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for the Ice Commander to return and tear them apart with a single, quiet word.
I probably need to talk to James and tell him to share why he’s assumed this new approach with the kitchen. That will help the team understand him better and help improve morale.
But given how we left things, I’m not sure this is the right time to bring things up with him.
Especially not when we seem to have gone back to how things were before he proposed that we get married.
Which means, an accidental touch feels like I’ve been singed.
And when our gazes meet, I feel like my body is on fire.
The chemistry between us seems to have grown even more powerful.
I’ve avoided spending any time with him alone.
I’m worried that I’ll give in to my need to touch him.
I might throw myself at him and kiss him, and then, the hard work of being away from him and trying to get perspective will be lost.
I’ll be tempted to accept that he’ll never be able to tell me about his feelings for me. And I would never forgive myself for that.
No, I need to give him time to figure things out. This time apart is for him, as much as me.
"I’m sure he misses you." Zoey slows down to a walk.
I follow suit. Then wipe the sweat from my eyes and take a sip of water from my bottle.
"Maybe, but it doesn’t change anything." We come to a stop in front of a bench, and Zoey drops into it. “We covered three miles. That’s not bad at all." She taps the digital screen of the watch on her wrist.
I stretch out and groan. "Speak for yourself, I’m so out of shape."
"Thought you’d be getting in shape with all the sex with your new husband."
I shoot her a glance. "Right now, I’m not living with him."
"But before that?" She gives me an innocent look. "Didn’t he ravish you on your wedding night?"
I scowl.
"Oh, so not on your wedding night then."
I shake a finger at her. "My lips are sealed."
Her lips turn down. "Aww. Let me live vicariously. At least, you’re getting action. Unlike me."
"Going through a dry spell?"
She rolls her eyes. "All the good ones have either been snapped up"—she nods at me—"or they’re too busy building careers to want to date. The only way I get sex is through the romance novels I edit."
"Can’t believe that’s a job." I smirk.
"Doesn’t pay that well, but hey, it keeps me afloat. Unless my company goes under." She makes a face. "Publishing is coming under a lot of pressure, like most other businesses."
"Running a restaurant is no joke either. At least, James has his inheritance to act as a safety net if things get tough."
I finish stretching, then sit down next to her.
We take in the peaceful scene around us.
The water laps at the edges of the canal.
A couple of ducks glide away on the water.
Then I hear the sound of footsteps. I sense him before I see him.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. When I turn, I’m not surprised to find James walking toward me.
He’s in jogging shorts and a T-shirt that clings to him like a second skin, mapping out every line of his body. It’s a view that makes my mouth go dry.
Then there’s his face.
I’ve seen it behind my eyelids every night I’ve spent alone. His eyes lock onto mine, burning with a raw, predatory intensity that makes my knees weak.
"What are you doing here?"
My pulse rate accelerates.
"I went by your place. Your sister told me where to find you."
He comes to a stop in front of us.
"Zoey, how are you?"
He shoots a half smile at my friend.
"Hi, James. I’m good." She looks between us. "I should be heading off. Unless you want me to stay, Harper?"
"What? Oh, no." I manage to tear my gaze from James and lean in to hug her. "We should do this more often."
"Yeah." She hugs me back. "You sure you don’t want me to stay. I can, you know," she whispers.
I squeeze her arm. “I’m good. I promise.”
She nods, then rises to her feet. With a glare at James that implies, don’t fuck it up, she walks away.
He looks after her with a bemused expression. Then gestures to the seat she vacated. "May I?"
"Of course." I lock my fingers together.
Why am I nervous? I’ve worked with this man for months. I’ve felt him inside my body. He knows my curves more intimately than anyone else. And I know his moods. His weaknesses. What drives his need for perfection.
Sure, this past week, things have been strained between us, which was only to be expected. We’re both trying to figure things out. But he’s here.
I didn’t expect that.
He sits down on the bench, leaving a few inches of space between us. Then taps his fingers on his chest.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
His big palm and blunt fingers draw my attention right away. Strong, capable hands. I’ve seen him wield delicate pincers to garnish a lobster bisque, or an intricate tortellini in brodo.
Fingers steady.
Eyes focused.
Lips pressed together in a line of concentration.
I’ve seen the satisfaction on his face when he rings the bell on the final order of the service. How he stays back to clean the kitchen and is often the last to leave, though he didn’t do so anymore. He’s proud and strong, and broken, at the same time.
He wears a mask to protect himself and his feelings because really, he feels everything. And he can’t cope with how that makes him feel. He doesn’t want to be hurt again.
"I’m glad you didn’t come into work on your day off." He shifts in his seat.
I realize he’s as nervous as me.
How strange.
I’ve never seen James nervous before. Not when his investors threatened to pull out. Or when the wrong groceries are delivered to the kitchen. Or when one of the line chefs doesn’t turn up. He finds a solution and moves on. Nothing fazes him.
"It is the weekly day off," I point out.
"And I made you work during those." He shoves his hand into the pockets of his jacket. "I’m sorry."
"This new version of you is giving me a headache." I rub at the space between my eyebrows. "Your being polite is creepy."
He seems taken aback. "I thought my being more cordial might help."
"With what?"
"With your thinking of coming back to me?"
I lean back in my seat. “I don’t want you to change yourself externally, James. I want you to share your feelings with me. For us to have an honest conversation. To have better communication. That’s what I want.”
“That’s what I want too.” He leans forward. “I’m trying…to speak my mind. To tell you how I feel.”
My eyes track the flush spreading over his cheekbones.
The Ice Commander, flushed? And looking…vulnerable? My chest tightens.
He's always so controlled, so sealed, that seeing the composure slip even this much feels like watching a fault line crack.
It’s thrilling.
And terrifying.
"James, are you okay?” I ask softly.
“Of course, I’m not okay. How can I be, when you’re not there anymore?” He jumps up and begins to pace. Pulls his hand out of his pocket to push his hair back.
Something tumbles to the ground.
I glance down and see not one, not two, but a bunch of hair ties spilling out at my feet.
My gaze hovers over them, stunned.
“Are those…my hair ties?”
He stops mid-step, glances down, then back at me, his chest heaving. The tension radiates off him in waves.
He’s uncontained, raw, completely undone.
James Hamilton is having an emotional outburst. And the rainbow-colored vortex he’s standing in the midst of feels symbolic of his losing control.
He’s feeling everything for me.
For the first time, I see every piece of him. The desire, the frustration, the longing, all of it spilling into the open.
Seeing him like this, unguarded, I can’t help the tremor that passes through me.