Chapter 5
Mariah
So apparently Titus only comes out of his room to steal grocery lists and eat cake.
Lots of cake.
My caramel cake was always a big hit when I made it for the people who stayed at the Inn at Red Cedar Ranch, so I figured he would like it. I did not figure he would eat half of it before I woke up this morning.
I’m going to take it as a sign he’s not totally miserable having me here. I was starting to wonder when I still hadn’t seen his face last night. Half of me expected to wake up this morning to an email letting me go.
Instead, I woke up to a bank account way fuller than I remember it being, and half a caramel cake.
“Weirdo.” I close the refrigerator, and start assembling today’s breakfast.
Cooking for one person is very different from cooking for a bunch of people, and it’s been nice to get to be creative again.
To be challenged. I’d gotten into a rhythm running the kitchen at the inn, but a rhythm can sometimes feel like a rut, and that’s kind of where I was.
When you cook for a group of people, you have to keep things basic.
Simple. Make food most people will enjoy eating.
When you’re cooking for one, you don’t have those limitations. Especially when the one you’re cooking for doesn’t seem inclined to come tell you whether or not he likes what you’re making. That means Titus Bradshaw is going to get what I want him to have, and if he doesn’t like it…
He can sit in his room and cry about it.
Since I’m not feeling great this morning, I decide to go with something simple. Mixing up a capered cream cheese in between bites of cracker and sips of ginger tea, I try to scrounge up a little interest in food myself, but it’s just not there.
“You’re really cramping my style, Peanut.”
I know I should test the spread to make sure it’s seasoned properly, but the thought of putting it in my mouth has my gag reflex attempting to engage. If it’s not great, Titus will just have to get over it.
After lightly toasting a bagel, I spread on the cream cheese, topping it with thinly sliced smoked salmon and a sprinkling of dill.
I add another layer of cream cheese to the top half, stack it all together, and slice the sandwich in half.
Peeling potatoes held no appeal, so he’s getting another fruit bowl.
Based on what I’ve seen, Titus is probably nutritionally deficient, so I’m sure he can use all the vitamins and minerals I can come up with.
I don’t even know whether he’s a coffee or tea guy, but one of the only appliances he possesses gives me a clue.
So I go to work making him a cappuccino, once again wishing my stomach was more agreeable.
Because I really fucking miss coffee. And I would love to take advantage of the high-end machine spitting out frothy goodness.
Titus’s breakfast assembled, I place everything on the tray I found shoved in one of the cabinets—still in its box—and carry it upstairs. Like the eternal idiot I am, a part of me still expects him to open his door and greet me. Thank me for putting so much work into filling his belly.
It doesn’t happen. Even though I linger a little longer than normal, the door stays closed.
I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me. That I may never come face-to-face with the first man I’ve ever cohabitated with. Which is posing a bit of a problem because I was really hoping to get him on my side before spilling the beans about Peanut to Deidre.
On the plus side, the money coming into my account doesn’t seem to be from Deidre, so maybe she’s not the one who will decide my fate.
If that’s the case, maybe I can make Titus so many caramel cakes he’ll never even think about firing me for something as unimportant as an infant also living in his house.
I consider going back downstairs to clear away more of the mess, but I’m achy from yesterday and exhausted from pregnancy. So I go back to my room, set an alarm on my phone to wake me in time to make Titus his lunch, then fall into my bed and promptly pass out.
I don’t remember setting my alarm to make that noise.
I squint one eye open, but my cell phone isn’t lit up. It takes a few more seconds to register the source of the sound that woke me from a glorious nap.
It’s the freaking doorbell. Again.
“Holy shit, Titus.” I’m starting to think in addition to being a hermit, the guy has an online shopping addiction. Except that can’t be true, or he would have had food in his house when I got here.
After pulling on my robe, I trudge downstairs to the door, getting there just as the delivery guy’s pulling away. It’s not the grocery store’s logoed truck crunching over the gravel lane this time—which is good, because I don’t know where in the hell I’d put anything else—but a white, unmarked van.
My eyes fall to the array of boxes at my feet, zeroing in on the name they’re addressed to.
Mariah Copeland
Nobody knows where I live besides Deidre and Titus. My best friend Janie has the address of the main house, but until I got here, I didn’t know exactly where I would be working. And between morning sickness, cooking, cleaning, and putting away groceries, I haven’t even thought to update her.
I drag the stuff inside, leaving it in the entryway next to Titus’s shoes while I go retrieve a pair of scissors from the kitchen. I use one edge to cut through the tape of the first box and peer inside. What I see takes me aback.
Coffee cups. Two boxes of them.
“Huh.”
I open the next box. Inside is an electric kettle, a cute little teapot, and a set of tea infusers.
Another box has a complete set of HexClad cookware. There’s a Le Creuset cast iron Dutch oven in another. I also find a set of utensils containing almost every cooking tool known to man and a collection of dish towels and hot mats.
My eyes drift to one of the cameras Deidre pointed out on our walk-through.
I knew there was a chance Titus checked them from time to time, but I assumed the system was similar to what was used at the inn.
That he’d get a grainy, soundless view of me going about my boring day, cooking his meals and mopping his floors.
But the only way he could have known I needed these things was if he heard me complaining about everything his kitchen lacked.
Starting with the coffee cups.
And while I’m thrilled at the high-end equipment, it chaps my ass a little that he can see and hear me, but I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup if my life depended on it.
It’s not really a fair sort of scenario.
Plus, I would really like to get a read on him before I start confessing my sins to his mother.
And I think I have a pretty good idea of how to get him to come out of his room.
I go about the day like normal, washing and putting away all the beautiful things he got me and making him the best food I’m capable of. It’s a whole lot like yesterday.
Right up until dessert time.
Because if Titus wants dessert, I know he’s more than capable of getting it for himself.
I put the caramel cake out on the counter. I know he’s watching me, so I turn to where the camera is, give it a sweet smile—because I do want him to like me—and keep my voice as encouraging as I can when I say, “There’s more cake down here if you’d like some.”
It feels kind of weird to be talking to nobody, but I’m not actually talking to nobody. Probably. Titus might not be watching my every move, but he’s paying decently close attention, so chances are high he heard me.
Pulling out a plate and a fork, I set them on the counter beside the cake, then wander into the family room adjacent to the kitchen.
I haven't spent much time in here—it’s a mess like everything else—but it has a television and gigantic leather sectional I’d like to be able to make use of.
And since I’m going to be down here waiting for Titus to grace me with his presence, I might as well start the process of digging the room out.
It takes me nearly an hour to get the boxes of files and paperwork and who knows what else stacked into one corner. By then, I’m starting to feel kind of gross again, so I plop down on the newly excavated couch and pull out my phone.
I really thought the cake would get Titus to come talk to me, but if he’s going to ignore my very obvious invitation to meet, the guy genuinely might not have any intention of ever crossing my path. And I’m not sure I’m okay with that.
So, like any normal woman, I’m going to tell my best friend he’s being a jackass.
I pick Janie’s number from my list of favorites and start a video chat. She picks up almost immediately, her grinning face filling my screen. “Hey, sexy lady.” Her smile slips. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes widen. “Oh God. Is it awful?”
“It’s not awful.” I sigh, slumping down a little as I try to come up with a way to explain the situation. “I’m just… Frustrated.” I do my best to recount the past few days to her, covering everything from the grocery and kitchenware deliveries, to the state of Titus’s house.
Then I get to the reason I called her. “And I still haven’t met him.”
Janie’s brows lift. “What do you mean you haven’t met him? I thought you said you’ve been cooking for him.”
“I have.” I tell her how Titus only seems to come out of his rooms when there’s no chance he’ll run into me. “Wouldn’t you want to meet the person cooking your food? I could be crazy. I could pick my nose and then touch his fruit.”
“If he’s watching you like you think he is, the guy knows you’re not boogering up his meals.” Janie lowers her voice. “You think he’s watching you now?”
My eyes lift to the camera directed at the great room. I lift my brows and wave, this time not bothering to look anything but annoyed. “Probably.”
“I think if you can’t see him, he shouldn’t get to see you.” Janie smirks. “Fair’s fair.”
It’s not a terrible idea, but it feels extreme. And risky. No, this situation isn’t perfect, but Titus doesn’t bother me. He pads my bank account and seems to appreciate my food.
I have a lot going for me here. I don’t want to mess that up just because I’m annoyed at his extreme anti-social tendencies.
“I’ll think about it.” I yawn, the constant exhaustion brought on by growing a human starting to make my limbs heavy. “What about you? How are things going in Moss Creek?”
I spend the next fifteen minutes being entertained by my friend’s animated stories. It helps soothe my need for human interaction and takes the edge off the sting of Titus’s apparent rejection of my invitation to meet.
By the time Janie slows down, I’m practically falling asleep. And since she’s my best friend, she can totally tell.
“I’m gonna let you go so you can get some rest.” Janie’s brows pinch in concern. “Do you want me to come there and drag him out of his lair? I will. I’ll drop everything and drive down right now.”
I smile. “I know you will, but I’m okay. I just needed to bitch for a minute.” Another yawn works free. “I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.”
Outside of the morning sickness, that is.
“If you don’t, all you have to do is say the word and I’ll be there.” Janie’s expression turns serious. “And we’ll break into that room and tell Titus Bradshaw to get over himself.”
I snort, knowing full well she means every word she’s saying. “I’ll give him a little while longer before I resort to breaking and entering.”
Janie shoots me a fake pout. “You’re no fun.”
“Fun has never gotten me anywhere good, so it’s probably better that way.” I slide a little lower on the surprisingly comfortable sofa. “I’m gonna go. I’ll call you later.”
“You better.” Janie blows me a kiss. “I love you big bunches.”
“Love you too.” I stifle a yawn as I use my thumb to end the call.
I really freaking miss her. Miss being able to sit down and bitch in person. Janie and I became friends the first day of culinary school, and while her time there didn’t last, our connection did. To the point I lured her to Moss Creek so we could live close.
And then I freaking screwed up yet again. And I left. And there’s no way I’ll be able to get her to come here. Not now that she’s all loved up and getting pounded through the mattress on a regular basis.
What I wouldn’t give for a good mattress pounding. All the hormones are wreaking havoc on my stomach, but boy are they spicing up my southern hemisphere.
With a sigh, I tip to one side, intending to wallow in my misery for a few seconds before heading up to bed. I was so confident I could wait Titus out, but the guy must have an iron will when it comes to cake. He licked the freaking plate clean for God’s sake. I thought for sure…
I don’t realize I fell asleep—to thoughts of my elusive boss no less—until I jerk awake. It’s still dark in the house, but there’s the tiniest hint of sunlight warming the sky through the windows looking over the mountains.
I stretch, trying to work out any kinks a few hours on the couch earned me. But when I shift, I get tangled up in soft, plush fabric.
“Damn robe.”
I try to fight my way loose, but there’s way more of it than I remember. Lifting one edge, I squint at the blanket covering my body. A blanket I’ve never seen before. A blanket that smells like a man.
I bring it to my nose, taking a better sniff.
An expensive man.
An expensive man who snuck downstairs in the middle of the night to cover me up.
I lift my head to peer across the house.
An expensive man who snuck downstairs in the middle of the night to cover me up and steal the rest of my cake.