Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
EMMA
MARCH
I did a double-take in the culinary school’s parking lot. No. It couldn’t be.
Royce’s bike?
I was finally returning to work after the flu laid me flat for six days. It wasn’t until day five that I could sit up long enough to eat the soup Harlan left for me. I barely had a memory of him coming to see me.
But he definitely did. And I knew it was him, because a little origami dog sat on my kitchen counter.
Calling me princess. Sweeping my hair off my face. Bringing me homemade soup—soup that was incredible, I might add. Checking on me because he was afraid no one else was.
But I hadn’t heard from him since. I sent him a thank you for the soup, and he responded with a thumbs up and a “hope it helped.”
When I tried to keep the conversation going, nothing.
It was confusing. He showed up for me when I was at my worst, something I never expected from him in a thousand years.
I mean, I hoped for more, but I never would have admitted that to him.
It shocked me how much he focused on me that night in the hot tub.
How high he got off my pleasure, off being the one to bring me pleasure.
But after a couple of orgasms, a sick visit, and the best chicken and wild rice soup I’d ever had, he pulled back.
So to see what I thought was his bike outside the culinary school really threw me for a loop. Why would he be here now? I needed to book his next lesson, and I planned to after I got back to work. This class was dipping my toe back in the water.
I walked between the work stations, greeting the students as I went. It was an effort to give them the time of day, because all I could think about was the thundering in my chest and the tall head of black hair at the front of the class.
“Chef Royce?” I asked.
“Chef,” he responded, sparing me only a glance.
And not one of his little smirky glances either.
Just a passing “I see you.” But he wasn’t seeing me.
Because if he truly saw me, he’d see how much I missed him annoying me.
Hell, I’d have even baked him a cake if he did one of those stupid devil’s advocate discussions he loved to torment me with.
I didn’t realize what a gift his attention could be until he stopped giving it.
But he was here. In my class. Did this mean he didn’t want private lessons anymore? And what did that mean for Liam’s college money?
I scolded myself for worrying about the money Royce brought when the more important thing was having him close again.
But I needed to appear unruffled to the rest of the class, so I rounded my work bench and clicked on the camera.
“Alright, chefs, let’s begin.”
Harlan lingered after class, and I hated the hope it instilled in me.
I must have had the strangest expression trying to get the last student to leave, practically shoving them out the door so I could get a minute with Harlan.
I glanced down the hallway to find the front desk staff gone as well. Harlan and I were alone.
Harlan. Not Royce anymore.
“Surprised to see you here,” I said, sauntering back through the rows of tables.
He nodded, tossing a dish towel from hand to hand. “We need to talk in person, and I wanted to do it before we’re both back at work tomorrow.”
I nodded, nibbling my lower lip. “Right. Probably a good idea.”
“Let me help you clear your station,” he said. “Sorry. Been distracted tonight.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “I feel like you’re not here for a good reason.”
We each grabbed a few dishes off my station and headed for the sinks and dishwasher.
He hesitated, sucking air like he had a breath caught in his throat. “I don’t want to get in the way of your life, Emma. With the team, or with Liam.”
I nodded, unable to swallow when I tried. I busied myself with cleaning off my dishes as he stood next to me with his hands on the edge of the sink.
“I really liked what we did together, and I think there’s probably more there we could explore.”
“Yeah,” I managed. God, why did this hurt worse than deciding to get divorced? “We don’t really make sense on paper, though. I’m a thirty-eight-year-old single mom. My kid’s almost in college. And you’re not that much older than college age.”
Harlan put his hand on my shoulder to turn me to him. “I don’t give a fuck about that. And I could really give a rat’s ass what anyone else has to say about it.”
I snorted and blushed, looking between us. “But Liam.”
“Liam,” he said. “I’m fine with him hating me for a while. He doesn’t really know me, and I could see how it would be a lot for him.”
“Thank you for saying that.” I’d never once felt like I had to explain Liam’s importance to Harlan. I’d had to so many times before, even to single dads. Harlan just got it. We were a package deal.
“But his dad told me he’s got a lot going on and that I need to stay out of the way.”
I flopped my head back to look at the ceiling. “Jeff said that?”
He shrugged. “I get it. He’s only got a few months left of living at home. Why rock the boat now?”
“Ha,” I coughed. “If he doesn’t stay for another year of juniors.”
“Is that what you want?” Harlan asked. The best thing about it was the way he asked. It wasn’t in a tone of “what do I need to do to get the kid out of the way?” It was what did I want. For me.
“It doesn’t really feel up to me.”
Harlan wrinkled his brow. “I can’t tell you how to be a mom, because I have no fucking clue.
But I really hope you’re getting what you want out of life.
” He snorted a breath beside me. “You changed mine. Made me look more seriously at every part of it. I hope you take the time to do the same. It’s okay to chase your happiness. ”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny paper crane, setting it on the edge of the sink.
A little goodbye.
He headed for his work bench. I stared down at the crane, a symbol of happiness, of wishes and working toward making them come true. Generally, I was happy, but one big thing was missing.
My heart pounded so hard I was afraid it would pop out of my throat. I spun, pressed my ass against the sink, and started talking before I lost the nerve.
“Harlan.”
He turned, one hand in his pocket and the other removing his bandana.
“I want this to work. I want . . . you. Learning you. Hating you.” His lips curled up at that and he chuckled. “Knowing you better. I want it all. I want whatever we do to not matter at work, and I want Liam to like you.”
He nodded, but his voice was resigned. “I want that too.”
The unsaid part hung there: but we can’t have it.
With a wry smile, he continued toward his station, grabbing his helmet off the kitchen stool there.
“Are we still on for lessons?” I asked, hating how desperate I sounded.
The helmet hung limply at his side, and he shrugged. “Whatever you want, Chef.” He rubbed his lips together. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
The door closed behind him, and I focused on scrubbing down my counter. I would not cry over this. I would not cry over Harlan fucking Royce. I wished so badly in that moment that I could go back to hating him, really hating him, so this would be a relief rather than a disappointment.
The door to the hall opened again, and it took every bit of strength in me to keep from looking up. I couldn’t let him see the hope in my eyes when he probably just dropped his keys or something.
“They’re not here.” Harlan walked my way steadily.
“What?”
“They are not here,” he repeated, discarding his jacket and helmet.
“Who?” I stammered. I hadn’t moved from my spot, but my hands started to shake against the counter.
“Work’s not here. The team’s not here. Your son is not here.”
“Right,” I said, trying to get him to elaborate.
“Did you mean it?” He was almost to my station now, just a handful of paces away with those midnight blue eyes trained on me. “You want this? You want me?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Then I don’t know what we’re waiting for.” Harlan rounded my counter and stepped into me.
I opened my mouth to ask more stupid, foolish, meaningless questions when he slung an arm around my shoulder and put his opposite thumb on my cheek. He curled himself around me, accommodating how I was too stunned to fully face him.
He wanted me. As I was, stunned or not stunned.
One adoring look swept over my face before his eyes fixed on my lips and his mouth came crashing down onto mine.
Harlan Royce was kissing me.
All I could think was how much he’d mock me for how cliché my thoughts were, and how that made me want him that much more. Time stopped. The world slowed. I found renewed purpose in his lips. He tasted like all my dreams come true.
But it was all true.
I twisted my body to be flush with his and raised on my toes, whimpering pathetically as I chased after him.
But he wasn’t going anywhere. He was pulling me closer, tucking me tighter, kissing me harder, nipping my lip and dipping his tongue in for more.
Sighs into open mouths as our tongues tangled, fumbling for the bottom of his chef’s coat so I could find skin, because I couldn’t bear another moment of separation from him.
“I hated it,” he gasped as he licked down my neck and sucked the hollow of my throat. “I hated that you didn’t kiss me last time. I was so fucking mad at you.”
I was shocked by his admission, by any vulnerability from him regarding me. We spent so much time antagonizing each other that the realization that he did actually feel something real for me was a bucket of cold water to the face.
I didn’t know how to play it. Bickering was what I knew best with him, our safe, messed up game. I slipped the buttons of his white chef’s coat and ran my nails down his chest to his hiss. “Doesn’t seem like you stayed mad.”
An evil smirk curved his lips as his eyes went drowsy. He pressed into me harder, my back digging into the countertop and his erection trapped down the leg of his jeans. “Nah. I have plenty of creative ways to get you back.”