36. Avery
36
AVERY
A ny hopes I had of slipping in and mentally preparing myself to confront Henri are dashed as soon as I step into the kitchen.
Every last eye in the place is on me.
I can feel Henri’s violent gaze searing into the side of my head.
No, not my head—my neck.
An ugly feeling churns inside my gut telling me that there is at least one love bite peeking out from the top of my chef’s coat.
Damn. I really thought I had all of them covered up, too.
Maybe he’s staring at me for some other reason? Being late is more than enough to set that man to defcon four.
Yes, that’s probably it.
When I turn to face Henri, I’m immediately robbed of that hope.
“Morning.” I nod cordially.
His mouth falls open, probably from the undoubtedly heart attack-inducing shock of me not ducking my head and scuttling to the back of the kitchen.
It takes him nearly a full minute to recover.
“Good morning?” he spits. “You saunter in here fifteen minutes late with a hickey on your neck the size of a silver dollar and all you have to say is good morning? The last time I checked, we were in the kitchen for an elite event venue, not a whorehouse.”
I’m not going to lie, that really hurt. The instinct to cower simmers under the surface, but I refuse to let it bubble to the surface.
Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or the endless support from my parents and my men finally clicking into place (probably both) but I’ll be damned if I let this prick bully me ever again. I’m worth far more than that, and most shocking of all, I believe it with everything I have.
“While you were out somewhere throwing yourself at whoever is stupid enough to have you, all of those cakes on your station have just been sitting there getting stale. Maybe you should start thinking with your brain instead of what’s between your legs and start doing what’s best for the business while you still have a job here.
“Real chefs know that time is money and would never waste their employer's time by showing up late and disheveled. What are you still standing there for? Get your ass to the pastry station.”
“Are you done?” I ask.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“I said, are you done? I don’t let my two-year-old get away with it, so I’m sure as hell not going to be tolerating it from you any longer. At least with my son, the outbursts are developmentally appropriate, so I’m not sure what your excuse is, exactly.”
His face is the color of a beet now.
“How dare you talk to me like that. I am your head chef.”
“Well, according to the example you’ve been setting for the past two to three years, that’s exactly how I’m supposed to talk to people in the kitchen. And for your information, in a normal kitchen, pastry is a different department and the head chef is supposed to collaborate with them on flavors and dishes, not micromanage the shit out of them.”
“Well, I never—you look like—entirely out of line—appalling behavior,” he sputters.
“Like I said, Henri, you set the tone and culture for your kitchen as the head chef. If you don’t want someone to be a dick to you, then you should act like less of one yourself. Oh, and there’s no way the cakes are stale. I baked them yesterday and put them in the freezer where they were supposed to stay until I arrived this morning. Even if there’s something wrong with the cakes—which I highly doubt—it would be because of your passive aggressively putting them out on my workstation rather than my being a little late.
“Speaking of late, if we went by your rules where lateness gets you fired, you would have been gone long before you became a tyrant in this kitchen.
“Just some friendly advice, Boss. If you actually spent time figuring out how to please a woman in the bedroom, you probably wouldn’t be fighting with your wife all the time, which—if I recall—is usually why you’re late and in a piss poor mood every day.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have rapidly thawing cakes to attend to, thanks to you,” I say haughtily.
I sweep across the kitchen like I own the place and start setting up my station without another word.
Henri is catatonic and purple while the other kitchen staff are trying desperately to hide their smiles. The icing on the cake is one very overcome kitchen assistant trying to cover up her giggles with a glaringly obvious fake cough.
I feel so light from venting years of stress from being here with him that I’m not even sure if my feet are touching the ground at this point. Aside from the birth of my son, this might just be the best day of my entire life.
Hands wrap around my waist from behind and give me a brief (but tight) squeeze.
“Girl, it’s about time you put that jackass in his place,” Mia gushes. “I’m so fucking proud of you that if I had the authority to do it, I’d double your pay right now.”
“It wasn’t even that earth shattering a moment.” I laugh. “It probably didn’t even make a dent in his ego, but damn, it felt good.”
“Are you kidding me? Look around. Henri has just stormed out with his tail between his legs to go pout somewhere, and the kitchen is quiet for the first time in years. Not to mention, it’s never felt this peaceful in here before. The vibe has entirely changed, and it’s all because of you.”
I blush at her overwhelming praise to the point where I’m sure I could be a tomato’s doppelganger. I feel good about what I did, but it’s still a little uncomfortable to be praised like this.
“Well, hopefully, it will stick. I doubt that one dressing down will inspire lifetime change, but…” I shrug.
“It’s a start. You stood up to him ,so maybe the next time he tries to pick on someone, they’ll tear him a new one too.”
The thought makes me smile. It really would be nice if I helped people feel empowered enough to stand up to that jerk like I did.
“You don’t think I went too far?” I ask, suddenly anxious.
“You took it exactly as far as it needed to go.” She grins. “I haven’t seen you this fiery since freshman year of high school. What’s gotten into you lately?”
Her words immediately send my mind to the little bean growing in my belly.
Mia’s eyes narrow “Why are you doing that with your hand?”
I glance down at my body and see that my hand unconsciously went to rest on my stomach.
Shit.
“No reason in particular,” I say quickly. “It’s just something I do sometimes.”
“No, Avery, you don’t. The last time I saw you do that, you were?—”
She grabs my arm and starts dragging me back toward her office.
“Mia, I’ve got cakes to decorate. I can’t do whatever this is right now.”
“The cakes can wait. Now come on and stop dragging your feet.”
I’m tugged along so fast the walls seem to blur.
If I know Mia, and I do, she’s not going to rest until she weasels the secret out of me.
As soon as the office door clicks shut, she’s all over me.
“Spill it.”
I try to play dumb. “Spill what?”
“Are you really going to play it this way?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
My eyes dart around the room against my will. “Play what? I’m not playing anything.”
“No matter how old you get, I swear you turn right back into an eight-year-old whenever you try to lie to me.”
“You know me far too well.” I pout.
“That’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a little over a decade. You know that I know all your tells, so you grossly overcompensate. It’s why you can’t hide anything from me. So the way I see it, there are really only two outcomes to the hand on the stomach thing. Either standing up to Henri made you so nervous that you’re literally about to shit yourself, or you’re pregnant.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” I plead. “I just found out this morning.”
“I knew it! Before I say anything else, I’m going to need to know how I’m supposed to react. Am I buying baby shoes or do I need to take you to a clinic?”
I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face even if I tried. “Baby shoes.”
Mia squeals and squeezes me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“I’m going to have another little godchild. Oh, I’m so happy for you. There’s so much to do. I have to start making you a baby blanket and all kinds of little baby things. I promise I’m going to knit the booties correctly this time. They’re going to be the right size, and there’s only going to be one hole in them this time. Maybe I’ll even try making one of those sleep sacs that looks like a little animal. We have to go to the craft store this weekend. I need your help picking colors that will complement your nursery.
“Wait.” Her brow furrows. “Are you going to have one nursery or one for each of your houses? You’re going to have to move in with one of them because there’s no way you’re fitting another baby into that condo. They have asked you to move in with them, right? They have more than enough money and space to buy something for all of you or move you into one of their places.
“Don’t give me that look, Avery Marie. I’ve been to a few barbeque nights and know for a fact that Jamie has plenty of space for you there. I swear, if they make you stay in that condo, I’m going to cut off their family jewels and feed it to them.”
“Mia.”
“What?”
“Breathe.”
“I’m breathing.” She huffs.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk about anything like that. I only found out this morning, remember?
“And as soon as I told them, we, um, celebrated and ended up starting the morning way later than any of us had planned. I’m sure we’ll figure all that out once they get a chance to catch their breath.
“I’ve been to this rodeo before, but none of them have. They’re still coming to terms with the fact that they’re going to be fathers.”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that? Are they not being supportive? Do I need to have a talk with them? Because if I do, I swear, Avery, that what you did to Henri will pale in comparison to what I’ll do with them if they’re trying to back out of this.”
“I don’t know what I did to end up with such a good friend, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it,” I say, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “But it’s not what you think. They are the farthest from reluctant that a person can be. I kid you not, I had to talk them out of carrying me downstairs to the breakfast table so I could—and I’m quoting here—'focus all my energy on growing their kid.’”
“Good.”
The rest of my shift is a pleasant pastel-colored blur.
When I walk back in the kitchen, I’m greeted with smiles. Little bite-sized samples of everything being cooked are delivered to my station with grateful nods (and one fist bump).
Even when Henri slinks back into the kitchen, the peaceful atmosphere is maintained—mostly because he keeps his head down and his voice soft.
This really is the best day of my life.
At the end of the day, I practically skip over to Wesley’s car. I’m so giddy I’m even humming.
I slide into the passenger seat and lean in to kiss him, but the look on his face has me screeching to a halt.
“What is it?”
“He’s at your house.”
“Excuse me?”
“Leo needed an immediate change of clothes and there wasn’t anything clean at your parents’ house. When your dad drove to the condo, he saw Kyle skulking around outside. Smart man that he is, your dad took some pictures of him before getting the hell out of there.
“I had them go to my house in case Kyle decided to drop in on them next, so everyone is completely safe.”
“But?”
“But when Phillip got off work and cruised by, he was still there except this time, he was camped out in his car, just waiting. I promise you, as soon as I get you safely into my house, the three of us are going to end this for you once and for all.”