Chapter 26
Dinner service that night went well, I thought.
I even prepared a few light snacks that the waitstaff could put out if Mr. Hawthorne and his guests got peckish during drinks later.
Back at my cottage, I sat in front of the fireplace in my pajamas with my phone and some mulled wine, posting new photos of my dishes to the Après Brie account.
I carefully cropped out any identifying elements of the kitchen, as usual, and added a few cheeky captions.
Then I went over my notebook again, checking off final items from tomorrow’s event to-do list.
This would be the largest event I’d ever led.
In the past, I’d been a line cook and a pastry chef, but never the sole head chef for so many guests.
The current tally was over one hundred and it seemed every day Ali informed me of more last-minute additions.
A mix of friends and business associates, I gathered.
Honestly, I was growing more anxious as the big day approached, second-guessing my menu and worrying that I’d get so far in the weeds that the whole rickety house of cards that was my timeline to execute the food would collapse.
More wine helped chase those worries away, for now.
I was about to pack it in for the night when someone knocked at the door. I padded over to the front window in my thick, comfy socks and found Charles outside, looking cold and haggard in only a button-down shirt and trousers.
“Hey, get in here,” I said, yanking him inside. It wasn’t even twenty degrees out there. “You look terrible. What’s wrong?”
He was breathing heavily as he charged inside to thaw by the fire. I filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove for some tea. Then back in the living room, I tossed some blankets and pillows on the hardwood floor and pulled him down to sit with me.
“Here,” I said, handing him some of my mulled wine. “Have some and tell me what’s going on.”
I’d never seen Charles like this. He was edgy and frazzled.
Like a thousand thoughts were colliding behind his unfocused eyes as he clenched his hands around the glass and stared into the flames.
He took a swig and set it aside. Then, after several minutes of silence, his breathing slowed and he turned to me, brow knitted with frustration.
“I had a fight with my dad,” he said simply.
“What about?”
“Same thing we always fight about.” He huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
“The business. It’s the only thing we talk about anymore.
The huge responsibility. His expectations.
How I’m not taking this seriously enough.
I’ve spent practically my whole adult life learning the company.
Doing everything he’s ever asked of me. Not once has he asked me what I want. ”
He grabbed for the wine again and took another heavy gulp just as the kettle whistled. I got up and made us some chamomile tea, then brought the mugs back over to the fire.
“What do you want?” I asked, softly stroking his back with my fingertips.
He seemed to relax slightly, his muscles releasing some of their tension.
“Honestly, just time to figure that out. While everyone else I knew was discovering their passions, I was following the plan Dad had laid out for me. The college he picked out, then business school. And it wasn’t like I hated it, but I never had a choice, you know?
I never got to fuck off for a year and travel.
Take up piano. I don’t know. Anything. Just to find out who I am before I become my father. ”
“What does he say when you tell him that?” I asked, passing him a mug.
The fire crackled, puffing out gentle sparks. The whole cottage smelled of rich burning pine. Charles shook his head, sighing. The lines deepened across his forehead as flickering shadows danced on the walls behind us.
“He says we have a responsibility to create a seamless transition. Thousands of employees counting on us to keep the gears turning. And the thing is, I know he’s right.
I’ve always been expected to take over one day, just like he took over for Grandad.
The board, employee pensions, stock prices.
All these things that represent real lives, you know?
So, I guess I just feel trapped. Staring down the rest of my life feeling like I’ve never had a choice. It’s daunting.”
“Your dad must’ve felt the same way when he was in your position,” I said.
Charles balked at that. “He’s an old-fashioned guy. Still does business with a handshake over cigars and brandy. Because that’s the way Grandad did it. He was practically born in a three-piece suit.”
I bit back a laugh. It was always hard for us to imagine our parents as people who had whole lives before we were born.
“I don’t want to let him down,” he said. “And I’m not saying I want to abandon the company. I just wish he would hear me out before automatically dismissing my feelings. I care about this company just as much as anyone. I just wish he’d give me a moment to breathe first.”
As someone who’d worked for a lot of small-business owners, I knew something about the psyche at play there.
“Something I’ve learned throughout my culinary career is, people come to think of their businesses as children.
Which are in turn like an extension of themselves.
They get protective. Sometimes to a fault.
And it gets hard to step back and hear other perspectives.
Like a chef who suddenly has a kitchen full of line cooks.
Some people can’t give up control and they lash out.
Nothing is ever good enough. They start to see every little mistake or suggestion as sabotage, because obviously no one will ever care for their baby better than they do. ”
“So, what do I do?” he asked me earnestly.
It was plain on his face that Charles desperately wanted his father’s acceptance. He wanted it from both of his parents. They were each so accomplished and formidable. It must’ve been an impossible burden growing up in that shadow.
“I think you have to reassure him that you know what the company means to him. That you appreciate the legacy he’s built. And that you want to honor that as much as he does. As much as he did when he took over from his father. I think, ultimately, he wants to know that he’s prepared you for this.”
Charles collapsed back on the pillows, rubbing his face. “I’m not sure how to make him believe me.”
“Time, I guess.”
I lay beside him, brushing his hair off his forehead. Charles caught my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the inside of my palm, then holding my hand to his face. It was an intimate gesture that made me feel closer to him than any time we’d spent under the sheets at the inn.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “Sorry I came barging over here in the middle of the night like a lunatic.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ve had one or two existential crises in my day. Several since I’ve been here, in fact. I’m sort of an expert now.”
“What am I going to do when you leave for London?” he mused, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes landed on mine with a sober seriousness. “It just hit me that we’re not both going back to Denver after this.”
“Yeah.” I winced slightly. Right now, I was barely looking a week ahead. Three months from now still felt like a very long time for me. “Weird.”
Charles rolled over on his side. He tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear, then gently slid his fingers down the side of my neck. Where my oversized T-shirt hung off my shoulder, his fingers continued to graze the warm, bare skin.
“I think I knew the second I saw you that you’d change me,” he said, almost as a whisper.
“Change you? How?”
“All I think about now is how to be wherever you are.”
“Yeah?” A silly grin spread across my lips.
“Yeah,” he said, twisting his fingers in the long strands of my hair that fell over my shoulder. “And all the places I want to go together. Things I want to show you. I saw you from across the room and it was like a whole future flashed before my eyes.”
I shoved at his chest. “You’re full of shit. But I like the way it sounds.”
Charles held my wrist and pulled me to lie across his chest. His arm behind me lifted my shirt to trace patterns across my back. The sensation was like he was drawing on my skin with fire. It set every nerve humming.
“I’m not,” he said. “I swear. I got one look at you and never turned back.”
His arm curled around my back and he grazed his fingers along my ribs, barely brushing the side of my breast. With his other arm, he hitched my leg over his hips.
As we kissed, I felt him grow hard against my thigh.
His hand was tangled in my hair, holding me firm against his body while our tongues played, until he rolled me over to lie on top of me, settling between my legs.
Charles kissed my cheek. The side of my neck.
His hands found mine to extend out above my head among the pile of blankets and pillows that made our makeshift bed on the floor.
With both my wrists gathered in one hand, he returned his mouth to mine.
The language of his kiss was deliberate and attentive.
Not urgent or hurried, but sensual. Patient.
Gently his free hand pushed up the hem of my shirt to lightly tease my skin before cupping my breast, making me arch into his touch.
“I’ve thought about touching you again every day since that first night,” he said. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he breathed against my mouth.
“Yes, I do,” I told him confidently.
Because it was the same longing I’d tried to tamp down since I’d gathered the courage to leave that hotel room. There were armies of women out there who probably would’ve killed to switch places with me that morning. But I suppose things had a way of working themselves out.
As Charles hovered over me, I wrapped my leg around his hips, encouraging his hand that continued to tease my breast. The flames danced across his face, fire shimmering in his eyes while shadows painted patterns around us.
“You are so beautiful,” he hummed, then sealed his mouth over mine again.
Finally, I pulled my hands free to unbutton his shirt as he peeled mine over my head.
His mouth explored my chest, leaving warm kisses and gentle licks of his tongue, sucking one pebbled nipple into his mouth.
The attention was almost excruciating, alighting every nerve and coiling my muscles into a single knot of overwhelming desire.
I was wound up so tight I felt I might shatter.
Then he slid farther down my body, mapping a trail of kisses across my flushed skin.
Sinking between my legs to spread my thighs.
Reverent, he caressed his cheek against the tender flesh, starting at my knee and working closer, closer, until his mouth met my core.
I shuddered beneath him. Too sensitive. Already teetering on the edge of self-control.
My eyes snapped shut, teeth digging into my bottom lip while his tongue drew out my muffled moans.
Charles hitched my leg over his shoulder, daring me to tumble over into ecstasy. This man made me delirious.
“What do you want me to do?” he whispered.
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. My heart was racing too fast. I knotted my fingers in his hair and writhed against his mouth. Encouraging him. Pleading. Racing toward that ultimate moment of exquisite release that washed over me like an avalanche. Quaking in response to his touch.
I dragged him up to unzip his pants and pulled down his boxers to take him in my palm.
I had to get us closer. I wanted to feel all of him.
Warm and safe in our secret retreat, where nothing else could find us.
Not our fears or the world’s expectations.
In here, making love in front of the fire, we belonged only to each other.
Opening me with his hips, Charles reached one hand between my legs to caress me.
It was almost painful, my body too sensitive.
Yet I craved it, shivering in response to his touch.
I bent my legs, urging him forward. Fingertips digging into the pulsing muscles of his back.
Watching his eyes as he gazed into mine and entered me.
That feeling of completeness. Of being exactly where I was supposed to be.
Nothing had ever felt so perfect. So right.
Like we had been made to find each other.
A thought that settled into my head and seeped into my blood.
My heart. Growing with every kiss. Every thrust. I hadn’t known I was capable of such strong emotion until that moment.
Until Charles gave himself to me completely, and me to him.