Drift

Chapter 11

Blue skies emerging with Nonna’s linguine

It’s heating up in the kitchen!

The headline catches my eye, but it’s not why I shuffle to a stop outside the news agency. I’ve seen the Adonis on the latest issue of Now Weekly—and not just wearing the flame-red board shorts splashed on the cover, but also…without them. In fact, I’ve seen him as naked as the day he was born.

Luke.

I snatch the magazine off the rack and drop it at the register.

“For the clinic,” I lie to the woman tapping her fingernails on the counter while I fumble open my purse. “The patients like the crosswords…”

At work, when the morning rush slows to a trickle, I settle at reception with a cup of tea.

After peeking above the desk to check no one’s looking, I slide the magazine out from under a patient chart.

I take my time thumbing through the pages, pretending to read all the other stories before I let my greedy eyes feast on the shots of Luke.

“I guess the journalist dragged a photographer along with her…” I mutter to myself.

Luke looks good. On my TV. On paper. In bed. Out of it. Just…so good. This man, this highly desirable bachelor, was the focus of my life for three months. He singled me out. It’s surreal.

I sip my tea in between each paragraph, absorbing every word.

The article talks about how he catapulted to fame as a young chef in England, his move to Australia five years ago, and a teaser for his upcoming TV appearances.

I know his backstory. I may not have shared my own, but he’s a fan of pillow talk.

What I don’t expect is any mention of his love life.

“There is a special someone,” our exclusive insider reveals. “Everyone who’s seen them together agrees he’s head over heels even if he’s not ready to admit it publicly yet.”

I blink.

Who is the special someone?

Kristen?

Not… Not me?

I glance up. The clinic is quiet. Only one patient waits, and her eyes are glued to the daytime soap on the TV. I turn the page with shaking fingers and almost choke on a mouthful of tea.

Spread across the top of page eight is a photo of my ex-husband.

We were never famous like Luke or the other people in the magazine.

I suppose Ethan might be famous now that he’s listed the tiny internet company he started in our apartment on the stock exchange.

In the photo, he’s wearing a tuxedo, and his arm is slung around the waist of a model. She is famous.

“Recently divorced, tech mogul Ethan Whitehall is wasting no time getting back into the dating scene with the latest in a long line of flings.”

Recently divorced.

That is me. A past participle phrase. A footnote.

My heart can’t shatter because Ethan destroyed any love I had for him.

Divorces are ugly. I don’t miss him. But there’s a weight that slumps me over in my chair to realize how far we drifted off course from when we first met.

He loved me…in the beginning. By the end, the quirks he once found charming became obstacles, things to “work on.”

And as much as I hate to admit it—even to myself—seeing on paper how easily I’m replaced in his life still hurts.

The streetlights flick on as I round the corner. I pause at the sight of the silver sedan parked out the front of the post office.

The man on the cover of the magazine.

Luke’s probably dropping in to collect his fan mail. Sure, the post office is closed, but when has that ever stopped a celebrity? There isn’t much else nearby unless he’s in the mood for a pizza from the greasy takeout place across the street.

Do I want a pizza? I can avoid any chance of running into Luke if I cross the street…or…head back into the main part of town. Yes. Town. Anywhere. Maybe there’s a bus heading to Hobart—

The car door opens. Luke gets out, but he leans back in to grab something off the passenger seat. A grocery bag. He straightens up and, smiling, he tilts his chin. He knows I was planning to run.

Suspicious, without a hello, I snap, “What’s all this?”

“A further attempt to apologize.”

“I think you’ve apologized enough.”

“You liked my flowers?”

One bouquet? Perhaps. Seven is overdoing it. “I’ve started giving them away to the patients,” I say. “There was enough for Mrs. O’Donnell to make the bouquets for her granddaughter’s wedding. She was incredibly grateful. You’re invited now, in case you’re interested.”

Luke’s lips curve with amusement, but it stops short of being a full smile. He’s trying his hardest to look serious. “It must be my delightful self-deprecating notes that worked on you then?”

I roll my eyes. “Surely you could have read a few pages of Little Women. Didn’t you go to an exclusive boarding school?”

“I was dumped there because my mother preferred drinking with her girlfriends to looking after me.” His smile slips for a fraction of a second. It’s long enough for me to realize the truth.

“Oh.” The shame of bringing up such a painful memory for him drops my gaze to my feet. I never meant to be cruel. “I’m sorry.”

“So was she.” The small moment of vulnerability I glimpsed vanishes behind a smirk. “I created havoc every day until the school politely asked my parents never to bring me back.”

“Well, I suppose it all worked out. If you stayed, you might have become a…a…lawyer?”

“Good God. You truly hate me, don’t you?”

I laugh. “An…economist?”

“A life behind a desk is a fate worse than death. Ah…” He forces an apologetic smile. “For some of us.”

“Well, it would be everyone’s death if I were let loose in your kitchen. It turns out I’m utterly hopeless at baking.”

“What about cooking?”

“I’m less hopeless at Mediterranean food.”

“Italian?”

I shake my head.

He lifts his grocery bag. “Care to have some whipped up?”

“Luke…”

“I’m not here to bulldoze you into forgiving me. I promise. I truly just want to talk, and since the only talent I have is cooking…”

“I’m sure you’re talented at hundreds of things.”

“Well, I had thought I was rather good at one or two things…but after the assessment of okay and fine, I’m not so sure anymore.” He winks.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I was angry. Your skills in the boudoir…are…”

“Oh, Elsie.” He shakes his head. “Boudoir?”

“Would you prefer if I said in the bedchamber?”

“Good God.”

“Your skills are…satisfactory.”

“After fine and okay, I’m accepting the upgrade to satisfactory and running with it. So.” He jiggles the bag. “What do you say? An authentic home-cooked Italian meal from a renowned chef? Have you eaten?”

“Maybe…” My oversized sweater does nothing to muffle the loud grumbles of my stomach at the mention of food.

He cocks an eyebrow.

I sigh. “Okay. Fine. I’m starving. But just so you know, no matter how delicious this dinner is, there is absolutely no chance we will be engaging in any form of sexual intercourse.”

“And just so you know, saying boudoir and phrases like engaging in sexual intercourse has the opposite effect you think it does.”

Indignant, I sniff my nose in the air. “And what effect do you think I’m aiming for?”

“You want to scare me off by acting like a prim and proper scholarly type who’s never enjoyed even a hint of human affection.”

Damn him. “And what effect does it have?”

“I happen to enjoy corrupting the prim and proper scholarly type.” His eyebrow arches just a smidge. “As you very well know.”

My eyes narrow. “There will be no corrupting tonight.”

“What about kissing?”

I lock my knees so he can’t see how much his words affect me. He’s an incredible kisser. “Absolutely not.”

“What about some harmless flirting?”

I eye the bag in his hand. “Are you making dessert?”

He nods.

“You may flirt,” I say. “But I want you to understand that I’m…” I take a big breath for extra courage. “I’m setting a boundary.”

“Tell me.”

“You hurt me. If it gets too much… If I get upset… I need you to leave if I ask you to. No questions asked. Okay?”

Luke’s nod is solemn. “Of course. And provided you don’t start throwing around scientific terms like penis again, it’s a deal.”

I roll my eyes, but when I turn away, I’m grinning. My happiness doesn’t even fade when we reach the top of the stairs. The front door’s playing nice again this week. It opens easily when I twist my key in the lock.

Luke pauses in the doorway. “It’s, uh… quaint,” he says, wincing at the sight of just about everything.

“Sawyer talked to Cain about fixing up a few things.” I wave him through. I won’t get my dinner if he stays gawking at everything falling apart in my life. “He’s starting on the repairs next weekend.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Sawyer.”

“Not really.”

“Kristen mentioned she ran into you at the community center.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”

“We’re friends.” He grimaces after he says it as if he instantly regrets it. “Sort of.”

“Is that publicist speak for her being one of your…arrangements?”

“Kristen? Bloody hell. No. She helped me secure the lease on the restaurant. She’s not exactly my type, Els.”

“Who’s your type?”

“Women with…” His eyes slowly trail over my braid. “Dark hair.” His heated look flicks away, and he starts unpacking ingredients on the countertop.

“You can stop with the false compliments,” I huff.

“You have stunning hair.”

I snort. “If that were true, you would’ve scored me a one and not a zero.”

The carton of eggs in his hand lowers slowly to the counter. “I wish I’d never said that.”

“Me too.”

When he faces me, he’s frowning. “Els, you know I think you’re gorgeous…right?”

I scoff a laugh.

“No. Seriously. Forget what you overheard for a second, okay? Think about us from the start.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to sound like an arrogant prick when I say this, but I have options, Els. I don’t struggle attracting women, and I’m not a wallflower scared of my own shadow.”

“If this is supposed to be helping…”

“I approached you. I asked you out for a drink. It took me three attempts before you agreed. For anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered. You’re the only woman I’m interested in here.”

“But then why…?”

“This experience is all new for me. I’m coming to grips with feelings…and futures…and what life might be like if I let someone else in. I joke about my parents, but they weren’t role models for building a healthy relationship. You probably won’t understand.”

“I do.”

“And I never realized how much that push and pull they taught me can hurt someone until I saw you cry. I…” He swallows down the emotion that’s making his chin wobble ever so slightly. “I truly never meant to hurt you.”

Luke doesn’t expect my forgiveness. He leaves the confession hanging in the air and focuses on the ingredients he’s spreading over the countertop. Then, he flicks open cabinets until he finds a skillet.

“Ah ha!” He waggles his eyebrows.

I blink.

How does he act so nonchalantly after what he just shared? I fist my skirt with restless fingers. I never thought Luke requested the arrangement out of fear. I assumed he wanted to keep his options open.

I pull out a chair and sit at the tiny dining table tucked in the corner, watching him work from a safer distance. “What dish do you think is good enough to bribe an apology out of me?”

“Look, I’ll be completely honest and admit I can’t remember if you told me your favorite dish. So, when all else fails, you get Nonna’s linguine.”

“You have a Nonna?”

“Had. She passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t be sorry. She made it to eighty-five and admonished me for not giving her as many great grandbabies as my sister until her very last breath.”

“A true Nonna then?”

“The truest. She was a delight.”

Our chatter turns less personal as Luke falls into an effortless rhythm around my kitchen. Half an hour skips by with stories about the restaurant and the clinic until he lays a perfectly presented plate in front of me on the dining table. He eagerly waits for me to take my first bite.

“Well?” He’s practically leaning over the table as the fork heads for my mouth.

The flavors melt in waves of garlic, tomatoes, and the beautiful silky pasta he made from scratch. The moan of pure contentment is, thankfully, only in my mind.

“It’s edible,” I say.

It’s just about the most amazing pasta I’ve ever put in my mouth. Better than the high-end restaurants I used to eat at. But I’ll never admit it to him.

“High praise.” Luke grins. “So, what do you have planned this weekend?”

“Sawyer and I are going to Launceston.”

Luke’s trying his hardest to keep his features neutral, as if he doesn’t care at all, but his gaze has sharpened. He’s listening. Intently.

“I’m helping with the Blues Festival,” I explain.

“I’m hosting a black-tie dinner at the restaurant during the festival. What part are you helping with?

“The community center runs a bit of an upmarket secondhand stall. Sawyer’s taking me to the city to have some jewelry appraised.”

“You’re…staying overnight?”

“No. We’re just driving up for the day. I’ve never been to Launceston before.”

Luke twists more linguine around his fork. “You’ll like it. Lots of old buildings.”

And just as he says it, the crown molding hanging over the refrigerator finally gives in, and the wood panel crashes to the floor.

We crack up laughing.

“I’ve had fun tonight,” I say when I finally lead him to the door after dessert.

“That makes me happy.” He lingers in the doorway, his shoulder slouched against the frame, just staring at me.

I fiddle nervously with the cuff of my blouse. “What?”

“I’m glad you’re in my life…in whatever small way.” He bends forward to peck a quick kiss on my cheek. “Night, Els.”

And he disappears down the stairs.