Chapter 20
Rachel
Hey, reminder you’re coming to Underbite with us tonight.
Please.
For me.
I plucked off my gardening gloves and slumped into the soil, swiping sweat from my forehead before I typed out my response.
Me
I’ll be there but might be a bit later than 7. Lost track of time
Rachel
OKAY YAY! Np!! See you in a bit!!
I sucked in a deep breath and shut my eyes, needing just one minute of rest before I could force my legs to push me up. For the first time in my life, I had a distinct awareness of every single muscle in my body. Everything was sore. Everything hurt.
But I’d made enough progress for it to be worth it.
It’s amazing how much a person can achieve in just two days when they’re not constantly being interrupted by the moody, unpredictable whims of one Dominic Crawford.
I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday afternoon. He’d polished off the lasagna and disappeared without a word. No note. No text. No date of return. Nothing.
He could’ve been dead in some random ditch for all I knew.
He probably wasn’t. But he could’ve been.
Which was fine.
We didn’t owe each other anything outside the terms of our agreement. It wasn’t like I missed him. Or had lost sleep over it.
My head slumped, my forehead knocking against my knee and jolting me awake. I groaned, knowing I had to get up, even though I really, really didn’t want to.
The absolute last thing I felt like doing tonight was shaving my legs, putting on makeup and heels, and socializing with a bunch of tipsy strangers.
I was covered in sweat and dirt. My body was spent. My head felt about as sharp as a deflated balloon. And I’d give anything for a heated bath and a nap.
But I couldn’t cancel on Rachel. Not after lying to her about where I’d been and what I’d been doing for the last couple of weeks.
So I patted my cheeks, chugged the hefty bottle of water I’d been nursing since lunch, and got up. Just in time to watch the back door of Dominic’s house swing open.
My heart leapt, the deep sense of fatigue evaporating from my bones the second I saw him step outside.
Warmth seeped into my chest, nervous energy prickled at my skin, and it felt as though the sun had come out after six months of relentless rain.
A part of me wanted to sing. Another part of me was pleading for a good cry.
And my hands were itching to smooth down my hair and wipe the dirt from my cheeks.
I crossed my arms, trapping them against my ribs.
It was getting worse.
“You still haven’t burned it down,” he noted casually, nodding toward his house.
I kicked at the dirt, glancing down to hide the hint of color nipping at my cheeks.
He was wearing a custom-tailored suit. Pale gray.
No tie. White shirt. Top three buttons undone.
The butterflies haunting my insides were up in arms about it.
“Taking all the cars out first felt like too much work. Maybe next week.”
I felt his attention swing to the garden, clocking the progress I’d made.
As it turned out, Adrien’s “plant guy” really was a miracle worker.
Once I’d (finally) managed to (painstakingly) get some decent pictures of our old garden from Gampy, he’d immediately gotten to work, sourcing each plant and keeping me updated via a shared spreadsheet.
So far, there were only three rosebushes actually planted in the soil, but almost every trace of the massacre had been cleaned up. The hardest part was done.
My pulse stuttered when Dominic’s gaze returned to me, questioning, like he still couldn’t figure out why I was doing this.
“It’s all a part of my performance,” I said, helping him out. “I’m really committed to the act. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“I went to visit my mom. In case you were wondering.”
Something wiggled in my chest. “I wasn’t.”
He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to believe me or not. “Are you hungry?”
“No, but I am late.”
“Where are you going?”
“Underbite. It’s Thursday. What are you doing?” He kept blocking me every time I tried to pass. It was getting very old, very quickly.
“You’ve been cheating.”
My brows arched. “Excuse me?”
“Pretending like you can’t cook to reduce your workload? Cheating.”
“Who said I was pretending?”
“That lasagna was baked to perfection, Alice. And unless you already had a picture of the recipe saved on your phone, then it was done from memory.” His hands slipped into the pockets of his pants, his head leaning to one side, showing off the impressive tendons of his neck.
“Odd, as I don’t remember you being very fond of that particular dish. ”
… Damn.
“Just another part of my act,” I assured him.
He held my gaze. “It’s a breach of the terms we agreed on. You were supposed to do everything she did, and my mother would’ve never fed me, or you, or anyone charred, inedible fish.”
“She would if she knew you like I do.”
His eyes thinned, but I didn’t miss the way his mouth struggled to push back a smile. “I’ll make you another deal.”
“Tomorrow. I was supposed to be in a cab twenty minutes ago.”
“Pretty sure there’s a limit as to how much dirt you’re allowed to take into a cab with you.”
I glanced down at myself. “I have dirt on me? Where?”
His throat bobbed, lips pressing together as he pointedly rubbed at his nose with his index finger.
“How embarrassing. In front of my boss, no less.” Without hesitating, I grabbed a fistful of his crisp white shirt and used it to wipe my face. Fuck me, he smelled divine. “All gone?”
His tongue was poking the inside of his cheek, he was trying so hard not to laugh. “You’ve still got some on your neck.”
I meant to pull him forward with my grip, but the difference in our muscle mass made it impossible. So I stepped closer instead, again using his shirt to wipe away the grime. “Good?”
“Perfect. This might be the cleanest you’ve ever looked. I wouldn’t even bother showering or changing before your date.”
I snorted, releasing him with a light, playful shove. “Bye.”
He fell into step beside me without missing a beat. “Technically, you didn’t win the game, which means, technically, you don’t have the night off.”
“Yeah, well, technically, you were disqualified the second you ripped the tape off and started talking, which means, technically, I did win, and I do have the night off.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“Where?”
“To your place. Underbite. Wherever. That way, you can ruin my car instead of an innocent cab driver’s day.”
Tempting. Really. “What’s in it for you?”
He cleared his throat, glancing around like he was trying his best to appear indifferent. “Spaghetti and stuffed mushrooms for lunch tomorrow. Mom’s recipe.”
I stopped walking. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve been craving it for weeks.”
“And you didn’t ask her to make it for you while visiting?” Unless she’d had a full-fledged lobotomy at some point in the last eight years, she’d probably have been ecstatic to do it. Almost nothing made Rosie happier than feeding the people she loved.
“She spent half her life cooking and cleaning for other people, Alice. If I have my way, she never has to lift a finger for anyone else ever again—and that includes me. And given that was the first chance I’d had to visit her in over three weeks, I didn’t think to immediately demand labor from her. ”
Oh. Well.
Okay, then.
He looked around, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Having said that, I obviously do miss her cooking. So here’s my new offer: I don’t know why you’ve given up utilizing the hoard of private drivers on your family’s payroll—or why you yourself don’t own a dealership’s worth of cars—but according to the security cameras and new night crew, you’re either being picked up and dropped off around the corner every day, or you’re taking the bus. ”
“In what world would I know how to take the bus?”
He ignored this, having clearly caught on. “I’ll give you a ride. To and from my place every day, and anywhere else you might need, in exchange for three proper, home-cooked meals per day.”
That made no sense. None whatsoever. “And, what, you’re offering to do it yourself? Instead of hiring someone else to drive me around?”
“If it was anyone else behind the wheel, you’d say no.”
“How do you know?”
His chin gave a subtle dip. “All right, fine. Hey, Alice, will you cook me three meals a day if I hire you a driver?”
“No,” I deadpanned. If I wanted one that badly, I’d call up my accountant.
“Bummer. Will you do it if I’m the one who has to drive you wherever you want to go, whenever you demand it, regardless of the day or time? In the Divo, of course.”
A spark of wicked excitement sprouted in my stomach. He had my attention. “You’d really be willing to do that for a few meals?”
“Until you agree to give me her old recipe book, yes. It’s the only one she had. I asked.”
Something wasn’t adding up. Given the high likelihood that she was currently enjoying an abundance of free time in retirement, she’d probably be happy to make him a new one. Or at least jot down a few of his favorite recipes to start.
He was either omitting something really important or flat-out lying.
“I don’t want to clean toilets anymore,” I announced, studying his reaction.
He squinted at the sky, pretending to think. “Fine.”
“That’s in addition to the rides.”
“I figured.”
“Better yet, I don’t really want to clean at all, except for when I’m cooking.
” I squinted, taking note of every little flicker and twitch of his expression.
“If I’m not in the kitchen, I want to be in the garden.
Full stop. No more bullshit tasks, needless scrubbing of already spotless surfaces, assembling furniture, or catering to your every irregulated whim. ”
His jaw worked while he considered it. “I’ll meet you in the middle. We’ll scrap your current list of daily tasks, replace it with cooking and gardening, but the whims stay.”
“One whim per week.”
“Five.”
“Two.”
“Three. But I’ll keep them semi-reasonable.”
I quirked a brow. “No humiliation?”
“None. As long as you keep up your end of the deal.”
“Fine, but you’ll need to put on a clean shirt before we go.” Smiling, I patted his cheek. “I expect you to get out of the car and open my door when you drop me off at my date tonight. Like a good little chauffeur.”
I didn’t linger long enough to witness his reaction, but one could only imagine.