Chapter 4
Rowan
Ididn’t do it on purpose. Not entirely.
But I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Perhaps a bit selfishly, if I must admit.
I’ve been pining after Natalia Mae Davis-Jeong since I was sixteen and I don’t think she ever once noticed me.
At first, I’d tease about having a crush; I’d ask her out to a movie, make it sound like a joke, and she’d tell me she wasn’t into blonds.
I’d ask, “Are you sure, because I’m a catch?
” just to get a rise, and she’d shoot those daggers from her eyes.
And I swear that glare still turns me on.
Her bakery, The Black Cat, is perfectly her with checkered floors, chairs and tables with white chipped paint that are meant to look rustic, fresh purple flowers replaced every week, and her pastries laid out under a long display glass.
Each cupcake is topped with frosting of all different colors—including black, purple, and green.
I walk in sometimes, even if she isn’t there, just so I can be somewhere near her—or in a space that I know she’s been in.
Sometimes I smell her and I try to follow the smell like a cartoon character flying through the air, chasing that string of air flowing into their noses.
And when she’s there, I try to take my time—look at her, talk to her, flirt with her.
So, when I walked in the other day, her presence pulled me right to her, like there was a leash around my neck.
Then I saw her dads sitting across from her and I froze—just slightly—until I saw her leg shaking and hands trembling on her lap, and I knew she needed some sort of saving.
Then her dads spotted me and said I was her boyfriend, and my only thought was, “This is the closest I’ll ever get to that. ”
So, no, it wasn’t on purpose. But this little game of pretend is like breadcrumbs for my hungry heart.
For tonight, I have some of my best sous-chefs working on the meals, and my best pastry chef for this weekend’s dessert specials.
I’ve blocked off a table in the back that I personally like the most because of the decor in that section—the mix of pink and purple flowers twined together and hanging around bulb string lights that brighten the area.
I’m setting our table with glasses, napkins, utensils, and menus when the wide, rustic wooden door of the restaurant swings open.
Natalia, who can only be described as a literal goddess, strides in toward where I stand, wearing a beautiful, lilac dress with a black coat hanging from her shoulders, and white sandal heels on her feet.
Her long spirals are shiny and defined, all tossed to the side and cascading down the right side of her head.
If I were an artist, I’d mold her figure out of clay, paint it, and draw it on every napkin and sheet of paper I could find before putting it on display for anyone to see.
If I were a poet, I’d write bleeding poems of her beauty, of her heart and mind.
But somehow all of that would be a waste of time because nothing—absolutely nothing—would compare to and capture what she looks like through human eyes.
“Hey,” she says.
“H—” My breath gets trapped in my throat. “You look beautiful, Natalia.”
“I…You…” Her magic eyes roam down my body, undoubtedly perusing my outfit.
“Beautiful.” I breathe again, still struck with awe. I could fall to my knees.
Natalia’s eyes flit to mine again and her lips part for a split second before she murmurs, “Stop.”
I clear my throat. “Where are your dads?”
Gracefully, she removes her coat, and gently lays it across the booth side of the table.
“Probably still at Meredith and Marilyn’s.
” She sighs. Natalia stands on white heels, in the lilac dress that molds to her hourglass figure, fitting snuggly around her breasts and waist, flaring at her hips.
“They’ve probably decided to sleep on a bigger bed after all this time. ”
“What do you mean?” I ask, still fighting the urge to drop to my knees or throw her over my shoulder and take her home so I can strip her naked and worship her the way she is meant to be.
“I need a drink. Do you need a drink?” Natalia steps around me, through the influx of diners entering with and without reservations, and makes herself at home behind the bar.
One of my bartenders glances at Natalia and I give him an, it’s okay, signal. Natalia scans each liquor bottle—cheapest to most expensive—and she happens to land on our most expensive vodka.
There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes as she finds herself a shot glass and fills it to the rim. “I’d drink from the bottle if you didn’t have this stupid tap thingy in it.”
She slams the glass bottle and throws the shot back. No reaction—no shudder or grimace.
“Natalia—”
She slams a fresh shot glass on the bar and fills it with vodka, excess liquid spilling over the edge until she refills her own glass. She edges the new glass toward me and lifts her own, waiting with a lifted brow.
I wish she’d just talk to me and tell me why this dinner seems so difficult for her. I really didn’t understand. She was already lying to her parents; I thought stepping in would help. I overstepped, I know that. She just—
“Are you going to take it or not?” Natalia snaps.
I sigh and reach for the shot glass. I clink mine with hers, earning myself a feeble smile before she tosses it back—no reaction from her again. No tell that it burns on its way down or stings a bit in her stomach, only a stoic expression while my face twists.
“I don’t like vodka,” I say, my voice hoarse from the burn, and clear my throat.
Natalia smiles, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes, and turns toward the selection of liquor. “That’s okay. Let’s see, we have Johnny Walker, Don Julio…Patrón…”
“Natalia, talk to me—”
Natalia reaches up toward the Don Julio, nearly tipping over several bottles of gin and whiskey, and I run behind the bar to prevent any kind of potentially bloody incident.
“Natalia, stop. It’s fine.” I catch the bottle of Don Julio before it tips over its ledge, onto her head, and set it back in its secure place.
I take her hand in mine and lead her out from behind the bar, toward our table. “Come.”
Her heels tap against the floor behind me before I stop and squeeze her hand.
“You don’t have to do this, Rowan. I don’t need you to save me,” she says quickly, frowning. “We can come up with an excuse or…I’ll just…tell them the truth. It’s okay.”
My hand wraps around her upper arm mindlessly. “I know,” I say. “But I’m here because I want to be.”
She nods, expelling a breath. “You can leave, though—if you want, or if they start to get on your nerves…I don’t know. They can get really fucking annoying.”
I snort and step closer, squeezing her arm for reassurance. “I did this to myself,” I remind her. “I’ll be fine. We will be fine.”
Her lips twitch, her eyes brightening only a smudge. “I keep telling you to mind your business.”
I give her a half smile. “And I keep forgetting to listen.”
“Rowan,” she breathes, biting her quivering lip. “I’m sorry, I’ve been…a bitch.”
I shake my head. “None of that. Now, tell me what’s wrong. Why are you shaking? What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing,” she rasps. “I just…”
“Anything you need me to do, sweetheart, I’ll do it.”
“You…You called—”
The sentence goes unfinished when I look over her head and spot her dads immediately as they take in the restaurant I’ve worked hard to build for myself. A dream I’ve had since my mother taught me how to cook, sharing her family recipes, and since my father taught me how to properly cook a steak.
“They’re here?” her quiet voice asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “We can talk after.”
“I—”
I hate that Peter cuts her off when he nears, with his arms open toward me. “Rowan! This place is…Wow. Your father must be beyond proud of you.”
My heart breaks. Natalia’s back is still toward her dad’s, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes down at our feet. I wrap my arm around her, resting my hand at the small of her back—an affection a boyfriend would show.
A show of affection I would love to always give her.
Natalia steps into my side and I hear the inhale that tells me she’s preparing herself.
Like magic, she flips her hair, twists in my arm, puts a hand on my chest, and pastes a smile on her face.
You would never know that this girl was just taking shots to make herself feel better to have dinner with her fathers and me.
“Thank you, Mr. Jeong,” I say, and press my hand into the small of her back.
“Please,” her dad says, “Peter is fine.”
I dip my chin. “And how are you, Mr. Davis?”
Mr. Davis laughs deeply. “Richard is also fine, Rowan, please. And we’re well. We’re looking forward to the food.”
“Your mother was an amazing cook,” Peter says, and Natalia’s hand presses harder into my chest. “I’m sure she taught you well.”
“Thank you, sir,” I mutter, the compliment warming my heart. “Shall we sit?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
Natalia’s dads claim the chairs on the outer side of the booth, but I hold onto her for just a moment longer.
When she does the same, I kiss the top of her head just because I can.
I breathe her in, the scents of honey and coconut and whatever else she uses in her curls, and her fresh-scented perfume.
I inhale unabashedly, allowing the aroma to call my senses.
“Good?” I ask.
She blinks up at me. “Yeah, you?”
“Yeah.” I pat the small of her back once and turn with her toward the booth. I get in first so she doesn’t have to slide and has an easier means of escape, and when she sits beside me, our thighs press against each other.
Neither one of us makes an effort to separate.
“Rowan, how’s your father?” Natalia’s dad asks. “I haven’t seen Mitchell in…”
“Four years,” Natalia mutters.
“He’s well,” I say. “He’s in Pennsylvania with Andrew. They wanted to move after my mother passed and Andrew applied to Penn.”
“Good for him,” Richard says with a soft smile. “What’s he studying?”
“Computer science and mathematics,” I tell him proudly. “Double major.”
“Impressive,” Peter scoffs, lifting the menu from the table.
Natalia shifts beside me like her skin is an itchy article of clothing she wants to rip off her body. Under the table, I put my hand firmly on her knee and squeeze. “You okay?” I whisper in her ear.
“Yeah,” she rasps.
“Please, tell me everything,” Peter says. He’s always loved gossip; I remember his chats with my mother. Sometimes I’d hide and eavesdrop, snickering in the background. “When did you two finally realize you wanted to be together? Because, honestly, we’ve been waiting for this to happen.”
I huff a laugh. “I always knew,” I say. “But I finally asked her out about…what was it, sweetheart?” I look into her gleaming eyes and her brows flinch with a silent question. “Five months ago?”
Her closed lips pull into a small smile and she nods. “I think so.”
“Five months?” Richard asks. “And you haven’t told us?”
“Richard, please,” Peter hisses with a flick of his hand. “Let them finish.”
Richard rolls his eyes and motions for us to continue.
“I asked her to be my girlfriend when she was teaching me how to make my favorite cupcakes,” I lie, even though that’s exactly how I might have done it.
“That’s sweet, Rowan,” Richard says. “I’m happy you’re happy, Natty.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Natalia croaks shakily.
“Nat?” I say in her ear. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” she grumbles, her fingers trembling on her lap.
“You’re a bad liar.”
“Natalia, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Peter asks.
“Hmm?” She blinks like she’s coming back to herself. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Richard asks her. “Are you still—”
“Rowan, maybe we should grab that bottle of wine we picked out for my dads,” Natalia says, clamping her hand down on my thigh like a cry for help. But that fake smile on her face scares me because of how real it appears. It’s a cry for help all on its own.
“Of course, sweetheart,” I acquiesce and kiss her temple. I flash her dads a smile before she stands so I can slip out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”
I answer her desperate plea for an escape and change of conversation. Whatever her fathers were about to ask was enough for her to want to pounce. I think, after the amount of uncomfortable shifting she’s done beside me in the booth, I wouldn’t be surprised if I returned to find her gone.
Before I walk away, I brush my hand across her back with three taps of my fingers, and give her a close-lipped smile to ask, Are you okay?
Natalia returns the gesture as if to say, Yes.
I’ll just have to believe it for now.