14. Lauren
LAUREN
Lauren woke the next morning in her large bed with the very white sheets and rolled over. It was early, only a little after seven, but the warm sunlight from the window had woken her up. She yawned and sat up.
Her room was still very bland. The white sheets, wood floors, bare white walls, and general emptiness were getting to her a little, but she’d avoided adding anything of her own.
This still felt like a waystation, but maybe she should add a few personal touches.
After all, she was still going to be here for almost a year.
Lauren sniffed. A delicious smell was wafting through the house.
It smelled like coffee and something else.
Eggs? Bacon? This had never happened before in the several weeks Lauren had been living here.
She rolled out of bed, took a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, and put on a pair of leggings and a top.
In case James was responsible for the smell, Lauren didn’t want to run into him in her pajamas again. Once had been enough.
The closer Lauren got to the kitchen, the stronger and more delicious the smell was. She entered and found James standing by the stove. He wore an apron printed with small mustaches and held a spatula.
“Excuse me,” Lauren said. “I’m looking for my fake husband, James Pembrook. Do you know where he is? He always wears suits, works all the time, and settles for dry salmon and rice for most of his meals.”
James turned around, spatula in hand, and grinned. “Is this that out of character?”
“Yes.” Lauren pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and took a seat. “Very much so. I had no idea you could cook. Or that you owned a mustache apron.”
“I’m full of surprises, too,” James said. “I’m actually not a bad chef. My mom taught me a lot of her recipes before… Well. She taught me a lot. And the mustache apron was a gift from a friend a few years ago.”
“I see.” Lauren wondered what secrets were hiding behind that pause. “I guess I believe that you can cook, but my question is, why are you cooking? Are we having company?”
“No.” James chuckled and turned back to the stove in time to flip a perfect pancake onto a plate. “This is a small thank-you for your help last night.”
“Wow. I should do more favors for you.” Lauren took an appreciative sniff. “It smells great.”
“Thank you. The secret is a dash of nutmeg.”
“Really?” Lauren hid her smile before James turned around to place the plate of pancakes in front of her. It was highly amusing to hear buttoned-up, professional, arrogant James say things like a dash of nutmeg. “Fascinating.”
“Thank you. We have pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit salad, coffee, and hash browns.”
“I say again, wow.” Lauren’s eyes widened as James carried plate after plate to the table. Everything looked and smelled delicious, and Lauren’s stomach grumbled. “This is amazing. How long did this take?”
“Not long. Oh, and I almost forgot. I also made tea.” James carried over a small porcelain teapot and set it in front of Lauren. “I followed the instructions on the box. I hope I did it right.”
“I had no idea you even owned a teapot.” Lauren poured a cup into the mug James had just handed her. It was the same English breakfast tea she usually had in the mornings, though she wasn’t sure how James knew that.
“I went out and bought the pot,” James admitted.
“You must be very dedicated to not owing me,” Lauren said as she added a little sugar and milk to her tea. “Although I don’t know if one breakfast will be enough…”
“Are you just angling for me to cook more?”
Lauren smiled. “Maybe. Now that I know you know how to. I have to ask… if you can cook this well, why don’t you? Why do you settle for dry salmon?”
“For me, cooking is about more than just food.” James sat across from her and handed her a plate of fluffy eggs studded with cheddar cheese and chives. “It’s about sharing a meal, about making people feel at home. Cooking for myself feels silly, and I’m too busy for it, anyway.”
“This is another side to you.” Lauren took a few slices of crispy bacon. “I had no idea you enjoyed sharing meals with people.”
“My mom always taught me that feeding people is a great way to bring them together,” James said.
“I think I would like your mom,” Lauren said.
“Yeah.” A shadow crossed James’s face. “I’m sure you would’ve. Anyway, please dig in.”
Lauren didn’t pry. James clearly didn’t want to talk more about his mom, and the word “would’ve” implied that his mom was not around to meet. Instead of prying, she helped herself to a fluffy pancake, added a dollop of butter and a drizzle of syrup, and started eating.
It would have been easy to look up James’s mom and find out what he wasn’t saying about her. Lauren wouldn’t, though. It would’ve felt like an invasion of James’s privacy.
“This is great,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“How about I make dinner tonight?” she suggested.
“Is it going to be a packaged salad?”
Lauren rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her tea. “I can cook, too, you know. I was the main cook in my family from ages nine to twenty-two.”
“Nine?” James frowned. “That’s young.”
Lauren stuffed her mouth with a large bite of pancake and gestured to show that she couldn’t very well answer him with a full mouth. Once she’d swallowed, she changed the topic.
“Are you going to the office today?”
“No. It’s Sunday, so I usually work from home.”
“How relaxing.” Lauren smiled. “That’s good, though, because I can have dinner ready for us at a reasonable time.”
“Excellent. What are you making?”
“That’s a surprise.”
“Is it… a packaged sandwich?”
Lauren glared playfully at him. “I promise, it’s going to be good. Like you, I can cook.”
“Why don’t you?” James asked.
“Because…” Lauren sighed. “I’m just too busy, I guess.
” The truth was, after thirteen years of feeding her family as best she could with limited ingredients, cooking tended to be more stressful than fun.
And, yes, Lauren worked enough that it was difficult to make time.
Still, she was looking forward to getting back into the kitchen tonight.
She had to prove to James that she could cook just as well as he could.
And maybe cooking could even be fun now.
“I hear that,” James agreed.
They chatted a little more as they ate. Lauren found that she was relaxed and happy in a way she wasn’t usually. This felt different from the animosity she usually shared with James. It was… nice. Homey.
After breakfast, Lauren and James loaded the dishwasher together before going their separate ways.
Lauren worked, but between tasks, she looked up recipes and placed an order for groceries to be delivered.
Around six, she headed into the kitchen, and by seven, James wandered in, sniffing appreciatively.
“Okay,” he said. “This does smell great. What’s for dinner?”
“Enchiladas.” Lauren straightened up from looking in the oven. “They’ll be ready in five minutes. And there’s a salad. And mojitos.”
“Mojitos?”
“You made a beverage, so I had to, too.” Lauren winked, and James laughed. “Plus, I love mojitos.”
“I see. You’re trying to show me up.”
“I am,” Lauren agreed. “And…” She pulled the tray of enchiladas out of the oven. They were smothered in homemade red sauce and covered in bubbling cheese. “I’m winning.”
“I’m withholding judgment until after the taste test.”
James sat at the table while Lauren put the final touches on the food and served it. Then they both dug in. After a few minutes, James nodded.
“Okay. I’m ready to pass my verdict.”
“Let me guess. It’s the best meal you’ve ever eaten, and you take back everything you said about me having bad taste in food.”
“I was going to say, I think it’s a tie,” James said.
“That’s a start. Now, we need a tiebreaker.”
James met her eyes across the table. “We sure do.”
Warmth sparked in Lauren’s chest, and she quickly looked down at her plate. She was feeling increasingly comfortable with James. Maybe too comfortable. But as long as they were still teasing and competing, all would be well.
She just had to make sure they didn’t stray any closer than that.
That week, Lauren and James fell into a pattern.
They shared breakfast each morning in the kitchen, usually cereal or toast or something quick before work.
James boiled water for Lauren’s tea when he started his coffee, and she set out his favorite orange marmalade on the table for his toast. Then, they both went to work, often riding the elevator down to the parking garage together and sharing quips about who would work harder that day.
Back home, they took turns cooking or ordering dinner.
Lauren made her repertoire of favorites and found she really could enjoy cooking again.
It was fun thinking of ways to top James’s last dinner with innovative beverages or interesting flavor combinations.
It was almost cathartic to have plenty of food and enough time to make nice dinners, instead of trying to find ways to stretch a single box of instant mac and cheese and a few freezer-burned peas to feed six people.
James’s dinners were great, too. He produced a series of delicious entrees and, sometimes, desserts.
Lauren was impressed — and impressed by the way he noticed what she seemed to enjoy the most and recreated it again later.
After she made a face about cherry tomatoes in one dish, he stopped serving them.
After she complimented a salad with olives and feta, he made it again.
While they ate, they would sit and talk.
They teased each other, shared stories from their workdays, and planned outings to show that they were a real couple.
She told him about her pitch for Missy that was coming up.
It had turned into a bigger deal than she’d expected and, if all went well, would be an excellent source of steady income.
James offered her a few tips and even let her practice her pitch with him.
In turn, she listened to stories about his clients and offered her thoughts.
By the end of the week, Lauren was spending all day looking forward to eating with James that evening — though she worked hard to keep her focus on her job.
Somehow, without her noticing, the ice between her and James had begun to thaw. Cracks were forming, and meltwater ran down into a growing river. He was no longer just an arrogant jerk. He was… a friend. Sometimes, their teasing even teetered closer to flirting.
A few times, Lauren had to remind herself that James wasn’t really her husband.
Their newfound closeness meant that when Lauren arrived home from work on Friday night (James’s night to cook) and found the kitchen quiet and dark, her spirits fell.
Maybe their week of shared meals had been nothing but a fluke, and they would now return to the more familiar territory of keeping their distance.
Slowly, Lauren went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a bag of salad she’d planned to make with pasta the following night (her night), but she could eat it for her dinner now. A little sadly, she reached for a bowl.
Of course, it was natural that they couldn’t have dinner together every night. Both she and James were busy. Lauren had even cut short a meeting so that she could be home in time. That had been silly. She needed to focus on her work, just as James did.
Lauren was just about to tear open the bag of salad when James hurried into the kitchen, slightly out of breath.
“Hey!” He slumped against the counter. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”
Lauren froze with the salad in her hand. “No.”
“Good. I wanted to make it home for our dinner, but I was a little delayed. If you can give me five minutes, I’ll whip something up.”
Lauren tried to hide her smile. She could never admit to James how pleased she was that he was here.
“No problem. I can help you,” she said. “I mean, if you’d like. We can also skip tonight and just eat our own food.”
“No, no. Tonight’s the night I win our little competition, once and for all.” James plucked the salad bag out of her hand and shook his head. “Especially since you were about to eat this.”
“Yeah, right.” Lauren reached for a cutting board. “Now, tell me. Why were you delayed?”
James’s face fell slightly. “Well… we have a bit of a problem.”
Lauren froze again, her heart rate spiking. That didn’t sound good at all.