Chapter 12 #2
I don't know if she realises what she just said, but I don't point it out — just grab the cake box out of her reach. She protests.
"I'm sorry! You smell like a field of flowers and have the complexion of a baby bathed in aloe vera."
I give a satisfied grunt and then turn the cake box around. She forks a piece and holds it up. "Trade you a piece for you telling me why you...look like you do tonight. I've seen you come home after a bar shift for two weeks now, and you haven't looked this haggard yet."
"Oh, so now I'm 'haggard'?" I snatch the piece of cake out of her hand before she can take it back. But then she grabs the whole box.
She grins and holds it against her. "Tell you what. Worst week wins the last bite."
"How very Notting Hill of you."
Her whole face lights up. "Ooh, you get a bonus point for getting the reference."
"Please. A baby-faced Hugh Bonneville making a fool of himself? One of my favourite movie dinner scenes ever."
"Well, well, Mr Wren. I think you might be revealing some layers I've yet to see in you."
I grin and tip my head. "Ladies first."
"Damn right." She sets the cake box down and then rubs her hands together like she's settling in to argue a case.
"Sixteen hours in a car that can't be relied upon to start unless sweet talked to.
Only to find out halfway that the place I was supposed to stay, the house in which I grew up, and where I said goodbye to the man who taught me how to read, and how to hold a spoon, has been sold, and then, after being promised my brother's house for a week, I am ambushed by his best friends, while I'm in a towel! "
The further along she gets in the details, the more we both dissolve into laughter.
"Don't forget the smooshed banana gun!" I say in a loud whisper.
She groans and covers her face. “How could I forget the banana. And the mango smoothie shower!"
I yelp with laughter.
We let the laughter wash over us, the late hour making us a little goofy.
Finally, I swallow the last of the giggles and say, "Okay. Admittedly, rough."
"Yup," she says, and reaches for the cake.
"Uh-uh! My turn!" I take a long deep breath, and then say, "A bloke wouldn't leave two of the girls alone tonight. Followed one down the hallway to the toilets, wouldn't take the hint, put a hand on her when she tried to walk off. Security got him out the door but he made a really ugly scene."
All the humour drops off her face at once. "Oh no. Is she okay?"
"She's okay. I made sure of it." I look at her instead of the banana bread now. "It's one of the hardest parts of my job. Keeping everyone safe. I don't think I could live with myself if someone came to real harm at one of our bars. Whether I'm there or not."
She props her chin up on her elbows and looks at me. And I can't look away. "That's really commendable of you, Zachary."
I let out an exhale. "Nah. I have a duty of care for my employees and my patrons. It should be the bare minimum, don't you think?"
"It should. But it's not, unfortunately." I take a bite of the banana bread she offers me. We share a look in the dark, emotion flickering across her face. My fingertips itch to trace the lines forming there.
I lean in, my fingers gripping the marble of the kitchen island, inches from her elbows. "That wasn't the hardest part of my night though."
She shoots me a look of surprise as she straightens up. "What's the hardest part?"
I should stop here. Walk out of the room, shut the door, keep her safely on the other side of it. But of course, I don't. Because I'm a fucking idiot.
"The hardest part of not just tonight, but the last two weeks has been missing you for six years, and now getting to stand so close to you I can smell lavender in your shampoo. So close to the only woman in the whole fucking world I want to kiss but can’t.
” I lean in closer because I can’t not. “And I don’t know how much restraint I’ve got left in me, Lex. ”
We don't move. Neither of us makes a sound. Her eyes are locked with mine, and I know that even in the dark, she can see that I mean every single word.
Then she shakes her head, breaking eye contact and lets out a nervous breath. "Priya was wrong," she says. "Marcus isn't the one I need to be careful of.” Her finger lifts in shakey accusation. “It's you."
"Alexia."
She busies herself, pouring herself some more tea. "You should see your bar reviews, by the way." She's talking quickly now, words tumbling over each other. "Someone left one this week that just says 'the bartender changed my life, four stars.' Why not five? Makes no sense. Bugging me all week."
I clear my throat, giving her space from what I said. "Wow. Only four stars. Brutal. Life changing and still can't get that last star?"
"Right? Some people can't be pleased."
She gets up to fill two glasses with water and brings them back.
"So, um, you still like the people you’ve met at work? Um, who was it, Greg something?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can, because apparently I enjoy my own pain.
The look she gives me tells me she’s not buying it. But she answers anyway.
“Craig, Yeah, he's fine. Pretty helpful, actually." She takes a drink of water. "He, er, asked me out."
Lights flash in front of my face. “He what? W-What did you say?"
She just shrugs. "Haven't decided."
Something burns my chest. No. You're supposed to tell him no. Never. Don't ask me again.
“Well, I should sleep," she says suddenly, sliding off the stool. "I have a tutorial to run at nine."
"Yeah. You should get some rest. Don't want to scare the students looking all...haggard."
She gives me a little smile, almost like a consolation.
We move toward the hallway together, the house quiet, easy the way it always is with her. Then she brushes past me, her shoulder catching my arm, and I lose all capacity to stop myself.
My fingers find her wrist in the dark, and I hold.
For a second I could still let go. Just say goodnight. Then she looks up at me, and I catch it — the sweetness of the cake on her breath, something warm and citrus, the skin of her hand unbearably soft under my thumb. Her pulse racing.
I don't let go.
She turns, mouth already forming a question, and I don't let her finish it. I pull her in slow, slow enough that she could stop it if she wanted to.
But she doesn't. And I kiss her.
She goes still, long enough that my stomach drops, and then her hand fists in the front of my T-shirt and she's kissing me back, slow and certain, tasting like tea and frosting.
My hand finds the curve of her waist and hauls her in against me, and every place we touch burns hot — her mouth soft and supple against mine, her fingers twisting tighter into my shirt like she's decided she wants no space between us.
I can feel her heartbeat where our chests meet, quick, matching mine.
If I die tonight, this is the moment I'll replay right before everything goes dark.
Our lips finally pull apart, before either of us is really ready for it. I brush a loose piece of hair off her face as her mouth falls slightly open as she gasps.
"Everything," I whisper against her lips.
She blinks up at me, breathing uneven. "Hmm?"
I kiss her again, softer this time, and pull back just far enough to say it properly. "Kissing you. It's everything I imagined it would be. And more. You’re everything and more. You always have been.”
For a second something breaks open on her face, and I feel myself fall into her.
Then the shutters come down, quick and practised, like she's caught herself before she lands too hard.
"Thanks for the banana bread," she murmurs.
Then she's gone, down the hall, her door clicking shut before I've worked out how to beg her to stay.
And then I stand there, staring at her closed door, listening to the house settle back into quiet like nothing has changed.
Except that nothing will ever be the same.