20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Will
Wired from our first kiss, we stay up late. I don’t want to let her go tonight.
I find us aprons in the kitchen walk-in pantry, wash my hands, have her do the same, and start poking around the kitchen and the fridge for ingredients.
“What are you doing?” she asks, sitting down at the kitchen island. She leans her head on her hand, looking over at me. “I thought you had a chef who comes to cook for you here?”
“We do, but he takes the night off after he prepares dinner.”
My answer is not what she was expecting, but when I pull out clear, labeled containers of what was on tonight’s menu, she gawks at me as I set the containers of baked chicken, roasted asparagus, cubed sweet potatoes with a special brown sugar glaze, and honey cornbread on the counter.
“No way,” she says, poking fun at me. “Actually, you know what? I believe you. Of course you have a personal chef. You have a maid too, right?”
“Technically, my parents have the personal chef and a cleaning company that comes by. I just have a trust fund.”
“So you admit that you are, in fact, a trust fund baby?” she teases, coming to stand next to me. She helps me plate the food for both of us on the plates I set on the counter.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “It’s quite sad, actually.
Growing up, I guess for a while there I didn’t really think about the fact that my family had everything.
I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to eat or where I was going to sleep.
I didn’t have to worry about anything. It’s a nice life, but it comes with consequences.
For me, I may have grown up not really having to worry about things like food, clothes, or shelter, but I did have to worry about not meeting my parents’ expectations.
I had to worry about making sure that I did everything right.
I had to be one of the best students at school.
I always had to join the clubs and sports teams that my parents wanted me to join.
I didn’t even like playing sports, but I ran track even though I hated running. ”
She laughs at that last part, saying, “Don’t tell Jay that because he loves running. He’ll drag you on a run sooner or later.” I laugh with her. Once the laughter dies down, she continues. “Seriously though, what was it like for you growing up like that?”
“Well, everything was handed to me at a cost. The cost of my freedom. I wasn’t free to choose what I wanted to do or what I liked.
Baking was something that I loved. Something I learned from my Aunt Kat.
Sometimes I would bake desserts for my family for dinner or the holidays, but I wouldn’t tell them it was me.
I let them believe that the chef cooked it.
I begged our chef, who’s been with us since I was a kid, not to tell my parents. ”
“Did that work?” she asks.
“Most times it worked. One time I told them that I made something, and even though my mom smiled at me, my dad looked so disappointed. He told me that my place was not in the kitchen. That I was going to take over the business and grow up to be just like him. So baking was never supposed to be my thing.”
“That’s insane,” she says. “I can’t believe you went through that.”
I shrug. “It’s not fair, but it’s true. Baking was something I was good at.
Something that I loved. Something that I did for fun.
Something that allowed me to spend time with my aunt when she was alive.
Something I did in secret when my parents weren’t home.
I hate that because it’s what I love to do.
I wish my parents understood. Sometimes I think my mom would be understanding if my dad would allow it. ”
“Your dad should not be allowed to run your life,” Lizzie says defiantly.
There’s been so much going on tonight, and lately, I’ve missed that fire in her voice.
“Who does he think he is? You’re not some clone. Yes, you may be his kid, but you’re a person. I can’t believe he treats you like that.”
She goes quiet before saying, “The sad thing is, I sort of understand how you feel. Things with my parents aren’t easy.
Papa’s a bit more chill, but the way Mama acts sometimes, it’s like she wants to run my life.
She’s hard on my sisters too. I feel like they take it in stride, but I’m the one she picks on.
I’m the one she always has to bother about my dating life.
Sending me texts at all hours of the day and night about what I should be doing, who I should be dating.
Making comments about me working at the cafe instead of finding a husband after Billie left me.
She once told me that I should find a man because she and my dad cosigned a student loan for me to get my business degree, and she said getting married was the least I could’ve done to pay her back. ”
“Wow, that’s harsh, Lizzie. What’s up with our parents? What are the odds that we’d both have issues with our folks and end up together?” I say, half joking, taking the food out of the microwave and setting a plate in front of her as I place my plate in the microwave.
“We’re together now?” she asks, her voice carrying a flirty edge to it. She takes a bite of her sweet potatoes, and I watch her as her expression changes. She’s no longer thinking about me. “Wow. This is so good.”
“I know,” I say, not having to taste it to know it’ll be great. We’ve had the same chef since I was a kid, and his food has always been good. “Guess who’s going to be making dessert?”
“Oh, is that why we’re wearing aprons? I thought maybe you were just some weird rich kid who has a phobia about getting his clothes dirty while he eats dinner in his parents’ extremely fancy house.”
“Why would that be the thing, Lizzie?” I ask, eating my food too and laughing at her.
“Dude, it’s like midnight. Give me a break. I’m probably delusional right now, so don’t hold anything I say or do against me.”
“Not even the kiss?” I ask, looking over at her from my spot at the island where we sit side by side. “Was it real, Lizzie?”
“You tell me, Will,” she says.
I notice how she says my first name. I notice how she’s been calling me by my first name a bit more. I also realize how much I like it.
I say, “It was real for me.”
I put my fork down, no longer interested in eating right now. I turn toward her. I watch her sit up straighter, push her food away, and put her fork down too.
She licks her lips, and it draws my attention. I’m reminiscing about how my lips were touching hers only minutes ago.
She follows my gaze, making me blush. I look away, but not for long. My eyes are back on her because I want her to know how I feel. Which is difficult because I’m still trying to figure it out.
All I know is that what I feel for her isn’t fake. It never was. But how do I say that to her without sounding like I’m moving too fast or that I want too much?
How do I tell her that I never wanted to be just friends with her? I wanted to know her. I wanted to work with her, to be around her. Being her friend was a perk, but I never wanted it to be just that. I just never allowed myself to want more.
It could be the late hour or the drama of being back in a place that I thought I wouldn’t return to for a while, or maybe ever. A place the old me couldn’t wait to leave.
Now I’m back. Most importantly, I’m back with somebody from my new life who actually means something to me.
“What are we going to do?” she asks. “We have rules. We have guidelines for what we’re supposed to be doing and how we’re supposed to fake it. If the kiss was real... if this is real... then what are we going to do?”
I want to tell her that we should just call it all off. Like she mentioned before the kiss, maybe we need a new contract. We don’t have to tell anybody this was fake because maybe it never really was.
Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to call her mine. I don’t know if that makes it right, but I do know that now that I’ve gotten to kiss her and hold her close, I don’t ever want to stop.
“What do you want to do?” I ask her, and I hate myself for doing it.
I wish I could be bold and tell her exactly how I feel because I’m the one who told her that the kiss was real for me. But I also don’t want to push anything on her. I want to hear her out and see where her mind is, especially now that she’s met my family and can see a bit of the mess I’m in.
She says, “I want to know more about you. I feel like I know you, but...”
“You do.”
I tell her this because I don’t want her to second guess what she’s feeling for me just because of the things I’m dealing with right now. I don’t want her to feel like I’m this whole new person and forget about our months of friendship, working together, and getting to know one another.
“I may not have been as open about my family and my past here, but it’s not because I didn’t trust you.
It’s just because I wanted to get away from all of this.
I was running, but then I found Selah Falls, and I found you.
I found a new home, and I got so comfortable being who I was there with you and with your friends.
It was a fresh start for me, but I know now that it wasn’t fair for me to pretend like this other side of me didn’t exist.”
“I’m listening,” she says, encouraging me to go on.
“So you do know me. You probably know me better than most people do. But I guess this part of me isn’t something I can just bury.
It’s the part of myself I’m ashamed of. I know I’m privileged, but I also know that privilege could be taken away.
That’s why I wanted this scheme to work.
I’ve been prideful. Too full of myself, my past, and my dreams. That’s why I wanted our fake dating relationship to work. ”
“You’re telling me that pride is your downfall?” she asks.