Chapter 31 Audrey
Chapter thirty-one
Audrey
Relationships aren’t supposed to be this easy, right?
Maybe it’s just my innate cynicism, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe Jackson left me more jaded than I care to acknowledge, but I find myself staring into space, counting all of Rhett’s green flags.
“You’re awfully quiet, darlin’. What’re you thinking about?” Rhett dries his hands on a dish towel, before settling back into the counter, looking at me.
I decided to say exactly what I'm thinking. “Just wondering why you’re so nice to me.” I say it like a joke, but I don’t think it lands like one.
“You act like it's a bad thing or it’s hard. I don’t know who in your life ever told you that you weren’t easy to fall for. I’ll never tell you what to do, but I’d suggest you stop listening to that voice.”
Rhett’s words sink in sharply, and I know he’s right, even if it’s hard to stomach.
I just spent the last few hours baking in the sun with a tall glass of iced tea next to me, reading in the hammock he positioned perfectly between two oak trees.
All because of him and how he listens to me, takes my tiny little daydreams seriously. No one has ever done that for me.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate you, Rhett,” I reply, and he nods, his baseball cap not hiding the small smirk on his lips. “What?” I ask, wondering if there’s something on my face. Instinctually I wipe at my mouth.
“Did you enjoy the show this afternoon, ma’am?
” I feel myself turn red, because without further explanation, I know what he’s referring to.
The hammock gave me a straight view into the workshop, where I stole glimpses of him doing his woodworking all afternoon.
I had to reread chapter five three times, and it's all his fault.
“You know, I’m not an expert at what you were doing, but I don’t believe woodworking without a shirt on is advisable.”
“Would you like to file a formal complaint?” he teases, inching forward, and I tap my lips with my finger.
“Absolutely not.” Rhett closes the gap, kissing me. He’s messy with saw dust but I don’t mind. After watching him in his shop, I’m pretty sure I'll never look at carpentry the same.
“Oh, by the way, my mom and sister are very excited to meet you tomorrow.”
My dirty thoughts drop quicker than a fly as a new bout of nerves have me in a chokehold.
I’ve been trying not to think about tomorrow, thinking I would be fine.
I’ve been to countless dinner parties where the pressure to impress the hosts was at the forefront of my mind.
Where very important guests of my parents’ or Jackson’s coworkers surrounded me, and I had to keep my conversation polite, and reserved.
But being invited to the Anderson weekly family dinner tomorrow was in an entirely new class.
“Oh, wow.”
Rhett’s brows furrow slightly, and he pinches the back of his neck.
“Please don’t worry or overthink it. It’s no big deal, really.”
I scoff, tapping my nails on the kitchen counter. “A dinner party with your family is a big deal. I just want them to like me. I know our relationship kind of came out of left field and—” I stopped, flustered and fidgeting in my bare feet.
Rhett lets out a low chuckle, stepping up to me. My stomach flips as he tucks my hair behind my ear, an amused smirk on his lips. If only we could all be as cool and casual as Rhett Anderson. Add effortlessly beautiful to that mix, too.
“If by dinner party, you mean a potluck with two kids and three dogs running around, then honey, it’s a dinner party.”
I let out a loud huff, but Rhett continues, his amused smirk persistent.
“And they will love you. Seriously, don’t worry about it. If anything, I should be worried they’ll scare you off.”
I cross my arms across my chest, chewing my lip, and Rhett drapes his arms around my neck, stooping down to meet my darting gaze.
“Don’t get me wrong, the food will be good. My mom puts farm to table restaurants to shame. But please, don’t stress it. Okay?” I love the way his accent grows thick when he talks about his mom, and I lean back to get a better look at him. "We can stop at the store and grab something to bring.”
“We can’t just buy something from the grocery store, Rhett!” I gasp, truly appalled at the suggestion.
“It’s fine, I assure you.” He waves, clearly having fun with my dramatics.
“You just told me your mom is an amazing cook. Let me at least bake something to bring.”
“No one is expecting that.”
“I don’t care, I refuse to show up with store-bought potato salad like a bachelor.
” I pause, glancing at Rhett who feigns offense.
He puts a hand to his chest, and I shake my head, pulling up a recipe on my phone and continue, “No offense, but you have me now. Things are changing, darlin’.
” I mock him and Rhett secedes. “Mind going to the store with me? I need to get a few things. Unless you have lavender essence and fine almond flour?”
“I’ll grab my keys.” Rhett reaches for them and hooks me in to kiss my temple.
“Thought so,” I reply quietly, silently going over the recipe in my head. I need these cookies to come out perfect. Nothing less will do.
The timer for the macaron's beeps, and I have to side-step over Mabel, who’s inconveniently planted herself under my feet in this little kitchen.
Two dozen lavender macaron shells come out perfectly, and as I pipe the zesty lemon filling, a lightness fills my bones. A slight breeze fills the kitchen from the open window over the sink, and I finish the last cookie.
“I’m seriously impressed with myself right now.
” I step back admiring my work, talking to Mabel, my only audience.
The last time I made these was two years ago when Jackson was in his last year of grad school.
He was always busy, leaving me to be by myself after work, so I started baking more and more.
One particular night, the last time I ever attempted to make this complicated French cookie, everything figuratively crumbled.
He was stressed because of finals but unfortunately, I caught the brunt of that stress.
Jackson came home late from studying at the library, and I was really excited to see him, thinking this would be a sweet gesture.
Our apartment smelled like a bakery, with plated cookies and tea.
I set up the little dining space, inviting him to unwind with me, to merely take ten minutes and catch up; a rarity in our relationship.
He barely had made eye contact with me as he came in, agitation coating his features as he threw his backpack onto the sofa without a care.
“I can’t Audrey, I have class in the morning.” He didn’t even look at me, but I bit back my tears, and cleared my throat, attempting again; thinking maybe he simply needed me to show him it was okay to take a break, but I was wrong. So, so wrong.
“Babe, please sit with me for a few minutes, it won’t kill you,” I encouraged, kissing his cheek, searching his face until his tired red eyes met mine.
“Audrey, when will you grow up? You have work in the morning, I have school, and now the kitchen is a fucking mess. This little hobby of yours is getting out of control.” Hostility laced every word.
Everything went silent between us and a cloud settled around me as he pushed past, straight into our bedroom, closing the door with force.
That night I ended up throwing the entire batch away, put my favorite new cookbook back on the shelf and cleaned up the kitchen in complete silence, not making a sound as tears spilled down my cheeks.
He broke my heart that night, and I think a little part of me knew then he’d never understand me, never see me for me. But I took his words to heart and didn’t bake again for a very long time.
My throat is tight, thinking about that night, until Mabel paws my foot, begging me for a cookie.
I toss her one of her homemade treats instead and gently stack the cookies in a container, and place them in the refrigerator.
The front of my new apron— the one I bought at the store today— is dirty with powdered sugar and butter, but it brings a smile to my face.
I start to unlace the tie as the back door opens.
In steps Rhett, sweat glistening on his face as he wiped a fine film of saw dust off his hands onto his jeans.
“Holy shit, I feel like I just walked into The Great British Baking Show tent.”
My mouth falls open at the mention of my favorite show. “You know that show?”
“I was forced to watch it against my will. My nieces love it.”
I laugh, picturing him watching it with his nieces.
“Hey, you have a little flour in your hair.” Rhett motions, and I touch my head, as if I could feel flour.
“No, I don—”
But he doesn’t let me finish before taking a pinch of flour from the open bag and flicking it onto my head. My mouth falls open, a dramatic gasp leaving my mouth.
“Rhett, you did not!”
He winks cockily at me, and this time, I grab the leftover lemon filling, squeezing it onto his head before he can dodge me.
We both stand in shock as it drips onto his shoulder.
He doesn’t flinch, which only makes my heart race fast. My eyes darted between his face and his hand creeping towards the open egg carton on the counter.
“You…wouldn’t…dare…”
But he does, grabbing the egg as I leap over Mabel, running out the backdoor of the house with Rhett chasing me.
“Sweetie pie, you forgot the eggs!” he yells, and I laugh so hard, I nearly trip, running through the grassy backyard.
Mabel bounds out after us, galloping with a toy in her mouth like it’s some kind of new game.
I circle the garage, pausing to catch my breath, but Rhett rounds the corner, and we stare in a standoff, the egg still in his grip.
“Truce?” I ask, breathily, my hands on my hips and Rhett nods.
“Truce,” he replies, relaxing his shoulder. I take my chance, snatching the egg from his palm and smashing it on his chest. A wild look crosses his blue eyes and as I turn, he grabs my apron strings, pulling me into him. Egg smears all over the front of me, too.
“You’re awful!” I holler, joking as I laugh from the depths of my core.
He shook his head, feigning disappointment. “And now look at us.” He clucks his tongue.
“I guess you’re going to have to help clean me up…” I bite my lip seductively, knowing what it does to him and watch Rhett’s eyes grow wide in response.
I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence before Rhett bent down, threw me over his shoulder and hauled me into the house like he was running for a Super Bowl touchdown.