Page 51 of Choke Hold

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

I just stare back at him and gesture around the kitchen that has batter, bowls and pans everywhere. “Obviously.”

He winces slightly, then grabs another bowl and starts sprinkling some kind of mixture over the pan.

“What are you doing?” I ask again.

Luca glances over his shoulder at me, then rakes his eyes over the kitchen with a look like I should already know the answer. “Baking.”

Annoyance is quickly rising as I rub my eyes again and sigh. “Yes, I see that. Why?”

He dramatically finishes sprinkling the stuff over the pan, then gestures to it with a wide smile. “Coffee cake for breakfast in the morning.”

But his smile doesn’t meet his eyes, and I can see that he knows he isn’t fooling me despite how hard he is trying. Something is going on. And I know this is stress baking.

I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for him to tell me the truth. And the innocence and forced happiness in his expression falters.

“Why are you baking at 3:30 in the fucking morning?” I ask again, stepping closer to him so he backs up and bumps into the counter behind him.

His eyes flick between mine, and his jaw tics slightly. He’s annoyed that he’s been caught… but caught hiding what?

“Moon and stars, Mitchell,” I say in a low voice, stepping even closer so that I can place my hands on the counter on either side of him. “Tell me.”

An irritated huff escapes him as he gives his head a slight shake. “Oh, fuck you,” he breathes.

But I don’t say anything else, and just wait. Trapping him here and staring into his eyes as I feel the energy in him shift. The irritation fades as he gives in. Because the moon and stars show us how we really feel.

He lets out a large sigh, placing a hand on my chest to push me back. “My parents are continuing to pressure me to work for this fucking private school.”

“The one you went to?” I ask, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter opposite him, trying to ignore the bit of panic in the pit of my stomach that he may some day give in, and move home. Away from me.

Luca scoffs, shaking his head. “When I told them I’m not moving back, my mother apparently shifted her focus to some sort of brother school or something outside St. Louis.” He then turns, pulling yet another mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “There’s an open Phys. Ed. and Health position there. A step up from high school science teacher in Warsaw, I guess. It’s almost like she’s listening, but at the same time, she’s not listening at all.”

Just as I open my mouth to ask if that’s something he’s interested in, he whips around and points a wooden spoon at me.

“And the position I sub for at Westmount is opening to full-time with Diane going on leave, and that is where I want to be. But do you think they’ll listen? Oh, no.” He lets out a dark chuckle as he turns back to his bowl and dumps flour in it. “Doesn’t matter what I want. Who cares if I’m happy being a monster with my elementary kids in the public school system. The cold, stuck-up, college prep high school is apparently where I’m supposed to be, teaching snarky teenagers about STIs and stuffy fucking sports like cricket.”

I take a moment to process this, as he measures out more ingredients. “So, you pretty much have the position you want…”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” Luca waves a hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter how many times I tell them I am right where I want to be, working towards my goals, they fucking meddle and set up meetings and tell Deans that I’m interested in things I’m not fucking interested in.”

“So…” I watch him as he frantically mixes his ingredients in the bowl, flour spilling out over the edge, “you’re baking instead of telling them to fuck off?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “If only it was that easy.”

“Could be.” I shrug. Then I step towards him as his stirring somehow becomes even more chaotic, and I think more is going to end up on the floor than in the bowl. “Just, stop.”

“No,” he mutters, angling himself away from me.

“Give me the spoon.” I reach for it, but he yanks the bowl away from me and tucks it under his arm.

“No,” he says again, glaring at me as he continues to stir.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. “Give me the fucking spoon.”

“No.” Luca turns his body away from me again, protecting the bowl and narrowing his eyes at me like he’s daring me to make a move.

But before I can make that move, the oven timer goes off. Of course he already has something in there.

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