Page 57 of Second Chance for Mr. Alden

“Do you like yours cooked any particular way?” I asked Alden, hoping his answer might give me a clue about what to do next.

He shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

I almost laughed. We were about to put that to the test. “I’ll remember that.”

“You know you don’t need to do this.” His raised eyebrow told me he was calling my bluff.

His smirk was as good as a dare, I couldn’t back down now. Little did he know, I’d stand on my hill and die here if I had to. I was going to cook grilled cheese and whatever came out of this pan, no matter what it was, I’d pretend it was the best damn thing I’d ever tasted.

I buttered the bread and turned the stove on to high. I was grateful it was electric since I had no idea how to light a gas one. With that done, I threw two pieces of bread into the pan, added six slices of cheese on top of each one, and then added a top slice of buttered bread.

Alden’s eyes followed me around the kitchen, and I swallowed down my unease. I avoided feeling that way whenever possible. Deciding to change that, I strode to the end table in the living room and turned on the small radio I’d had delivered with the groceries and flipped through the channels until one of my favorite Lizzo songs came on.

It was impossible not to move my hips and sing to the words. I pointed at Alden. “Come on, you know you want to sing along too.”

His broad shoulders shook with laughter as he playfully rolled his eyes at me. “You know I have a terrible voice.”

He really did, but I never cared. I shimmied over to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him from the seat.

“Uh, Jess.” His nose crinkled.

The smell of burning food wafted over to me too. I pressed my palm to my chest and gasped. How could my grilled cheese be burning? I’d only walked away for a minute.

I sprinted back to the stove and grabbed the edges of the bread to flip it. My fingers also touched the hot pan. Pain seared across my fingertips, and I dropped the sandwich back into the pan. “Fuck! That fucking hurt,” I whined. How did people do this?

Alden rummaged in a nearby drawer and pulled out a spatula. “Jess, you need this.”

“I know that.” I did, but had forgotten to grab one with him so close. I popped my burning finger into my mouth.

He gently moved my body away from the stove and stepped in front of the pan. Then he turned down the heat to the lowest setting and flipped both sandwiches.

I cringed. The side I could see was charcoal black and none of the cheese had melted. My shoulders slumped as I leaned against the sink.

Alden put down the spatula and faced me. His hands went to my shoulders, the weight comforting. “You didn’t have to pretend.”

His brown eyes softened with understanding. I felt like a total moron. I shifted my gaze to his chest, too embarrassed to look at him. “I didn’t want you to think you have to do everything for me. That I’m dead weight.”

“You’re not.”

“Really?” I stared at his shoes. “What am I capable of doing here besides ordering food? I’m useless otherwise.”

“Where is this coming from? We just got here, Jess.” His right hand grasped my chin and forced my eyes to meet his gaze.

“We’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours, and I have nothing to do, Alden. Nothing. My life is filled with taking pictures, hanging out with my cat, and recording myself talking about the newest trends. Without any of that I’m nothing.”

“Jess, you never stay still. You’re always busy doing something.”

My hands clenched and unclenched by my side as I held back my scream of frustration. His assessment of me was even worse. I didn’t actually do anything important besides staying busy. I opened my mouth to tell him I was going to bed early.

“No, please let me finish.” His eyes flashed with impatience.

I nodded.

The hand that was holding my chin slid to the side to cup my face. “Don’t forget I’ve been shadowing you for months now. You don’t spend your time frivolously. You go in person to the factories that produce the textiles your grandparents’ business sells, you get to know the people that work there. You have charities that you don’t just donate money to and walk away, you donate your time.”

Blah, blah, blah. “I have the time and money, Alden, it’s the least I can do,” I said, trying to affect a neutral tone when inside I wanted to cry. No one except for my grandmother and grandfather had ever noticed the good I did.

“Don’t discount what you do, Jess. You have this tough as nails exterior that you show the world, but inside you think that what you do isn’t good enough. And that’s not fucking true.”

---