Page 17 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“I’m only going to run in and drop them off. She is having some kind of team bonding thing tonight. She told me I wasn’tinvited.” Marcus’ lips fall, genuinely hurt that his girlfriend won’t let him crash her team event. The kid is so in love that it’s kind of sickening.

“Just give me a minute to put the stuff I prepped in the fridge, then I’ll drive you.”

It only takes a few minutes to straighten up the kitchen. I know if I leave anything out, Mia will find a way onto the counter and dinner will be gone.

I find Marcus sitting on the bench on our front porch, a beer in his hand, one sticking out of the pocket of his gym shorts. “I’m just going to keep drinking. Hope that doesn’t bother you,” he says with a shrug.

“It’s your car. I don’t care what you do.” He tosses me his keys before taking a long pull of his beer.

Driving Marcus to Indy’s is just me helping him out for all the times he let me use his car. It has nothing to do with me hoping that Lola will be home.

Westvale is a small town. Two rights and a left and I’m pulling into a parking spot in front of the girls apartment.

“Are you coming in?”

I tap the steering wheel a few times. Contemplating if what I’m about to walk into is worth the risk. Marcus pops the top off his second beer, eyes glued on me, as he waits for me to make a decision. When I nod in agreement he flies out of the car.

Marcus walks right in. Only making it a couple of steps before he realizes that I’m not behind him. I hesitate at the doorway, my mind replaying the memories Lola and I shared here last year.

On the weekends we had this apartment to ourselves, we would spend hours curled up on the couch, flipping the television between hockey games and the Food Network. We spent hours talking in her bed until our eyes grew tired. With our legs tangled we would doze off together.

The last time I was here was right before we left for Jalen’s draft party. I volunteered to work at Westvale’s youth camp for a couple of weeks right after classes ended. Since Lola and I were still sneaking around, we couldn’t hang out at the hockey house because a couple of my teammates were staying there for the duration of the camp. Lola drove in from Philadelphia, and we spent the few days before the draft talking about how excited we were to tell our friends about our relationship. I remember being so excited to hold her hand in public. I was ready to tell the world that she was mine.

“Are you coming By?”

I nod, not really replying but rather shaking off the memories that haunt me that no one else can see.

Indy is setting up their kitchen table with snacks. I pick through a basket of facemasks– it looks like they are having a spa day– until I see one that is bright pink and so obnoxious I have to set it on my face.

I move to the girls’ living room, and Indy takes one look at me and barks out a laugh.

“I would expect nothing less from you, Byron,” Indy’s words come out between her laughter. She holds an empty dish toward me.

“Do you mind taking this to the kitchen? I want to take these to my room.” She holds up the hair tools Marcus brought over.

I nod, taking the tray from her and watching Marcus follow behind her like a lovesick puppy.

“You got fifteen minutes, Marcus; I need to cook dinner,” I scream after him, hoping he makes this a quickie.

“Whatever you say, Mom,” is his witty reply.

“You know they are going to be longer than fifteen minutes, right?” A familiar voice comes from the kitchen.

“Did you make all of this?” Lola tries to hide her grin. There isn’t a space on the counter that doesn’t have some kind of dessert on it.

“Yeah, the team is having a dessert party, and I couldn’t decide what I wanted to make.” She holds out a tray of oatmeal raisin cookies, and I don’t hesitate to pick one up.

I groan when I bite into the still-warm cookie. “Pip, these are amazing.”

“Thanks, Byron,” she says bashfully. She gets up on her tip-toes, peeling the mask I forgot I had on off my face. “You probably don’t want to leave that on for too much longer.”

When she turns to throw it in the trash I let my eyes rake down her body. A body I miss. A soul I miss even more.

“Are you coming to the pregame this weekend?”

Her green eyes light up, craving out the smallest sliver of hope. She stares at me a second too long and it’s like she suddenly remembers that she is supposed to be mad at me.

“I don’t know. Are you going to remember to talk to me?”

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