Page 42 of Only Mine
The beauty of Falcon Haven, unfiltered and unassuming, pulls me forward. I take another clip, then another, the small act of framing these moments a tiny harbor in the swirling mess of my emotions.
Saint’s face, the taste of his passion on my tongue, the heat of his touch against my skin… it all recedes, just a little, with each frame I save.
TEN
SAINT
Irecognize Ivy’s footsteps even above the precise rhythm of knives against cutting boards and pans sizzling on the line. My daughter has arrived at C’est Trois.
A sprig of thyme is pinched between my fingers when I glance up just as the back door swings open. Ivy bursts in, a small blur of purple and pink.
“Papa!”
Ivy’s voice cuts through the kitchen’s controlled din. She makes a beeline for me, narrowly avoiding a busboy laden with dirty dishes. I catch her before she cannonballs into my temporary sous chef, instinctively halting her by her small shoulders and kneeling to her level.
“Careful,petit chou. This isn’t a playground.”
Wrenley hovers by the door, her hands clasped in front of her. She looks like she expects me to eject them both.
“Ivy insisted,” Wrenley says, her voice quiet but clear over the clatter. “She wanted to show me where you work.”
I push to my feet, scooping Ivy along the way. “So this isyour first official tour, then? Not counting any unscheduled reconnaissance missions through the shrubbery?”
Wrenley’s cheeks flush a delightful shade of pink that nearly matches her hair streak. Her eyes dart to Ivy, then back to me, wide and a little panicked. “Ivy was very persuasive. And I, um, certainly wouldn’t object to another… demonstration of your skills.”
Her eyes dart away, then back to mine, a flicker of remembrance, maybe, in their hazel depths.
That damn apple crumble. It’s my own fault, really.
I’d walked into Noa’s planning to grab a coffee and maybe talk to her about the new produce delivery, but then I saw Wrenley. Standing there, looking lost and lovely, and my carefully constructed morning routine went to shit.
I hadn’t planned to fucking hand-feed her, to watch her lips part for me, and to feel the jolt that followed when she’d moaned. It was supposed to be a simple peace offering, a way to smooth over my earlier gruffness.
The urge to lean in, to taste her instead of the crumble, had been a visceral punch to the gut. It was reckless. Stupid. I’m her employer. She’s Ivy’s nanny. There are lines. Boundaries that I, of all people, should respect.
But I’m pulled toward her anyway, undeniable and inconvenient. It’s more than just the curve of her mouth or the way her eyes flash with intelligence. It’s the fragility I sense beneath the quick wit, the darkness that sometimes clouds her expression. A wound, deep and hidden, that resonates with my own. I can recognize the landscape of carefully managed pain.
It makes me want to … what? Protect her? That’s ridiculous. I barely know the woman. Yet for some reason, I want to know the shape of her sorrow and its cause.
“Well,” I say, my voice grittier than intended as I set Ivydown. “Since you’re here, you might as well watch early dinner service. Ivy’s always loved doing it.”
I point at a countertop far off to one side. We use it occasionally for those who want to book the “chef’s table,” where they can watch us cook while they dine.
A personal nightmare for me, but we’re able to charge triple the cost for it.
“You know the drill,mon trésor.Don’t touch anything sharp. Or hot. Or expensive.”
Wrenley’s lips curve. “So, basically, don’t touch anything.”
“Exactly,” I say, guiding them toward the small, elevated counter that offers a panoramic view of the line. “Best seats in the house, if you like watching people sweat.”
Ivy scrambles onto one of the high stools, thrilled at being behind the scenes.
Wrenley follows, her gaze sweeping over the organized chaos of gleaming stainless steel, copper pots, and white-coated chefs moving with practiced speed.
“Behave, my sweet,” I say to Ivy, then move to Wrenley. “Ivy’s been my harshest critic since she could talk.”
Ivy puffs out her chest. “I have high standards.”
