Page 32 of Fight For Us
I left the main lights off and headed toward the kitchen, flipping on only the lights that I needed. One of Wes’s chef coats hung on a hook outside his office door and I grabbed it, putting it on over my camisole. I’d only just realized that I’d left the house in pajamas. Not the kind that could pass for actual clothes but loose bottoms covered in gray and white hearts and a gray cami. At least I had sneakers on. With my current mental state I was shocked I didn’t leave barefoot.
“Okay, time to bake.” This was what I needed to clear my head. Focusing on one step at a time, precisely measuring and pouring. Even the physical aspect of mixing the ingredients would help wear me out. I pulled out my favorite cake recipe, threw on a pop music playlist and got to work.
I’d cleared my head by the time all the measuring and mixing was done. Finally the fifty pound dumbbell weighing on my chest felt more like a five pounder and my thoughts focused on cake and only cake. The massive commercial oven beeped that it reached the right temperature so I bent over to slide the pan in while bobbing my head and singing along to Taylor Swift.
“Nice jacket.”
“Shit!” I jumped, clutching my chest. I knew who the gravelly voice belonged to, but I spun on my heels anyway. Wes, wearing a thin white undershirt and black sweats, leaned against theswinging door frame grinning. “You scared me! What if I was holding the cake pan?”
“You weren’t. I watched you put it in.” He took a few steps toward me, touching the whisk and bowl I still had laid out on the counter.
“How long have you been here? Oh God, were you here the whole time?” I grabbed my rag and started to wipe the surfaces down. Mainly to avoid the intense eye contact Wes was giving me. Please, let him not have seen me singing “Shake It Off.”
“Long enough.” His grin told me he’d absolutely seen my one woman musical production. Lovely. Where was the nearest hole to hide in? “Do you always break into restaurants all hours of the night to bake cakes like some sort of musical elf?”
I cocked my head. “Musical elf?”
“You know that fairy tale…The Elves and The Shoemaker. The elves come at night and make shoes.”
“Ah… I do know that one. Not an elf andnota burglar. You gave me a key, remember?” Why did I find him knowing obscure fairy tales kind of hot?
He ran his finger along the side of the mixing bowl and tasted some of the remaining batter. The way I watched his finger slip between his parted lips, his tongue darting out just a touch, connecting with the tip before he sucked was nothing short of erotic. Those five pound weights were settling somewhere else…much lower.
What was wrong with me? I needed to focus but something about being in close proximity with Wes Reed always got me feeling things I didn’t need to be feeling.
“Delicious. Is that a hint of rum I’m tasting?” He went in for another swipe and God help me, I watched him repeat the whole finger sucking thing.
“Rum?” My brain took a moment to catch up. “Oh, yeah. It’s a recipe I found a while ago. Vanilla butter cake. Rum’s the secret ingredient.”
“You’re full of surprises, Tiger.” He smiled and scratched his jaw. “Back to my original question… Why are you baking a vanilla butter cake, in my restaurant, at midnight?”
“I’m sorry. I should have called and asked.” I stacked the dirty utensils into the bowl and carried them to the sinks.
“I’m not upset. You can come here anytime.” His expression was open and honest.
“I appreciate that.” He walked beside me, so close that I could smell the body wash he’d recently used. “Sorry about your coat.”
“Don’t be.” He turned the faucet on and reached in to grab the whisk. “It looks good on you.” Between the sound of the water and his low voice I almost didn’t hear that last comment. I held it close, smiling slightly.
“Why are you here so late?” I asked. He handed me the clean whisk and I started towel dryingit.
“Same reason you are, I’m guessing. Couldn’t sleep.” He worked on a measuring cup, lathering it with precision and rinsing the suds away. Watching him was almost meditative.
“Yeah. And believe me, I tried everything to relax.” He studied me with a raised brow. It took me a second to catch on to what he was implying, but when I did I used the damp towel to smack his burly arm. “I know what you’re thinking and I was hardly in the right mood forthat.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right… no idea at all,” I drew out my words. “Anyway… I couldn’t sleep either. I kept thinking about Alex getting hurt over and over again until I was almost in tears. Mia came by and we talked a bit but I knew I needed to get out of the house.”
“So you came here to bake?”
“Yeah. Back home, baking was always the one thing that helped when I’d…” I hesitated, unsure of how much of myself I wanted to give to this man. His eyes met mine and they were full of understanding. Wes had shown me nothing but kindness all these months but still I couldn’t finish the sentence. I couldn’t tell him how bad my mental health was—could still be. “It’s a hobby. Something I enjoy. We didn’t have any ingredients and Alex was asleep so I figured I’d come here.”
“My mom’s a night owl too, so I had her bring me to my car. I saw yours here and wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, continuing to rinse the already clean measuring cup.
“I think this one’s clean.” I took it from him gently.
“Yeah, sorry,” he muttered. Turning the faucet off, he faced me, taking his time to speak. “I needed to get out, too. Everything’s fucked, isn’t it?”
