Page 53 of Seventeen Years Ago

Aiza and I spent the next hour doing dishes, washing counters, and then I had to mop the floor.

When we were finished, we both went to her living room and plopped down onto the couch. “I have no idea how you got flour all over everything,” she said.

“I may have dropped the measuring cup when it was full.”

She nodded. “That explains it. Good thing you own the hotels and don’t cook in them or you’d be out of business,” she teased.

“I guess that’s why I never learned to cook. We’ve always hired the best chefs, and since I know I can’t come close to what they prepare, I never tried.” I was a man who knew his strengths and worked on mastering those, letting go of my weaknesses. That was also drilled into me by my father. If you couldn’t be the best, then it meant nothing. It was a waste of time.

“I can’t promise I’ll make anything that is five-star restaurant quality, but I am a pretty good cook.”

“How did you learn?” I asked.

“I spent hours cooking with my mother. She used to make the best bread in town. People would come to our home each morning to buy loaves of bread and rolls. If I close my eyes now, I can almost smell it.” I watched as she did so, and a sweet smile crossed her face, then faded away. “But that was so long ago.”

Before your parents were killed.

I didn’t want her to think about that horrible time. It would remind her of the night we first met. But pretending as though it didn’t happen wasn’t fair to her.

I reached out and took her hand in mine. “I’m glad you have such wonderful memories of your mother. What else did she teach you?” I asked. Someone so loving should be talked about, not forgotten. My father, he could rot in hell for all I care. It’s where he deserved to be because he’d made enough people's lives a living hell on earth, including mine.

“There’s so much I could tell you about my parents,” she said.

“I’d love to hear about them,” I replied.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I have a feeling you are who you are because of how they raised you,” I said. Even as I said it, it scared the shit out of me.Am I who I am because of my father?

She gave my hand a squeeze and said, “Don’t think about it. Don’t let your mind go there?”

“Where?” I asked, puzzled.

“You know where. I can see it in your eyes,” she replied.

How the hell do you do that?

Changing the subject, I said, “What were you saying about your parents?”

“As I said, my mom loved to cook. But her bread was what she was known for. But my dad was a builder. He built a lot of houses around. You would think that would make him a very rich man, but my parents were the most generous people. If you came to the house for food and didn’t have any money, they shared what they had anyway. And if your home needed repair and you couldn’t afford to fix it, my father did it for nothing.”

“They sound like wonderful people.”

She nodded. “I wish you could’ve met them. They would’ve liked you.

I pulled my hand from hers and got up. “No. They would've hated me.”

Aiza blinked in surprise but didn’t get up. “You’re wrong. They would see the same man that I see.”

I turned away, not even able to look at her. Whatever she saw didn’t feel real to me. I couldn’t help but worry that my father's genes were going to rear their ugly head one day and I would become the asshole he was.

Her hand was on my shoulder. Never even heard her get up. “Steven, turn around and look at me.”

I didn’t want to hear it. She had the perfect parents, and they were taken from her way to early. Yet someone so evil as my father had lived. It wasn’t fair to her. Maybe not now, but one day, she will remember this conversation and have the same thought as me,Will I one day be like him.Nothing she was going to say was going to change that. Yet I couldn’t deny her and turned.

No words came from her mouth. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and just held me. Why did this woman insist on comforting me? It wasn’t that I hated it, but I couldn’t really explain what it was that I felt. All I know is nothing compared to her being in my arms.

Fuck, this feels better than sex.

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