Page 15 of Screwing With The Scrooge

“Yeah, it goes me, Maple, Saffron, and then Ginger.”

“All food names,” he comments, leaning back against the stove to study me.

“Yeah, my mom was obsessed with cooking. She had gone to culinary school, but then she met my dad and got pregnant with me so she never really worked in a kitchen.”

“She didn’t want to?”

“No, chef hours are crazy long. She always said that she was happy to just cook for us. She was good at it too,” I say with a wistful smile.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, picking up on my somber tone, and I nod.

“She had cancer. Passed when I was sixteen.”

“Olive,” he says, and I clear my throat.

“My dad wasted away after that. She was the love of his life. I wasn’t even that surprised when he passed away from a heart attack when I was eighteen.”

We’re silent, and he watches me.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to make things so heavy on our date.”

“No, it’s okay. My… my mom passed away when I was a kid too,” he admits, and I can see the pain those words still bring him.

“I’m so sorry, Xavier.”

He nods, staring at his feet as he swallows hard.

“I was sick and she went out to get me my medicine. It was storming, practically a blizzard. She went off the road and hit a tree,” he says, and my heart breaks for him.

I reach over the island, grab his hand and he startles from his memories. He looks up, his dark blue eyes meeting mine and clinging. We stare at each other, pain and a certain understanding passing between us.

We’re both at least a little broken, but that doesn’t scare me away from him. It makes me like him even more.

Smoke catches my eye and I gasp, dropping his hand and pointing behind him.

“Shit!” He shouts, hurrying to turn off the burners and try to save the food.

I stand, moving to see if I can help, and I bite my lip as I take in the now ruined food.

“I can’t really cook,” he admits with a sigh, and I blink.

“Were you trying to scare me off by offering to cook for me?” I ask him, and his head whips to me.

“What? No! Wait…did I?” He asks, sounding panicked, and I shake my head.

“No, but you should have told me. I would have been happy to help.”

“I wanted you to relax. You make food for people all day,” he says, and I melt a little bit.

“I like cooking. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I just wanted to take care of you a little bit.”

“You did. You saved me from that treacherous road,” I point out, taking a step closer to him.

He eyes me warily, and I laugh.

“Should we order something? Or I can run out and grab us something.”

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