“Yeah, you know I’ve never really carried those around with me. I figure if I want something that bad, I can wait until we’ve made it back to my place.” The planes of his cheeks turned a pale pink. “And I can honestly say until tonight, I have always been fine with waiting.”
“Now what are we going to do?” I growled. Clearly this was his fault. And fine, I’d already had a lovely orgasm, but I wanted another one, damn it!
He dropped his head, kissing the hollow of my throat, using his tongue and teeth and seductive witchcraft. “We’re going to go out on a date.”
That sobered my sex-drunk brain. “What?”
Lifting his head again, he smiled and said, “A date, Kaya. You are familiar with the activity?” And because he was Wyatt, he said, “It’s that thing you do when two people really like each other. The guy picks the girl up. You go to a mutually enjoyable public place. There are beverages involved. Sometimes food. Sometimes dancing. Am I ringing any bells?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s cute, smartass. But we can’t do that.”
“We can’t do what?”
“Go on a date.”
“Why not?”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I sat up fully, forcing him to step back. I needed clothes on if he was going to challenge me. “Because you’re my boss. And we work together.” Seeing the stern set of his jaw, I knew I hadn’t picked an argument that bothered him yet. “Also, I’m your sous chef. You can take the night off. Or I can take the night off. But we cannot take the night off together. Who would run the kitchen?”
The bottom half of his jaw slid back and forth as I finally hit a note that rung problematic. “Huh…”
Finishing clasping my bra, I hid my victorious smile behind my chef coat as I slid it on. “It doesn’t work, Wyatt.”
“Lunch.”
I blinked up at him. “What?”
“We already knew this relationship would be unconventional… our dates are going to have to be too.”
Wait, did he say… relationship?
“You’re not serious.”
He blinked at me. “About what?”
Son of a bitch. Where the hell were my panties?
“Don’t you think we’re going a little fast? I mean, yesterday we hated each other and—”
“I’ve never hated you.”
“And we’re going in separate directions and we work all the time. A relationship seems extreme in light of everything.”
He studied me for a few long moments, seeming to take my measure, deciding something about me that felt like it needed my permission. “What direction are you going in, Kaya, that’s different than mine?”
Oh, no. Abort! Abort! This wasn’t a conversation Wyatt and I could have in the middle of the night after he’d feasted on my body. I needed cold space before I admitted my plans to him. I needed distance and a clear head and for my body not to feel like it had just been worshiped.
Panties?! Hello, panties??? Where for art thou, panties?
Seeing my obvious distress, he reached down and handed me a bundle of pants and underwear and one of my discarded shoes. I slid off the counter and started yanking everything on.
“It’s late,” I observed in an even voice. Braving his gaze when all I wanted to do was slink away into the dead of night and never resurface again, I said, “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
I stretched up on my tiptoes and kissed the feather tattoo on his neck. “When I get in tomorrow morning? We can figure out the details.” Panic had started welling up inside me like an overboiling pot. I needed space to figure out what happened. I needed air to catch my breath.
I needed… sleep.
“Details?” He kept repeating my words as if they didn’t make sense to him. “Is this the kind of relationship that has details?”
My eyes squinted shut and I turned away from him, so he couldn’t see my regretful expression. I was afraid he would misread it. Or maybe I was misreading it.
What did I regret? What we did?
No… not really. Not yet.
Pulling away from him and treating him like this?
Maybe.
“There are logistics, Wyatt. We can’t… we can’t… We work together. This could get messy.”
If I let it go on. If I didn’t figure out how to stop it.
His fingers reached out and gently wrapped around mine. He barely applied any pressure, but he didn’t need to. The feel of him was enough to pull me back into the sanctuary of his body.
His other hand wrapped around my waist and he dropped his face to the curve of my neck, my back pressed to his chest. I flinched when he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay, Swift. Go home. I’ll clean up here.”
He wasn’t fragile, I reminded myself. Jo was wrong about him.
I knew him.
He was the strongest person I knew.
“Thanks, Wyatt,” I told him, my voice shaking with emotion, fear, and regret.
“See you tomorrow?”
I nodded, unable to say the words. I was the fragile one. It was me that was breakable.
He let me go. I fled the building, too much of a chicken to look back at him.
How had something that amazing caused me to run away again? I had never experienced anything like that before. Nolan didn’t even have the ability to make a woman feel like that. I was positive ninety-nine percent of the male population couldn’t make a girl feel that way.
So why was I still running?
Why was I still trying to avoid this thing that could be so good?
The question plagued me all the way home. It continued to haunt me all the way through my hot shower, stripping the joy of my shower beer and the satisfied feeling of having kicked major culinary ass today. It stayed with me as I climbed into bed, tossing and turning with no chance of falling asleep. And the doubt sat on my left shoulder the next morning, whispering lies and insecurities and all those things I’d thought I’d left behind in Hamilton all those years ago as I tapped out a cowardly text to Wyatt an hour before I was supposed to be at work.
I feel like crap. I think I’m getting the flu. Sorry, I won’t make it in today.
He’d sent back a thumb’s up emoji, making me feel even more like crap.
See you Monday sat on my phone for the remainder of the day, but I never found the courage to send it. It was official, the same reasons that had sent me running from Hamilton, had now possessed my feet again.
Wyatt isn’t Nolan, I told myself.
He’s still trouble, my brittle heart whispered back.
He’s still going to hurt you, my brain agreed. You won’t be enough for him either.
I was too tired to argue with my head or my heart. Besides, I didn’t know what the point was. They were both right.
Chapter Seventeen
“Kay-bug,” my dad exclaimed as he pulled me into a hug. “I’m so glad you were able to get tonight off.” My dad, Eric Swift, was the soon to be retired CEO of Haymill Chicken. He was ridiculously smart, ambitious, and ruthless at work. At home, he let my mom run the show and enjoyed being shuffled back and forth wherever she told him to go.
My mom, Dana, our household CEO, spent her days as a part-time recruiter for the local business bureau. She liked her job because it was flexible and a gateway to all the town drama she could stomach.
“I wanted to spend time with you guys,” I told him. “I never get to see you.”
“That’s because you’re trying to work yourself to death,” he grumbled, reluctantly handing me off to my mother.
“Hi, Mama.” I smiled at her.
She took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead. “More beautiful than ever.”
Her words soothed an open wound in my chest and I relaxed a little, truly happy to see them. She pulled me into a firm hug, further calming the gaping chasm that had bothered me all day.
“Let me take your things,” I offered, leading them deeper into my a
partment. My parents had always been good-looking people and old age had done nothing to change that. Sure, they were softer now than in their youth. Their attractive faces still got wrinkles, no matter how many skincare products my mother forced on them. And they weren’t toned-and-svelte-could-pass-as-fitness-model-body-doubles anymore. But their beauty had evolved into a dignified kind of handsomeness. They were like a living, breathing ad for AARP. So perfectly small-town America, you wanted to crown them both and slap a “Mr. and Mrs. Successful American Citizen” on them.
I was the opposite—wild. With pink hair to their perfectly cropped, perfectly muted gray. I was lip rings and cartilage piercings to my Mother’s habitual pearls. I was boho hipster to their upper middle-class cardigan sets. It was hard to believe I was their offspring. But not so hard to believe why I’d eventually fled Hamilton like my tail was on fire. They had Claire and Cameron to show off at home. They didn’t need the black sheep tainting their golf outings and church potlucks.
Setting their small suitcases down in the second bedroom I had spent the morning cleaning and organizing, I was surprised to see my parents had followed me into the room.
Dad checked his TAG Heuer watch. “We don’t have much time, do we? We got here later than I had hoped. Cameron’s car broke down outside of town—I had to help her before we could take off.”
Concern for my baby sister flickered to life. We were six years apart, so we’d never been super close, but I had always felt protective of her. “Oh no. Is Cam okay?”
Mom scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic, Eric. She ran out of gas.”
He folded his arms over his chest and huffed. “She still needed my help.”
“I swear that child would forget her hair if it weren’t attached to her body.”
I smiled because it was true. “Glad it was only a minor mishap.”
Mom turned to me, assessing my yoga pants and white tank top. “What time do we need to leave? How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Ready for what?”
She mimicked my exact expression. There weren’t many times where outsiders would say I looked like my mother, but this was one of those moments where I knew we were spitting images of each other. Nobody was better at looking completely dumbfounded than the two of us—usually because of other people’s idiocy. “For supper.”
I looked down at my clothes, realizing they wouldn’t pass my mother’s standards for leaving the house. “Oh, did you want to go out?”
Dad laughed as though I’d made a joke. “Did we want to go out,” he stated, not as a question. “You’re always so funny.”
I gave my mother a helpless look. “What am I missing?”
“The reservation.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and shook it in front of me like that would jog my memory. “They called earlier today,” she explained. “They wanted to confirm a table for three at seven?”
“They?” I asked, suspicion leaking through me, like my heart was a faulty balloon.
“The restaurant,” my mother said slowly. I was currently the complete idiot receiving her befuddled glare.
“What restaurant?” I snapped, full-blown panic taking control of my tongue.
“The one you work at, bug,” my dad explained in that patient tone I remembered him always having. He was never rushed, never sharp, never frazzled—emotions left for my mother and me. “The one that’s so hard to walk right in.” He smirked. “Believe me, we’ve tried. It was thoughtful of you to book us a table. And how fun that we get to eat there with you. You’ll know what to order.” He smiled at my mom. “And what to avoid.”
This whole damn debacle waiting to happen, that’s what I wanted to avoid.
I glanced at the ceiling and grappled for my patience. Clearly, this was Wyatt’s doing. Right? I mean, this was his idea to begin with. And I’d called in sick… He thought he could force me to face him? While simultaneously doing the sweetest thing for my parents? He’d underestimated my expert ability to run and hide.
Except that this was Lilou… and truly a fantastic opportunity for them. Not only would they finally have that meal of a lifetime I’d been dangling in front of their faces since I started working there, but they’d also finally understand why I loved my job so completely.
But what was Wyatt after? What would he say in front of my parents? Nothing. He wouldn’t bring up last night. That would be insane. He wasn’t a totally evil person. Dear God, at least I hoped he wasn’t. I frowned at the bedpost, because after a quick thought, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Shaking my head, I tried to talk myself off the ledge. He wouldn’t bother us. Not tonight. I didn’t take Wyatt for the kind of guy that wanted to meet any parents. Besides, the kitchen would keep him super busy while we ate. I already knew Lilou was completely booked tonight.
And that begged an interesting question: how had Wyatt squeezed a table for three into the already crowded reservation list?
Refocusing on my parents, I realized Wyatt had already won. I wasn’t going to take this opportunity away from them. They’d wanted to eat at Lilou for a long time—ever since I started working there. I had even tried to put their name on this list once or twice, but that never worked out. Either they couldn’t make it to town when there was an opening or there hadn’t been an open spot when they’d been in town.
“We’ll finally know what the big deal is.” My mom smiled, her words sounded sugary despite the backhanded compliment.
“You’re going to love it,” I told her through gritted teeth. “The food will change your life.” I leaned over to read my dad’s wristwatch. “Did you say seven? We should leave in about forty-five minutes then.”
My mom glanced over me again, her eyebrows furrowing over her straight nose. “Does that give you enough time to get ready?”
Weirdly enough, I felt more at home than I had in a long time. My mother’s passive aggressive barbs pertaining to my appearance so familiar to me, I felt nostalgic for my childhood. Tucking a pink curl behind my ear, I said, “I’m quick.”
She wrinkled her nose at the reminder of my hair choices but moved out of the way so I could hurry to my room.
As soon as the door shut behind me, I started stripping, yanking off the comfy clothes I’d worn all day while I’d cleaned my entire apartment. Throwing myself in the shower with a toothbrush in my hand, I got to work arming myself for Lilou.
It wasn’t a random dinner and extended weekend with my parents. It wasn’t just eating a meal at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. It wasn’t one of our usual visits either; I’d settle myself in, excited to eat takeout pizza while I was forced to listen to gossip from back home until my parents passed out from too much wine.
My curiosity was sparked by Wyatt making the next move in our long game. He’d laid down another challenge and I had to do something that would match him. He thought he could outmaneuver me? Also, it was concerning how he got my mother’s cell phone number—I would ask him about that later.
But this was so much more than supper and showing off my place of employment to my parents. This was about putting Wyatt in his place, reminding him who he was messing with. I didn’t play to tie. I played to win. And Wyatt was going to realize just how much I savored victory.
Thirty-five minutes later, I emerged from my bedroom with springy pink curls pinned artfully to my head and a little black dress that clung to my curves and showed off my ample chest in a tasteful way—since he seemed so obsessed with it.
My heels were sky high and reserved for revenge. Honestly, they were reserved for nights I knew I wouldn’t do much standing. I finished my look for the evening with vibrant lipstick the same shade as my hair, and smoky eyes that felt way over the top compared to my usual waterproof mascara and colored Chapstick.
I nibbled my lip ring as I led my parents downstairs to their Range Rover. Compared to my mother’s demure silk blouse and high-waisted black trousers, I could have been mistaken for a hired escort, but my conf
idence refused to dampen.
I looked pretty tonight. Maybe even hot.
If Wyatt wanted to play with fire, I hoped he was prepared to get burned.
It was only a fifteen-minute drive to Lilou, even with the Friday night traffic. We pulled into the parking lot before I’d fully mentally prepared.
Thankfully, my parents paused for a few minutes inside the Rover to take in the outside of Lilou. She was spectacular beneath the dark night sky, all white brick and twining ivy. The landscape lights highlighted the best parts of her, warming the building in their soft glow. She was surrounded by iron and towering red brick on every side, making her standout as a beacon of culture and class.
My mom turned around in her seat and smiled at me. She genuinely meant it when she said, “It’s charming, Kaya.”
Smiling with pride, I said, “One of the prettiest in the city, I think.”
This plaza was one of three main thoroughfares for nightlife, but in my opinion the best of the three. Lilou was obviously the crowning jewel of the square, but we also had two of the best nightclubs in town—Greenlight and Verve. There was Vera’s brother’s bike shop, Cycle Life. Plus a few designer boutiques that brought in a lot of business.
Yes, our plaza was the best, but we were better when Vera’s old food truck had taken up residence in the middle. Foodie had offered a low key, urban vibe that was missing in her absence. And it had been super nice to grab a late-night meal after work. Especially now that I was second in command and left work so late. There was nowhere good open at that hour except Taco Bell, and a girl could only take so much fast food, even if it was tacos.
This was why Dillon and I were such breakfast connoisseurs. We were constantly surrounded by five-star food, but rarely had access to it or the stomach to eat it after we’d been cooking every night.
My parents got out of the car and I followed them. I probably should have led the way, but I rarely used the front door at Lilou and I couldn’t help but savor the opportunity.