Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I’m torn between smiling at Scott’s enthusiastic tour of his place, and frowning at a rather pale-looking Damon. When Scott turns his back, giving us a rundown of the kitchen, I sidle close to Damon and whisper in his ear. “I’m wearing my mum’s skirt, Damon. Please smile?”
He looks from Scott to me and my skirt, and a dimple quirks his cheek.
Scott faces us, gaze narrowing on Damon before returning to me. “Does your sous chef have any questions?”
“Damon can handle anything.”
“Then delegate your tasks to him and come join me on the balcony.”
Um . . . I glance between them. Leaving Damon in the kitchen to do all the work doesn’t feel right. “I really should—”
“You said he can handle anything. I’m sure he’ll prove it.”
I fish for Damon’s gaze, and he waves the go-ahead.
I mouth Thanks as Scott ushers me to an ornate white table and pulls out a chair for me to sit. I do, smiling rather stiffly. The view from the balcony is all rolling hills and wide ocean, everything is beautiful—including red-haired Scott—but . . . but there’s something rather staged about the big house and the way Scott shows off every detail. It’s hard to get a grasp on the him I glimpsed on the pier, buying ice cream, low key and real.
Damon makes a racket in the kitchen and I glance at him—waving a hand and sucking on his finger—through the balcony doors.
I rise from my seat—
“I’m sure small cuts in the kitchen are part of the job.” Scott raises his eyebrow in challenge. I reseat myself. He’s right, of course. If we’re real chefs, we’d be used to the perils of the kitchen.
“Love the apron,” he carries on. “And the rest of your outfit intrigues me. Tell me about it?”
I try to muster up the enthusiasm to explain what an aerate cooking garment is, but I’m distracted, glancing at Damon to make sure he’s good. He catches me watching him, and for the first time since we stepped inside the mansion, smiles properly. Lips curve all the way. And he winks.
While Scott hums and ahhs over my bored admission I wore my mum’s skirt, I quietly touch my finger and gesture through the glass. Damon mouths “I’m fine”, slips on his cooking mitt, and lifts a tray of pastries for the oven.
“It’s quite the look,” Scott says, eyes flashing. “I must say, I love it. That apron,” he bows his head around the corner of the table until his eyes are level with my hip. “Was it a gift?”
He fingers the name I stitched into it.
Pots clatter onto the kitchen bench, startling Scott into a sitting position.
Damon calls out an apology that doesn’t sound hugely apologetic, and Scott frowns and resumes his conversation. He talks about the boats bobbing out on the ocean, the terrific storms he’s seen, how beautiful the view is at sunrise, that maybe one day I’ll see it—
Damon pops out onto the balcony and sets down two glasses of water. He stands at the corner of the table between us and stares out at the view.
Scott clears his throat and hands back his water. “I like a wedge of lemon in mine.”
Damon takes it with a forced smile and returns to the kitchen.
He’s not the only one forcing his smile. Scott’s attitude is picking at me in all the wrong ways. I should say something . . .
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. Scott stares and it has me whipping the phone out and shuffling closer to the table. One look at the screen and I wish I’d just let Scott watch my vibrating crotch.
Karl.
I can’t help but groan.
Scott peers at the phone, intrigued.
I look from him to Damon, head bowed over a tray, suspiciously quiet.
I speak for him. “My ex. He’s coming for dinner next weekend.”
Damon raises his eyes to meet mine, his lips set in a grim line.
Scott’s chair rumbles as he scooches closer. “You don’t look happy about it.”
I keep my eyes on Damon.
“He’s after some signatures. I’m determined he sees me not caring about it.”
Damon nods, while Scott hums near my ear. “Have you thought about showing up with a new boyfriend?”
I snap my head to Scott, and he laughs. “I don’t mind playing the part.”
A hissing curse comes from inside, and Damon waves a hand. Has he burned himself? I jump to my feet.
Scott drops back, crossing his arms. “Your sous chef sure is accident prone.”
“I should be in the kitchen with him.”
“You did all the hard work beforehand. He can handle some reheating.”
Water is gushing into the sink and Damon is stooped towards it. How badly is he hurt? I glare at Scott. Serendipitous my arse! Maybe this is the world warning me how easy it is to come by shitty men. “This was a mistake.”