“Unfortunately I think you’re right,” Chloe said with a sigh. “But I certainly don’t want to meet with him on his territory, and I don’t want it to happen here, either. I don’t know what to do.”
“You could always flee the country,” Brooke suggested with a laugh. Her best friend was truly enjoying herself.
“Thanks for the solid advice,” Chloe told her with an eye roll.
“Maybe just bed the man again. Hot damn, there were more vibes than usual coming off him. I can now understand why you’ve been so uptight lately.”
“Are you afraid you married the wrong brother?” Chloe asked with a forced chuckle.
Brooke’s face turned serious as she looked at Chloe, who was finding it difficult not to fall apart. She pulled Chloe into a hug.
“I love you. Never forget that. And there’s no doubt in my mind that I married the man I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. Those vibes coming off of Brandon were all for you and only you. I think you have him utterly smitten. You’re going to have to decide if you want his attention or not. And you’re going to have to do it sooner rather than later.”
Chloe’s stomach tightened at the words. She didn’t want to be Brandon’s full focus. If she was, she knew she’d be in a minefield with no chance of escape.
“What should I do?” Chloe asked.
“Go and talk to the man,” Brooke said. “There’s really nothing else you can do.”
Chloe knew her friend was right. But not today and maybe not tomorrow. She had to get herself together first. She’d never been like this with another man. She didn’t want to be like this now.
With that conviction in mind, she decided to take a break. Tomorrow would go better for her—she was sure of it. Tomorrow always made her smile because it meant the possibilities were endless. If a person woke up with a smile, there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish. She’d call it a day so a new one could begin. Then she’d be back to herself and able to think more clearly.
With a plan of motion in place, she left the restaurant with Brooke. She’d figure it out. She always did.
CHAPTER THREE
For years Chloe had been coming to her parents’ cooking school and working with eager young potential chefs. She remembered the first time she’d stepped into a professional kitchen and how scared she’d been. She was so competitive she hadn’t wanted to be anything less than the absolute best.
That was a very difficult task when a person had parents like hers. She’d refused to help at their school when she’d first begun her career. She hadn’t wanted them looking over her shoulder and judging her. She’d been judged her entire life, and she hadn’t wanted to put herself in a place to feel more of it. But her great love of cooking and helping others had finally won over her stubbornness.
Though she was incredibly busy, she filled in for the other teachers when they were sick or on vacation. This weekend, just when her life seemed to be in the most turmoil of all time, she’d been needed to fill in.
“You’re running late,” her father said from the office as she tried to sneak by.
“I know. I’ve got to hurry to make sure everything came in that I ordered,” she said as she tried to slide by.
“Your mother’s down there now checking the inventory,” he told her. “And I haven’t seen you in two months now. You can give me five minutes,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows.
Chloe nodded as she stopped trying to get away and stepped into the front office, where her father stood behind a counter. This wasn’t a typical administrator’s office. Her father had told her long ago that if a person wanted to be the best, then they didn’t have to have the most skill; they just had to have the most drive.
He’d explained to her when she was very young that he wasn’t one of those lucky few who’d been born with a natural ability but that he’d pushed himself by training and practicing every day of his life.
So when he did have to be at the school, he didn’t sit behind a desk doing paperwork. He paid people to do that. He stood in his office at a beautiful counter that had all of his favorite kitchen appliances and tools.
Her father never stopped creating. He came up with new recipes and new ways of preparing ordinary foods that made them into coveted dishes. There were still a few secrets he’d been able to closely guard from the greedy hands of those who’d love to bottle and distribute his creations. He did this by keeping the recipe in his head instead of on a computer, where there was a chance of it being hacked.
“It smells delicious in here, Father. What are you making?”
It was so ingrained in Chloe to call her parents Mother and Father that she never slipped. Most children said Mom, Ma, Pa, Daddy, or any of the other abbreviated versions. But from the time Chloe was a toddler, she’d been taught that it was Mother and Father.
They’d taught her a lot in life about respect. They simply didn’t understand children growing up and having children, then allowing those children to disrespect them. They said their life was literally owed to their parents. Some might scoff at that. But the bottom line was that it was true.
They’d also told her that didn’t give a parent the right to abuse that privilege and that children were owed respect and dignity, too. A parent didn’t have a child for them to become a Mini-Me version of the parent, but to grow into their own person and make a path for the next generation. It was a great line that, if done right, would go on forever.
“Today is dessert day,” her father, Donovan—not Donny, not Don, only Donovan—said with a smile. When her father made his sugary confections, she always saw him lighten up. He truly enjoyed creating mouthwatering sweets, which was probably why it was her favorite course to cook as well.
“Ah, food for the soul,” she said as she leaned in and peeked in the oven. It appeared to be a sort of cinnamon roll. Though nothing he made could be described so simply as cinnamon roll. An ooey-gooey masterpiece was what it was.
The timer went off, and her father moved to the oven and looked inside for a moment before deciding it was time for it to come out. He never opened the door unless he knew it was done. He said the slightest fluctuation of heat could ruin a once-perfect creation.
“I know most people say soul food is country fried, but we all know that the way to anyone’s heart is dessert,” he said. The smell that had been invading the large space had been stomach-rumbling good before the door to the oven had opened. When the door came down, the smell was enough to drop a person to their knees.
“Please, please, please tell me this isn’t a dish that has to sit and breathe,” she said, her eyes almost watering she wanted a bite so bad.
He laughed, true joy coming through in his voice. It was the only time she got to see her dad really free. When he was simply creating on his own without eyes on him, his tough exterior fell, and she could see the little boy inside, the person who’d obviously made her mother fall in love with him.
Chloe had seen a lot of reasons her parents had fallen in love. Yes, they were stern and wanted nothing less than perfection from their only child, but when they didn’t know eyes were upon them, there was a softness in them she wished they’d show to her more often.