Hardwired (The Hardwired Series 1)(25)

“Where did you learn to cook like that?” Blake asked.

I paused before answering to carefully consider how much of my personal life I really wished to share. Talking about my mother invariably introduced the mystery of my father, a difficult concept for people to grasp. The fact that I didn’t know my father’s identity elicited a range of reactions from others, from shock to judgment to pity. Despite my misgivings about bearing all to Blake, dodging his questions would only delay the truth. No doubt he would pester and pry it out of me, bit by bit.

“My mother was a phenomenal cook. She taught me everything I know about food.”

“Was?” he said gently.

“She passed away when I was twelve.” I swallowed against the twinge of sadness that surfaced every time I spoke of her. “She started getting sick, and by the time they found out what it was, the cancer had spread aggressively. She was gone a few months later.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Thank you.” Saddened by the memory, I picked at the rip in my jeans. “So much time has passed, I have a hard time remembering everything about her. I feel like food is one of the ways I can keep her memory alive. That sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think so.” He turned toward me and took my free hand. “So your father raised you?”

He drew slow circles into the back of my hand, simultaneously distracting and calming me.

“My stepfather did for about a year. When I was thirteen, I came east for boarding school. I spent one summer back in Chicago, and the rest with my mother’s best friend, Marie, who lives just outside the city. I’ve pretty much been on my own since then though.”

“That’s a long time to be on your own.”

“That’s true, but I don’t really have anything else to compare it to. It is what it is, I suppose.”

“You must miss them.”

I hardly knew what it was like to have a father, but I’m sure I would have enjoyed having one under the right circumstances.

“I miss my mother every day,” I said. “But this is my life and everything that has made me who I am, so I can’t dwell on what might have been.”

I’d always be out of step with most people my age who’d been given many more chances to get it right, whose parents were there to scoop them up when they faltered and to point them in the right direction when indecisions were met.

I had quickly learned that my own safety net had sizeable gaping holes in it, which likely explained why lately I felt like I was at sea without a life preserver. Now my new weakness for Blake added a level of difficulty to the already risky endeavor of taking on the business full time. Yet here I was, giving him another opportunity to wear me down.

“It’s late. I should go.”

“You don’t have to.” His voice was serious, but not suggestive.

I searched his eyes for clues, hoping what I saw in them wasn’t pity. Mine wasn’t the happiest of stories, but feeling sorry for myself had gotten me nowhere.

“I know, but I have a million things to do before we meet up tomorrow.” I stood. “Enjoy the leftovers.”

He rose. “I eagerly await the hour when I can consider them leftovers.”

He was close enough that his breath drifted across my lips. The sexual tension crackled between us. A couple hours ago I was piping mad, but since then he’d devoured my favorite pasta and had been incredibly sweet. Still, being neighbors now required careful consideration about how best to move forward. Unfortunately he hadn’t given me much of a chance to consider anything, and my emotions were jumbled and confused.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, resisting the urge to touch him. I looked down, wondering if this was the right time to talk about it.

“What’s wrong?” Concern etched the sharp lines of his face and he cupped my cheek in his palm. I leaned into the simple touch.

“Well for one, I’m still mad at you.”

A hint of a smile curved his mouth as he traced my lip with the pad of his thumb. He licked his lips, and mine parted at the gesture, tingling with the promise of his kiss.

“I like when you’re mad,” he murmured.

“Are you always this persistent?”

“Only when I see something I want.”

“How did I get so lucky?” I rolled my eyes.

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“No, but I’m hoping you have a good reason for turning my life upside down.”

He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, the absence leaving me momentarily bereft. I wanted him back, touching me.

“You’re different.”

I frowned a little. “Okay.”

“I wanted to see you again, and you weren’t really giving me that option.” He arched his eyebrows. “Can that be enough?”

I sighed and moved to him. “I guess we’ll see.” I pressed a swift kiss on his cheek.





* * *

I walked back into my apartment, which was too bright and bare compared to Blake’s. This was my new home, but I had a long way to go before the place would feel like my own. I eyed the mountain of bags and boxes that I needed to organize before getting back to work tomorrow. Then I remembered something.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up Sid’s number. He picked up on the second ring.