From Bully To Beloved

CAL

I’m not entirely looking forward to the dinner with the Osborns. Not because I have anything to prove to them. Mostly because I want to get it over with and focus on more important things. Although I have to say, I am impressed with Sera.

First, she left me open-mouthed by not putting up a real fight and agreeing to go through with the “we’re married” charade. Well, it’s not really a charade, because wearemarried.

Second, earlier today, she sent me a list of a menu she’d put together. It took me by surprise. She even did a bit of research and found out on some website that Osborn, and more so his wife, are health conscious, and she took that into account.

“You know you don’t have to cook. I asked you to join me because they extended the invitation to you. I wasn’t expecting you to play the housewife role,” I tell her. “It’s easy enough for me to have someone cater.”

“A caterer is so impersonal,” Sera says, looking around the kitchen. “Why order when we have such a nice kitchen? I can cook a fancy-schmancy dinner myself, and it’ll be tasty and homey. Trust me, they’ll love it. I love to cook. I usually don’t have the energy to do much of it.”

That, I can believe. She works so damn hard that if I don’t order food, she’ll throw together a sandwich and call it a meal.

I scroll through the grocery list she texted, eyebrows raised. “There’s a lot of food on here that seems amazing. And complicated. You know how to make all this?”

“You don’t spend half your life working around chefs without learning a few things. I trained for a little while in the kitchen, but I much prefer waitressing than being stuck in the back.”

“So, what exactly are you planning to make?”

“Well…”

I love the way her eyes light up as she goes into detail about what she wants to prepare. I learn that she plans to make roast asparagus, stuffed mushroom caps, faux prime rib in fresh herb sauce, roasted potatoes, a chef’s salad, and several other smaller dishes sprinkled throughout the meal. All of it sounds amazing, and I know it’ll be a big hit with the Osborns.

“Amazing,” I tell her. “I’m sure it’s going to be great. What about dessert?”

She sighs. “That’s a little more complicated,” she says. “I can cook, but baking is another story. I mean, I can make boxed cake, but that’s about it.”

An idea takes hold. “Then leave the dessert up to me.”NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

“You can bake?”

“Nope. Not at all. But we’re in New York City, and there are a bunch of amazing bakeries on our street. I’ll get something good.”

“Hmm, I think this could work. Surprise me!”

I take the opportunity to inquire her about her friend. Yes, Justin put us in this damned position, but I made a promise to him.

“Is your brunette friend from the diner single?” I ask.

“Why?” She makes big eyes at me, and I explain that Justin has a little crush on her.

My question seems to lift her spirits. She’s genuinely happy to play matchmaker. When I put Justin’s digits into her phone, she says, “I’m not surprised. I had a feeling he was into her. She seemed into him too. I’ll pass it along as soon as I see Kelly again. She has family visiting her and her parents, so she’s working less this week and next.”

Before I leave, I notice one major difference. There’s absolutely nothing lying around her space anymore. I gotta say, if I had known that kissing Sera would get her to pick up after herself, I would have done it sooner.

* * *

The groceries are delivered that evening, and Sera goes into full chef mode. It’s impressive. To watch her move around the kitchen is mesmerizing. When I offer my help, she shoos me out. She bounces between dishes, making sauces and prepping food ahead of time. Her hair is thrown into that messy bun, curls falling loose and framing her face. She’s wearing jeans and a light apricot shirt with Gran’s apron over it. She looks like she belongs here, and I would read more into that if it weren’t for the giant mess she leaves in her wake.

So much for major difference. I cut her some slack-after all, she’s helping me out here.

I’ve never known someone who could look so good while making the biggest fucking mess I’ve ever seen. I have to walk away, because it makes my eye twitch. Literally.

* * *

The following morning, I’m surprised to find her sitting on the couch, enjoying a cup of coffee and idly sketching in her book. The apartment looks neat enough. Ever since I found her sketch of me, she’s stopped hiding her drawings when I walk into the room. I’m glad that she’s more comfortable sketching while I’m around. It sucks that she felt like she needed to hide her artistic talent.

I lean over her shoulder, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s mixed with the coffee she’s drinking, creating an intoxicating pull. “What are you working on?”

“Cleaning up some lines on some old sketches,” she says, bent over the book with that intense level of concentration on her face I notice she gets when she’s drawing. “Don’t hover. I can’t focus when you’re hovering.”

“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” I ask, letting my breath whisper across her neck. I catch the way her body twitches, and goosebumps rise along her arms.

She scoots away and glares. “Don’t you have somewhere to run off to?”