“You’re
welcome.”
As
Mason slipped out the front door to go get Emma’s things from her car, Emma
started up the staircase to the top floor. “You coming, Chaos?” she asked when
she was halfway up. But the dog was still sitting in the foyer, waiting for
Mason to come back in. When he heard the sound of footsteps on the walk, his
tail started wagging, and he was at the door, happily greeting Mason when he
walked back into the house.
Emma
sat down on the stairs and watched while Mason maneuvered into the house with
arms full of Chaos’ gear, while still trying to bend down and pat the dog on
the head. Chaos stood up and nestled up against Mason, his tail showing his
delight in making a new friend. For his part, Mason appeared to be equally interested
in the dog. He dropped his load to the floor, bending down to scritch the dog
first on the head, and then on the stomach when he rolled over for a belly rub.
Emma
just chuckled. “He’s got you trained already,” she said lightly over her
shoulder as she stood up again and started up the stairs.
Mason
looked up at her as she retreated, then back down at the dog. This might not be
as bad as he’d thought, he realized. Maybe he did like dogs after all.
As
the days went by, Emma found that it was easy enough to talk with Mason and
interact if she could pretend that they were not husband and wife. That they
were strangers. But now that she had moved her things into his house, that was
changing. She was taking on a role that she didn’t want, hadn’t asked for, and
resented. She didn’t want to leave her home, her neighborhood, her life. She
particularly didn’t want to do it because she had been forced into a hole by
her sister and this man. This man who seemed like a robot to Emma.
He
was being kind enough. He offered her any room in his house for her bedroom if
she wasn’t pleased with the one he’d initially suggested she use, and any other
room for an office. He told her to help herself to anything in his kitchen. To
swim in his pool. To use his gym. To raid his wine cellar. But it was so
impersonal, and so completely different from anything Emma was used to. She
wanted warmth, life, laughter. This home had none of that. Decorated in light
wood, stainless steel, and black and white furniture, there was no color.
The
kitchen was amazing - full of all the appliances Emma had ever wanted or
dreamed of. But the room itself left her cold.
The
only place where she felt at home was in the all-season room that was attached
to the back of the house. This room was filled with plants and foliage and lawn
furniture, and it looked out over an amazing view of the water. It needed a few
pillows to make it more livable, but the room itself had a warmth to it that the
rest of the house lacked.
Chaos
seemed to agree with her. When he wasn’t with her, he spent most of his time
out in the all-season room, looking out the windows and occasionally barking at
nothing.
Mason
was never home. It wasn’t really a problem for Emma, since she had her own
friends and her own job to keep her busy. It was just odd, she thought. It was
like being married to a ghost. He came home late, went to his study, then to
bed. Seldom stopped by the kitchen, only occasionally checked in with her to
see how she was, and he was gone again in the morning before Emma was up. Chaos
occasionally barked when he heard Mason moving around downstairs, but that was
often the only way that Emma knew that her husband was around.
One
Saturday morning, Emma woke up starving. She wanted coffee and breakfast, in
that order. Padding down to the kitchen, she looked into the fridge, but saw
nothing that resembled breakfast food. Same for the pantry. And the cupboards.
Perplexed, she leaned back against the countertop and wondered what in the
world Mason ate. She knew that he often ate breakfast on the run, and had
business dinners frequently, but this was silly, she thought. And she could not
live like this for three years.
After
taking Chaos out for a run, Emma showered and changed her clothes, crated her
pooped-out pooch, grabbed her purse and headed for her car. After a quick stop
for a large cup of steaming hot coffee, she continued up the road to the
shopping center. Five hours later, she returned to the house, her trunk filled
with groceries, and her back seat laden with purchases from a local home
decorating store. She wasn't planning to change all of Mason's house - that
seemed extreme. But her living space was going to be transformed, and she was
claiming the kitchen. Caterers be damned, she thought.
Letting
Chaos out to follow her around and sniff her new things, she looked around in
satisfaction. It really didn't take much to make a house feel like a home. A
new duvet on the bed, some new sheets, a few throw pillows that had color in
them. More pillows for the chair. Some bright towels in the bathroom, and a
couple of happy baskets to hold her things. NOW her bedroom felt lived in. Felt
like it might be hers. Felt less like a hotel. Felt like a place she could
actually enjoy for a while. She’d work on her office next week.
Back
in the kitchen, she put away groceries, organized the pantry shelves, and
stocked the fridge with fruit, cheese, yogurt, some dips and spreads, and
things she would want for baking and cooking - butter, eggs, yeast, milk, cream
cheese, and various sauces and condiments. And a bin full of fresh veggies for
salads.
Mason
wouldn’t even notice, she thought with amusement, looking around the room when
she was done. Everything was in its place. Besides, the man was never home, and
when he was, he was in his office, which was on the other side of the house.
Emma wondered if Mason even realized that he had a kitchen some days.
So.
It was Saturday. Normally, she went out for drinks or dinner with friends, or
met up with a date, or popped in to see her family. But she hadn’t planned
anything for tonight with her friends, and she was still steering clear of the
flammable cargo explosion that was her family’s current state. Tonight, she was
staying home.
Glancing
at her watch, Emma realized that it was close to 4:00. She hadn’t seen Mason
all day, and since he hadn’t made checking in with her a habit, she decided
that she was going to do her own thing. And her own thing, at least tonight,
involved cooking dinner.
At
6:00, Mason pulled into his driveway. He hadn’t meant to spend all day at the
office, but things just happened that way. He felt a little badly that he’d
abandoned Emma so soon after moving her in, but she was a competent
professional woman, and she would figure her own life out. And she was still
dealing with her family. Plus, she had just gotten back from a trip, he
reasoned. She probably slept in, maybe took a nap later in the day. He’d check
in with her tonight before heading into his home office just to be sure that
she was comfortable and settled.
The
amazing aroma was the first thing that hit him when he walked in the door. It
was a combination of tomato, garlic, onion, Italian seasonings, and warm bread,
and it hit his senses with the impact of a pile-driver. He stopped for a
moment, puzzled. Why would caterers be in his kitchen? They had no event
tonight that he remembered. No dinner, no cocktails. Did they get something
wrong on the schedule? But then again, he thought, even when the caterers
showed up, nothing ever smelled like this.
Dropping
his keys and his briefcase in the hallway, Mason pulled off his overcoat and
hung it in the closet before making his way to the kitchen. Where his jaw
dropped.
Emma’s
back was to him, but he could see the small beads of sweat that had gathered on
the back of her neck. Her hair had been loosely gathered on top of her head,
but tendrils of wavy curls escaped, hanging loosely to her shoulders. Her butt
was lovingly encased in a pair of worn denim jeans, and they had flour
handprints on them where she had wiped her fingers. She had on an old cotton
shirt, tied loosely at the waist, and the sleeves were rolled up past her
elbows. She was standing over the cooktop, a fry pan in hand, slowly pouring a
wet mixture onto the pan and letting it cook dry before removing it to a wire
rack and doing it all over again. A big pan of sauce was simmering on the
stove, and there were tomato splatters all over the cooktop. Another bowl of
cheese and herbs was sitting off to the side, clearly meant to fill something.
Chaos was asleep on the floor, apparently resting up for when he’d be called in
for clean-up duty, and Emma effortlessly stepped around him.
Mason
took all of it in, his emotions churning. The aroma was heaven, and he wanted
whatever it was she was making. In her jeans and cotton shirt, with her
attention fully on the food she was cooking, she was the sexiest thing he’d
seen in a long time. He hadn’t realized how curvy she was, and he wondered why
he hadn’t noticed. But he was noticing now, he thought. And while the mess she
had made in his kitchen was positively astounding, he was surprised to find
that he wasn’t mad. Even when he saw a tomato sauce-filled spoon resting on his
granite countertop, his emotions were far from anger. Because the main thing he
felt, staring at this woman in his kitchen, was a sense of home.
More
than anything, it was that last emotion that caused Mason to retreat. If Emma
had looked up while he was standing there, she would have been shocked to see
the almost tender look on his face - a look that rendered him human. But by the
time he had leaned against the doorway to the kitchen and cleared his throat,
his emotions were tucked back in, and all Emma saw when she looked up at him in
surprise, was a vague appearance of irritation.
“What,
in God’s name, have you done to this kitchen?” he asked softly.
She
wiped her brow with her shirt sleeve as she deftly moved another manicotti
noodle to the drying rack. “I’ve made kind of a mess,” she admitted with a grin
as she looked around. “I’ll clean it up, though. I always make a mess when I
cook. I didn’t think you’d mind, since we don’t have anything going on tonight.
I was in the mood to cook, and when...”
It
registered then that he wasn’t amused. “You’re angry.”
“Look
at this place.”
“Yeah.
I know. But I’ll clean it up, Mason.”
“That’s
not your job,” he growled.
Emma
stopped what she was doing then, and looked up at him like he had two heads.
“Job?” she asked incredulously. “Do you really think I see this as a job,
Mason?” she asked, indicating the mess in the kitchen. “Do you honestly just
want me to live here, go to work, come home, stay in my room, and only come out
when you want me to go to some function with you? I agreed to be your wife for
three years, not to give up my life.”
Mason
looked puzzled. “This is your life?”
She
sighed, willing the anger to seep out of her. “Yeah,” she said softly after a
few moments. “It is. I love to cook. You’d have known that if you bothered to
learn anything about me. I love to cook and entertain and pair amazing wines
with amazing food. I love to bake bread, and to experiment with different
grains and different oils. Outside of the kitchen, I read. I listen to
classical, country and alternative music. I swim. I walk dogs for the SPCA. Oh,
and I’m a damn good lawyer, in case you were wondering.”
“I
wasn’t,” he said mildly.
“Oh,
so that part of my life you checked out.”
“Of
course.”
She
sighed. “I guess I’m not surprised.”
Leaning
against the doorframe and crossing his arms, he asked, “You walk dogs?”
“Uh
huh.”
“Why?”
“They
need exercise. And I like dogs, as you already know.”
“Country
music?”
“Zac
Brown Band.”
“I’m
more of a Miranda Lambert and Jason Aldean guy.”
She
just looked at him.
“What?”
he asked.
“I
would never have pegged you for country music. Classical, yes. Maybe even some
classic rock. But not country.”
“You
don’t think I’m a mom and apple pie kind of a guy?”
“Absolutely
not.”
He
grinned then, and Emma felt her legs go weak. This was the first time he’d
smiled that kind of smile at her and it was devastating. She had no idea how to
respond.
“Seriously,
Emma. You’ve made one hell of a mess. Are those tomato stains going to come off
my tile?” But his eyes were still smiling as he asked.
She
smiled back. “Yeah, they’ll come off.”
Pushing
himself away from the doorframe, he ventured further into the kitchen. “So what
are you making?”
“Manicotti.”
“From
scratch,” he said incredulously.
“Yeah.
From scratch. That’s why the kitchen is such a mess.”
He
sniffed at the sauce on the cooktop. “At the risk of sounding desperate, is
there enough to share?”
She
burst out laughing. “Mason, this makes enough to feed an army. I was going to
freeze a bunch for my lunches. So yes, there’s more than enough to share.”