Happily Ever After Collection Read online

  Gently, he removed the jacket from my shoulders and indicated a chair for me to sit in. He excused himself and told me to make myself comfortable before exiting the room. As I waited, I wandered and looked around, noticing the many diplomas and awards he had scattered on shelves and hanging on the wall. There were various pictures of him in the kitchen, standing outside Creations, smiling, looking totally different from the serious man I had seen this evening. He looked so open and warm; his grin caused my heart to clench a little. His brown hair was slightly curly, shorter in the front, and longer in the back. His shoulders were broad, his suits obviously custom tailored for him. There was a dimple on his left cheek just above his full lips, and his rich blue eyes sparkled with life in the pictures. He was very attractive.

  Music played softly from hidden speakers, the dulcet tones of the Beatles making me smile. I thought of how he had said, “I just want to hold your hand.” Had he been quoting a song? Or had he been making sure I didn’t run away from him? Sitting down, I shook my head. What was I doing here? What did he want with me? I stood to leave as he walked back in, carrying a tray.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Look, Byron, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you…” I trailed off as he set down the tray and covered my mouth with one finger.

  “You didn’t insult me. But I can’t let you go on like this anymore.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m going to teach you to love food.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  He grinned, and for the first time since meeting him, I saw the man in the photos. I also realized he had removed his chef’s jacket and was wearing a simple gray T-shirt that clung to his sculpted chest and arms. He held up his hands in supplication.

  “All right, maybe saying I will teach you to love food is a rather large goal. But I can teach you to enjoy it, savor it.” He paused and shuddered. “To stay away from McDonald’s.”

  I laughed. “I can afford McDonald’s, Byron. I don’t think I can afford to eat here every day.” I shook my head. “I don’t think I can afford to eat here once a year. This is really a wasted effort on your part.”

  His face changed and became serious. Lightly, he pushed on my shoulders, so I sat back down in the chair, and he sat across from me. He smiled as he leaned forward and brushed the hair away from my cheek. “If I have my way, you’ll be able to eat here or anywhere I am and not have to worry about the cost. Trust me.”

  I stared at him as he busied himself with the tray.

  What did he mean by that? And why did I want so badly to please him? To be with him in this room?

  Suddenly, I was even more nervous than before.

  He turned to me, smiling. “Now, we begin.”

  Chapter 2

  Byron

  The nervous look on her face was priceless. Her strawberry-blond hair shone under the lights, the curls falling over her shoulders. Her green eyes were wide and anxious.

  “Relax, Julia, this isn’t going to hurt.”

  She eyed the contents of the tray in front of me suspiciously. “What is all that?”

  I grinned at her. “Just some tidbits. I want to see if I can find out your reactions to different flavors and textures.”

  She made a face.

  “What?”

  “I don’t like…textures.”

  She didn’t like textures, yet she ate the crap they called food at McDonald’s. All that consisted of was texture held together with fat and salt. I chuckled, already enjoying this. “I’ll remember that.”

  Leaning forward, I picked up a small piece of Brie cheese and lifted it to her lips. “Open up,” I instructed. For a second, I thought she would refuse, but then she shut her eyes and allowed me to feed her the small morsel. “Chew it slowly. Tell me what you taste. What it feels like on your tongue.” I sat back, watching her, already moving ahead in my mind to what I would feed her next.

  “Well?” I prompted after she had chewed and swallowed.

  She opened her eyes and looked at me sheepishly. “It was cheese?”

  “Yes. How did it taste?”

  “Um, okay?”

  I shook my head, reminding myself to be patient. If she had replied it was buttery, rich, and creamy in her mouth, we wouldn’t be sitting here.

  “Nothing else?”

  “Soft?”

  I nodded. At least she got that right. I offered her a piece of apple to clear her palate and watched as she nibbled on it.

  “Aren’t you having any?” she asked.

  Smiling, I obliged and picked up a piece of the juicy apple, enjoying its crisp texture. That seemed to make her more comfortable, and I saw her relax a little.

  Next, I fed her a small piece of Swiss cheese, secretly enjoying the fact that I had neglected to bring anything to feed her with other than my fingers. A fact that I noticed she hadn’t objected to.

  She chewed, and a slight frown appeared on her face.

  “Well?”

  “That was cheese again, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was harder than the other one.”

  “Anything else?”

  “It was dry?”

  I fought back a groan. “You didn’t find it slightly nutty or sharp on your tongue? Whereas the first bite was smooth and rich?”

  She looked at me as if I had two heads. “Neither one tasted like the cheese I get on my burger.”

  I couldn’t help the groan that escaped my mouth this time.

  She began to stand. “This is a waste of your time, Byron.”

  My hand shot out, grasping hers, and I stopped her from leaving her chair. “No. It’s not. We’re just getting started. Trust me, Julia.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “Why is this so important to you?”

  For a minute, I was silent. I had no idea what to tell her, except that from the second I had seen her sitting there, looking so lovely with her uniquely colored hair swept away from her face and her pretty yellow dress, a vivid contrast to the black leather chair she sat in, she had captivated me. Her large green eyes darted around the room, and she looked uncomfortable and almost vulnerable in my dining room. I had felt drawn to her—she seemed lost, and I didn’t like that. When I had left the kitchen to find out why Melinda had not enjoyed her dinner, I was so focused on the full plate that came back, I hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t Mark sitting across from Melinda, but rather this appealing woman, until she had spoken.

  Earlier, I had arranged for my maître d’, Gerard, to be the one looking after the table and that I was preparing their meal myself. Mark had told me he wanted the evening to be very special, and I was pleased to be able to help my friend, even planning a different dish for them. The fact that the dish was deemed passable and came back barely touched had shocked me, and I had immediately gone to find out why. Faced with Julia’s wide-eyed reaction instead of Mark’s calm gaze, I had been momentarily stunned. That he was called away was unfortunate. Although, right now I couldn’t find it in myself to really care, since I was sitting across from Julia, alone in my office. I shook my head as I realized she was now gazing at me warily, wondering why I wasn’t answering her question.

  Looking at her, I knew the answer. Somehow, I knew she was going to be important to me, and I wanted to share this part of my life with her. I had a strange desire to feed her and look after her, but if I told her that, I had a feeling she would be out of the chair and gone before I could even blink, so I simply shrugged. “I enjoy a challenge.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Some challenges are insurmountable, Byron.”

  I realized I was still holding her hand, and I squeezed it softly before letting it go. Leaning forward, I picked up a small piece of melon. I wanted to see how she reacted to something slightly sweeter. “Not this. Open up.”

  Two weeks later

  “Well?”

  “It looks good, Byron. But if you gave me a garlic stick to dip in the sauce, I would probably like it more.”<
br />
  I shook my head. “It’s fresh marinara, Julia.” Quickly, I rolled some homemade penne in the sauce and lifted the fork to her mouth. “Taste.”

  She chewed slowly, and her expressive face brightened. “Hey, I like that!”

  I smiled at my small victory. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out Julia’s palate was so used to bland, overprocessed, oversalted food that her taste buds didn’t know how to handle other flavors. For the past two weeks, every chance I was able to tempt her away from her busy schedule, I had her in my office or perched up on the counter beside me in the kitchen, getting her to taste things I would make for her. I kept the herbs and spices subtle, using layers of ingredients I would combine to see how she would react to them. So far, I knew without a doubt, she enjoyed pasta, chicken, and vegetables, as long as they were simply prepared. Anything too overspiced or rich sent her taste buds into overdrive. I also discovered she disliked salmon intensely, tolerated milder fish, and she had a sweet tooth.

  I speared more penne and fed it to her. I loved watching her eat when she actually was enjoying it. Her expression was one of surprise and delight. It thrilled me to be the one to put that look on her face. I found myself looking forward to these little experiments more every day, thinking of things to tempt her with. Not only did I enjoy discovering what she liked and disliked, I enjoyed discovering things about her. She was highly intelligent and witty, and our conversations left me smiling and wanting more. More conversations, more time with her, more of her.

  “You listen to the Beatles a lot,” she mused one night. We were alone in the kitchen, the staff having left. She’d had a late class, and I had been waiting for her, preparing her meal and listening to music.

  “Yes. One of my favorites. There is a song of theirs named ‘Julia’—do you know it?”

  “No.”

  “John Lennon wrote it for his mother, although he later admitted it made him think of his feelings for Yoko as well. It’s very pretty.” I paused, spearing the roasted asparagus I made for her. “Like you.”

  Her flushed cheeks made me grin. I loved her reactions to my food—and my words.

  For the first time in many years, my concentration was not solely on the restaurant or my career. I found myself distracted by the thoughts of a lovely strawberry-blond-haired girl several times a day.

  I lifted another forkful, but she shook her head. “Your turn.”

  I grinned as I added more penne and took a much larger bite. She refused to be the only one to eat whatever I had made, saying it made her too self-conscious. The first time she had insisted, I informed her I only had the one fork, and she had snorted, took the fork from my hand, speared a piece of the beef and grinned at me.

  “Open up.”

  When I looked at her, she rolled her eyes.

  “I think we’re past not being able to share a fork, Byron. We share. Everything. It’s the rule.”

  And from then on, we did.

  I sliced off some grilled chicken, watching as her eyes lit up again. “That is delicious!”

  After a positive reaction from the chicken, I was disappointed to see her frown as she chewed on an herb-roasted potato. “Too much?”

  She shook her head. “No, it needs something.”

  I was shocked. She wanted more flavor? Curious, I picked up a piece and tasted it. The flavors of rosemary, pepper, and thyme blended with the olive oil were subtle but pleasing. Not too much, not too little, just right for her.

  “What does it need?” I asked encouragingly.

  She paused as if thinking and then grinned innocently. “Ketchup.”

  I gaped at her. No.

  She winked and began laughing, her beautiful eyes dancing with mischievousness.

  Unable to stop myself, I joined in. She had a way of making me laugh when I least expected.

  “Gotcha,” she giggled.

  I nodded. “You did, you little tease. You didn’t like it?”

  She shrugged. “I liked the pasta better.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Why?”

  “You showed a preference for something. That’s progress.” I drew in a deep breath. “What are your plans tomorrow afternoon?” Tomorrow was Sunday and the restaurant was closed, which meant I was free all day, and I was hoping her schedule was the same.

  "I have a day off—a whole day!" She threw her arms in the air in celebration. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I chuckled. I loved seeing her happy.

  “Okay. Are you up for a challenge?”

  She bit her lip. She hadn’t liked the last challenge I’d given her. “Okay?”

  Leaning forward, I pulled on the soft flesh of her lip, my fingers lingering a moment longer than needed. “Relax. It’s an easy one.”

  “All right.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want you to go to McDonald’s.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? But you made me go all week without going there. You made me promise!”

  I had. And every day, when she got to her car in the morning, I had been waiting with a little cooler containing lunch and a snack for her. She rented a small room and bath in a private house and the landlady was not pleased with her having an early morning visitor, so I waited tolerantly each day for her to come out to me. Normally not a patient person, I had found a wealth of it for her. The mornings had quickly become my favorite part of the day. I would hold out my hand, and she would slide her palm against mine, letting me hold her fingers for a few moments. Her sweet kiss on my cheek, thanking me every morning, made my day complete.

  I nodded. “I know. I want you to bring your three favorite, um…items—since I just can’t call them food—with you.”

  “You want me to bring them here? To your restaurant?”

  I nodded painfully. I never thought I would see the day I would voluntarily let those items cross my threshold. “I assume they’re the cheeseburger, the fish sandwich…”

  “For Fridays,” she interrupted.

  “Yes, of course,” I snorted, “Because you’re such a good Catholic girl. You don’t even like fish very much.”

  “I know, but my friend is, and I eat the fish thing to support her. The sauce is good, and they put cheese on it too. It adds something to the overall dish,” she teased.

  I shook my head. “Yes, Julia. Because melted fake plastic on top of an unknown fish by-product makes it extra delicious.”

  She nodded happily. “It does.”

  I glared at her. “And the third thing?” I couldn’t even bring myself to say it.

  She sighed longingly. “The McNuggets. With sweet-and-sour sauce.”

  I grimaced. “Right. Can’t forget the sauce.”

  “It makes it better, Byron,” she retorted, her tone haughty.

  I barked out a laugh. “Nothing makes any of that better, except a garbage bin.”

  “Why am I bringing it, then?”

  “To show you something.”

  A sly look crossed her face. “Do I get to eat it?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. At least a taste.”

  She grinned. “Okay. Eleven? It’s all fresh then.”

  I shuddered as I pressed some money into her hand, daring her with my eyes to argue with me. “Yes, let’s get it while it’s fresh. Eleven is good.”

  She frowned but tucked the money into her coat pocket before standing to leave. I always hated this part of our time together, not wanting her to walk away from me, but I escorted her down to the restaurant, depositing the tray in the kitchen. When we got to her car, she turned and looked up at me. Her face in the shadowy moonlight was alight with mischief.

  “What are you up to?” I asked quietly, unable to stop drifting my fingers down her soft cheek.

  Slowly, our touches had increased over the past two weeks. The brush of a finger, the gentle graze of her lips on my cheek when she said goodnight, the warmth of her pressed against me as I hugged her. She leaned up closer, and my heart began to beat faster. The
longing I had to sweep her into my arms and kiss her senseless tore through me. I felt her lips at my ear, and I shivered.

  “Looking forward to tomorrow, Byron. Especially the rule.” She stepped back, grinning.

  I looked at her stupidly. “The rule?”

  She nodded. “We share. Everything.”

  I stared at her, confused. She brushed her lips across my cheek, then climbed in the car. I watched her reverse before she rolled down the window. “You are gonna love the nuggets!” She laughed and drove off, leaving me gaping after her.

  I forgot about the fucking rule.

  We share. Everything.

  Nuggets.

  I shuddered.

  Chapter 3

  Byron

  I stood back, satisfied with what I had prepared, hoping my plan would work. A gentle rap on the back door had a smile lighting up my face, and I hurried over to let Julia inside. She entered with her own smile and her usual quiet hello, and unable to help myself, I leaned down and kissed her forehead as I returned her greeting. I grimaced when I saw the bag and large cup in her hand.

  “Added a Coke, did you?”

  She smirked at me. “I got the combo with one of them. You get fries that way, you know.”

  I shook my head. “Yippee. How delicious.”

  She chuckled as she set down the bag. “Okay, what are we doing?”

  Smiling, I lifted her up onto the counter, loving the small squeak she made as I did so.

  “I’m about to prove my theory.” I tapped the end of her nose. “Or at least, I hope to.”

  She watched as I unpacked the bag she had brought, grimacing as I smelled the grease and salt wafting up from the contents. I watched in amusement as her hand snuck over, stole a French fry, and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes as she chewed. “Mmm…crispy and salty.”