Page 76 of Between Love and Loathing

“You said I could redecorate a few rooms. This is one. And you said you wouldn’t complain about what I did in the kitchen,” she quipped, a hand on her hip while I took in the mess. “So, please don’t.”

The black countertops were cleaned weekly even though I never used them, the dishes always in place, the stainless steel industrial appliances immaculate because, again, they were never used.

Except now flour was everywhere. In her hair. On her face. All over the counters and all the dishes she’d taken out. Probably in the crevices of the tile on the floor.

“What the fuck happened in here?” I started forward, reaching for a bowl just to see what she was working on.

“Ah!” She swatted her cooking utensil at me. “Don’t come in here. No taste testing until it’s done.”

“You let me taste test in your bakery before—”

“This is my…” She cleared her throat as she glanced away and then continued, “my home kitchen for the time being, and here I will not be critiqued. I need this time and space. I do not need you to toss negative comments about how you don’t like something I’m doing right now. I need to relax.” She sighed at me and then wrinkled her nose. She was all freckles and red blush after she said it. “It’s silly, but I do.”

I held up my hands. “Pastry chef’s kitchen then.”

The smile that flew across her face was worth flour and sugar and egg yolk all over my kitchen if need be. Clara, carefree and happy, was showstopping.

“Come back later.” She shrugged like I would be happy when I did.

“Will it still look like this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s a negative thing. You can leave.”

She didn’t even glance at me for the next five minutes as I stood there watching her stir ingredients. I hated that my mouth watered even as she poured fucking milk on top of flour. There wasn’t a single thing I wanted to eat in that kitchen. Well, except her.

My mouth watered for her specifically. “Something’s wrong with my resort,” I blurted out.

She stopped stirring. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t figure it out. I’m racking my brain, and I don’t know what.”

She glanced around the kitchen. “Something’s wrong with my menu. So. I’m making everything and having Paloma try them all.” She hesitated to continue.

“What?”

“Maybe you should try that. Have a meeting. You have the best colleagues in the industry around you. Ask for feedback and try everything.”

“Clara, that’s—”

“Remember you’re in the kitchen. No negative feedback,” she reminded me.

I nodded and stepped back once and then again and then again. “I trust that you’ll clean this up?”

“Obviously. You dragged me into your home, Dominic. But I will make it better, even if you think it’s already perfect.” She winked at me and went back to stirring.

I left with every doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be happy with what I saw later. Yet, the next day, it was completely cleaned, dishes in different places, more spices on display, small appliances moved, but everything was still functional. Maybe even more so.

She somehow perfected my perfection, and I saw her doing it every day. She’d bring in the mail and put different piles together for me so I didn’t have to reorganize them myself. I saw her planting seeds outside one day, and she even waved enthusiastically. “You’ll be smelling beautiful things in no time.”

I didn’t question her. If I hated them, I could rip them out in a few months, right? My heart beat faster thinking about the fact that in only a few months she’d be gone. She was planting seeds and they were growing roots but she wouldn’t be here to water them.

None of this would last. None of it was going to thrive. Not without her.

She stopped my train of thought when she announced, “I have a few changes I sent to Rita and one specifically that I think I need your help on.”

I shook my head. “Your changes, Clara. Not mine.”

We weren’t in a relationship. Her partnership was with Rita. Our boundaries were all muddled, and my mind was too.