Page 12 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Twelve

HOLLY

Am I dead right now?

I’m sitting in the kitchen of a famous author’s house… an award winning, hot , best selling author who lives in a freaking mansion, and can carve wood, read, and cook!

How is it that the hot guy I literally ran into at the bar is now my boss?

A boss who did the Edward Cullen move on me: moving at great speeds to catch me from breaking a bone falling down the ladder.

His reflexes were astronomical. And his hand on my boob?

Jesus fucking Christ that was… inappropriate to say the least.

Not that I was asking him to take it off.

It takes too long to notice that I’ve been deep in thought toying with my lip while watching Cyrus behind the stove. “I won’t lie, I’ve never had a man cook for me before.”

I’m not even hungry, when I should be—I haven’t eaten.

I’d blame the fact that it’s because my house only has a few things to eat in it, but that’s not the problem.

It’s because my brain is still trying to comprehend that this guy is the same guy I ran into at the bar…

the same guy I was flicking the bean to yesterday… . the same guy I now call boss .

And I am absolutely certain that he knows I was fucking myself too, by the way.

I mean, his text addressing my breathing?

Like come on, that’s a dead giveaway that he knew exactly what I was doing.

What’s worse than knowing that he knew I was masturbating, is dealing with the fact that being caught was more of a turn on than it should be.

“Your man doesn’t cook for you?” he asks in a casual I’m trying to find out if you have a boyfriend kind of way. Desire warms my core in an instant, and radiates between us like an elastic band, ready to snap at any point. The feeling fades fast, thinking about “my man.” I don’t have a man.

I’m alone.

Lonely.

I sigh. “Don’t remind me.”

Don’t remind me that I picked a pathetic excuse of a man as a boyfriend. Don’t remind me that I was blindsided by his narcissistic, toxic love bomb stories, and excuses. Don’t remind me that I’m single, reckless and lonely in my thirties.

Don’t remind me that I’m not home .

I drop my head on the marble counter, hiding from my long list of problems. There is no way or how I’m going to bring up that fool. He’s the reason I’m in this mess. He’s the reason I?—

No.

I’m the reason I’m in this mess. Adam is just easier to blame.

“That bad, huh?”

“Like I said, you have no idea.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The question throws me back for a hot minute because I’ve not actually told a single soul—other than a real estate agent—what I’ve done, or where I’ve gone.

No one else knows a peep. And no one I know would care.

I’ve been keeping all of this in my head, and it actually sounds like heaven to talk about it .

It’s just… where do I start? Would he judge me?

Would he think any less of my professionalism and fire me?

Maybe I shouldn’t tell him.

Cyrus takes out the tomatoes from the oven that he had picked from the indoor garden, and throws them in the blender.

The delicious smells of roasted tomato, garlic, basil, and fresh herbs tease my nose.

It reminds me of a cozy cottage in the middle of a cold winter.

Everything made from scratch, with love, and nature.

“Crikey, that smells amazing! Is that how you make tomato soup here?”

“It’s how I do it. Served with freshly baked baguette to soak up the moisture.” Moisture … the way he says it makes my tongue salivate. “What’s crikey? Is that an Australian thing?”

A laugh cracks my mouth open. “Bloody oath it is. But there’s really only one true blue who can say it right, the rest of us just sound like galahs while we’re doing it.”

Oh, my god Holly, shut up. You’re not one of the Irwins. You sound like a bogan.

“I’m going to need a dictionary in a minute. Hold on,” he laughs, then blitzes the ingredients. “Sorry. Anyway, you were saying?”

“Promise not to laugh?” I sigh, guessing now is as good a time as ever. Not that I’m a good judge of character, clearly, but Cyrus seems genuine. He hasn’t given me the impression that he would judge me based on my actions.

“Lips are sealed.” Did he just wink at me? He definitely just freaking winked at me. Lips are sealed… like that message he sent me yesterday. “Take your time,” he adds, pouring heavy cream into the pot with the tomato, and turns his attention back to me.

“Okay, here goes. Two weeks ago I caught my boyfriend of four years cheating on me with some hot Instagram model from Sydney. The bastard was not only cheating, but he was also using my money to pull her.”

Cyrus plates up the meal into two deep bowls, and butters some bread. “Fuck that guy. He quite clearly doesn’t deserve you. Is that why you’re so melancholy?”

“Mhmm. But that’s not actually the bad part,” I cringe.

He passes my bowl and takes his, sitting beside me on the other island bench chair. I don’t know why, but sitting so close to him makes my throat swell.

“It gets worse?”

“Yeah.” I squirm, taking a slurp of the creamy red nectar.

My taste buds dance with excitement. I’ve never tasted anything so delicious in my life.

“Mmm, this is amazing. I thought being cheated on was when my world ended, but then last Sunday came…” He waits for me to continue, and I almost don’t.

“Turns out I must have gotten blind drunk and decided that a one way ticket to… here, was my ultimatum.”

Cyrus remains silent for a few gulps, and I observe how the dish appears in his hand compared to mine. At this point even my spoon looks bigger than my fingers. What I call a soup spoon is his version of a teaspoon. His bowl can barely even be seen as his fist is cloaking it.

“Turns out?”

He glares into my eyes as if I was his subject to study on.

“Yep. I had no idea that I quit my job, found a rental, terminated my lease in Australia and booked a removalist in one night. I’d apparently decided I needed a fresh start.

In a whole other country. Found out the day the removalist came knocking on my door. ”

Cyrus laughs, but stops when he realizes the frown on my face. “Oh, you’re not joking.”

“I wish I was. I had a few hours to figure out what I’d done before my flight out of there.

I didn’t know what was happening and the only clue I had was an oversea’s number in my phone’s call log from the week before, and a piece of paper from the removalist that said my furniture was going here, to Banff.

When I called the number it belonged to a real estate agent from Canmore, whom I had apparently signed a lease agreement with for a house in a place I’d never heard of before.

Then I missed my flight to LA because they lost my luggage, so I couldn’t get on another plane until the day after, which was delayed ten hours.

My furniture will take more than a month to turn up because of Christmas and the weather apparently.

Then after all that, by the time I got to Canmore I froze to death, and fell up a set of stairs into?—”

“Me?”

“…Yeah,” I nearly whisper. “Aside from having nothing but the clothes on my back and a platter of donated food, I’m grateful to at least have the opportunity to work for you.”

“Well, you sound like you need this.” He holds up a bottle of wine, but it’s in a strange bottle so I can’t tell if it’s red or white.

Please be white.

Please be white.

Relief strikes me across the face when a pale, golden yellow liquid pours it into my glass. “I’m sorry to hear you’re going through that. I couldn’t imagine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Why does he have to be my boss for god’s sake?

This man is feeding me a home cooked meal and looking at me like he’s going to smother me with love and affection—which I wouldn’t be opposed to; being crushed by a giant, sexy teddy bear that smells like cedar wood, beard oil, and the great outdoors.

“Honestly, you’ve done more than enough. Actually, saved me from starvation and going insane, probably.”

“Well, I’m glad to be of service. At least now you have a place that’s warm, is filled with food, and you have a source of income. You can even build your own snowman out the front if you ever get bored. What will you do with your cabin? And your furniture?”

I don’t remember telling him that I lived in a cabin, but since the address was on my resume, I don’t let myself overthink it too much.

Maybe he looked it up or something. Taking a large gulp of the fruity extract I allow it to marinate with other flavors on my tongue.

“At this point, I don’t even know. I’m just existing right now. ”

That’s putting it bluntly.