Page 40 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

Grey looks almost embarrassed. “It’s a game Elia made up. She gives me four ingredients, and I have to make something delicious. She and Liv judge. It’s a whole thing. Lia can be very brutal in her critique. ”

“Sounds like something she inherited from her uncle,” I tease. “How do you feel about a little competition, chef?”

Grey walks across the kitchen and stops right in front of me. “Brave enough to go up against the master, angel?”

I step a little closer so my bare thighs brush against his towel. “I think I can handle the heat.”

“Oh my God,” Olivia squeals. “Both of you go put some clothes on before Lia catches sight of something she shouldn’t.”

“Good plan,” Grey agrees, his heated eyes never leaving mine. “We’ll be back in five.”

“Make it two,” Olivia counters. “I don’t want you screwing around while your niece is on the other side of the door.”

“I can accomplish quite a lot in two minutes.” And he can.

“Gross, I did not need to know that. Just get dressed and save the freaky shit for after I leave, Greyson.”

“You’re no fun,” Grey calls to his sister as he drags me toward the bedroom. I’m fairly certain his mouth will find itself somewhere it shouldn’t as soon as the door shuts behind us.

We’re finally presentable when we walk back into the kitchen, Grey dressed in his usual black button-up and dark pants, and me in a white button-up and jeans. I’m instantly more comfortable when I’m not standing in front of Grey’s sister and niece half-dressed.

“Okay, chef’s surprise,” Grey announces with a clap of his hands. “Lia, can Angélica join, too? Then you can pick which dish is the best?”

“Yeah, An-hey-lee-ka too!” Elia chants. “Then I get to eat two yummy foods. ”

“No sweets, Lia,” Olivia warns. “You haven’t had lunch yet.”

“Fine,” Elia huffs. “No dessert.”

Well, there goes my edge.

“Alright, what will it be then, Chef Lia?” Greyson asks, his features set in determination. He won’t be taking it easy on me—for him, this is just as important as any culinary competition.

“Hmm,” Elia hums as she tries to decide. “Cheese. Grapes. Chicken…” Her eyebrows wrinkle in concentration as she tries to think of a hard one. “Mommy,” she whispers loudly, “what was that green thing you and Daddy ate at the restaurant last night?”

“Swiss chard?” Olivia answers with a laugh.

“Siss chart,” Elia declares dramatically.

“I’m afraid the kitchen is all out of Swiss chard, Lia-bear,” Grey answers. “How about kale? It’s green too.”

“Okay, keel,” she agrees with a nod of her little blonde head. “Ten minutes. And go!”

Cheese, grapes, chicken, and kale. This sounds like a terrible start, and I have no idea how to make something like kale taste good for a five-year-old.

I immediately know that I’ll have to mask the flavor and texture, so I start on the hardest ingredient first. I grab strawberries, blueberries, and Greek yogurt from the fridge, ripe bananas and a kiwi from the fruit bowl, and peanut butter from the pantry.

I’ve never seen a kid turn down a fruit smoothie.

I prep everything for the blender before starting on the other elements.

I cut two slices from a fresh loaf of crusty bread that I made yesterday, smear a thin layer of homemade grape jam on each side, and top with thick strips of brie.

Back home, we loved to pair cheese with everything, so this combo makes perfect sense.

For the chicken, I cut up little nugget-sized pieces and coat them in a seasoned bread crumb mixture.

I pan-sear the chicken until it’s tender and crispy.

Next, I melt butter in the pan and brown each half of the sandwich before putting them together and letting the gooey cheese gush out.

Then I grab two tall glasses before starting the blender.

Grey and I bump into each other a couple times as we move around the kitchen, but I remain focused on my dish and don’t sneak any peeks at his.

“One minute left!” Elia calls after checking the timer on her mom’s phone.

I hear Grey swear under his breath, but I’ve timed everything perfectly, so I have no reason to worry.

I take two plates out of the cabinet, slice my toasted sandwich in half, and place an upright triangle on each plate before adding a circle of golden nuggets around it.

I pop two straws in the fruit smoothies before sliding them across the counter to where Elia and Olivia sit.

Then I set down my plates beside the glasses, and I’m done.

“Time!”

Grey comes up right behind me, setting down his plates in a rush. His looks more traditionally plated in the gourmet style, but mine was made with the aim to please a five-year-old, not a middle-aged food critic. I’m pretty sure Grey is going down.

“Present your dishes,” Elia demands in a serious voice that makes me think she must watch a lot of cooking shows at home. Given who her uncle is, it makes sense.

Grey goes first. “I’ve made you a balsamic-glazed chicken breast stuffed with feta cheese. It’s served on a bed of wilted kale and garnished with pan-seared white grapes.”

“Very nice, chef,” Elia comments before turning to me.

“I’ve made a kale and mixed fruit smoothie, crispy chicken nuggets, and a grape jam and cheese toasted sandwich.”

“Grape jam?” Grey gasps in offense. “That’s cheating.”

“She didn’t specify what kind of grapes,” I throw back.

Grey crosses his arms, his expression stern. “I vote for Angélica to be disqualified due to interpretation rather than exact execution.” Grey breaks character for a moment and cracks a grin, and I can’t help but giggle at his ridiculousness.

“Hmm, what do you think?” Olivia asks her daughter, trying to stifle her own giggles.

Elia looks very pensive as she glances between Grey and me. “Jam is acceptable,” she decides finally. I turn and stick my tongue out at Grey when no one is looking, although I’m pretty sure Olivia catches it, judging from the smile on her face.

They both taste our dishes, keeping their opinions quiet as they whisper back and forth.

There seems to be some indecision as they eat from each dish until the plates are clear and the glasses are empty.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t desperately hoping to steal Grey’s perfect record and win over his niece, but I’ll be a good sport about it either way.

“Both dishes were good,” Elia tells us with a straight face, eyeing us both down. “But there can only be one winner. And it is—Angélica! Sorry, Uncle Grey. The smoothie was really yummy. And the seared grapes were weird.”

“Fair enough,” Grey retorts before sticking out his hand to shake on my victory. “Nice work, chef.” I offer him my hand, but instead of shaking it, he spins me around and captures me in his arms before kissing me hard and lapping at my lips with his tongue.

“Okay, time for us to go,” Olivia announces in mortification, which I’m sure was Grey’s reason for the PDA in the first place. I stomp on his foot and pull away before things get any more graphic in front of his niece.

“I don’t want to go,” Elia huffs, clinging to her chair at the counter.

“Uncle Grey wants to have some alone time with Angélica, Lia. We’ll see them again soon,” Olivia compromises.

“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask. “I can convince your brother to keep his hands to himself. ”

“No, no it’s alright. I really should have called anyway. It’s the first Sunday in years I’ve not found him sitting alone in his apartment. I’m so happy he has someone to share his time with now. And I can tell you’re good for him,” she adds with a wink.

“Can you play chef’s surprise again sometime?” Elia asks, looking at me with pleading, blue eyes that I could never say no to.

“Of course I can,” I answer with a smile. “I’ve got to help keep your Uncle Grey on his toes.”

“Uncle Grey would look silly on his toes,” Elia giggles. “Like a ballerina. I’m going to be a ballerina, you know? My ballet teacher says I’m the best in our class.”

I know exactly what it’s like to have big dreams for the future at such a young age.

And with Greyson’s blood running in her veins, there’s no doubt she’ll reach her full potential and so much more.

“I’m sure you’ll be an excellent ballerina, Elia.

I can’t wait to watch you perform on a big stage one day. ”

“Really?” she gasps in excitement.

“Really,” I promise.

“It was wonderful meeting you, Angélica,” Olivia says, and I can tell the words are genuine rather than polite. “You should come visit. Drag my brother with you. I know my husband, Dane, would love to meet Grey’s first-ever girlfriend. He’s insisted that Greyson is gay for years.”

“First ever?” I repeat in surprise, looking over at Grey.

“I don’t date,” Grey answers with a shrug. “Now get out of here so I can do naughty things with my girlfriend .”

“You’re so disgusting,” Olivia laughs. She wraps her arms around me, and I try not to stiffen too much with the sudden touch. “I’ll come steal you for a girls’ night soon. I’m sure you could use a break from this monster.”

“Later, Liv,” Grey calls in annoyance.

“Later, loser,” she yells back as she starts to leave .

“Bye, Uncle Grey!” Elia calls as her mother half-carries her out of the room.

“Bye, Lia-bear,” Grey says back with a wave as they disappear from the kitchen and down the hall. “Thank fuck, we’re alone again.”

“Stop,” I scold with a slap to his chest. “Olivia is amazing. And Elia is the cutest thing ever. Why don’t you see them more often?”

A frown forms between Grey’s eyes. “Liv has her own life. She doesn’t need me anymore.”

His sister visits him regularly without any invitation from him, and somehow, he feels like she’s moved on from needing him just because she has a family of her own?

“She wants you to be a part of her life, Greyson. And she tries pretty damn hard to make sure that you are.” Much harder than my own parents ever did.

“I don’t want to fuck it up,” he sighs.

I hate that he was broken by his father. I hate that after all this time, the pain of it is still raw. I hate that he thinks his sister’s life is so perfect that he would damage it somehow by willingly being an active part of it.

“You wouldn’t,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him close. “Elia adores you. Liv does too beneath all the teasing sibling rivalry.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“We could pick a Sunday to go see them?” I suggest. “Get out of the apartment for a change?”

“Would you want to?” His tone is hopeful, and it squeezes my heart.

“Obviously. I need to defend my reigning champion title in chef’s surprise.”

He leans down and kisses me softly. “You’re on, chef.”