Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“That’s not your business why she is here early,” Kerim snaps, clearly having overheard her. We both jump at the sound of his voice, me even more so when he moves behind me and places an arm across my shoulders. “She is welcome in this kitchen anytime.”
I don’t respond. I can’t be bothered with more drama, so instead I ask, “Does this mean we can finally be rid of that awful fish and cabbage dish?”
“Hell yes,” Kerim agrees. “What was I thinking?”
“We can’t all be perfect all of the time.”
His smile turns into a shit eating grin. “You think I’m perfect?”
“I think you’re going to get slapped if you don’t stop bothering me.” I remark haughtily but it only seems to garner laughter from him. He has a pleasant laugh, a contagious one. I smile with him, though it’s weak in comparison to his, which lingers long after his laughter has ceased. “Okay, so, let’s find a nice fish replacement for that mess.”
“Yes, Chef.” Kerim salutes and practically skips to the pantry. “How about seabass?”
“That does seem to be popular at the moment.”
“I vote Salmon!” Patience adds excitedly and together we work on a new menu, unbiased and happy.
In the end we decided on Salmon. This new menu is going to be the best one yet.
When I awake the next morning I call Jeanine and speak to the kids. Luckily for me she can have them again, but only until the morning. This is great as it means I’m set for the evening, but what am I going to do long term? Nathan and I really need to find a common ground here.
Gwen: We need to talk.
His response is immediate and floods me with relief.
Nathan: When?
Gwen: 1pm?
Nathan: I’ll be there.
Well that’s something. Now I just need to list my grievances so we can at least try to stay on track. I really hope he doesn’t start being bitter and insulting again. I hate that; it enrages me and hurts me all the same. I find myself wanting to spit back vile things that I’d never normally say in a bid to hurt him. My self-control is better than that.
I’m better than that. I won’t stoop so low. I won’t hurt him like everybody else has done in his life. I just wish he’d honour me the same.
As I tidy the house, deciding to use what little portion of freedom I have to get my many chores done, there’s a knock at the door.
I drop my rubber gloves onto the worktop and smooth my shirt down. I notice orange marks across the white fabric, all caused by splashes of bleach. Am I the only one with cleaning clothes? Surely I can’t be.
“Just a second,” I call as I rinse my arms and hands.
The person, whomever it may be, doesn’t knock again and I hope they haven’t left. I’m far too curious. Maybe Nathan is early? That wouldn’t surprise me. It’s only half an hour and I don’t mind. I know what I want to say and the sooner we get past this the better.
As I walk to the door, I pull my messy hair bun a bit tighter to my head. The tendrils at the back tickle my neck as one errant lock at the front falls across my nose. I blow it out of the way just as I pull the door open, keeping my face stoic in preparation for Nathan to enter. Is it so wrong that I don’t want him to see how upset I am?
The breeze hits me almost as fast as the shock at seeing Kerim standing on my doorstep, a box in his hands.
“I come with cake!” He raises the box a little higher and gives me a handsome smile that I’m unused to seeing.
Except for when we went for dinner, I’ve never seen him out of his uniform. Light blue jeans and a grey polo suit him. He looks younger and more at ease than usual. His hair is messier too but in a nice way, not a lazy way.
“Come in,” I blurt after an awkward pause. My wits finally gather and I motion for him to enter. “Please ignore the state of me, I’ve been cleaning the kitchen.”
“Not to worry,” he grins, looking around my cosy little home. “Where are your babies? With their father?”
“With a friend,” I respond and lead him into the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I would love chai.”
“Black tea it is,” I grin, knowing what chai is. “Though I only have PG; is that okay?”
“Perfect.” He places the box onto the breakfast bar. “May I use your kitchen as my own?”
“Of course.” If somebody had told me two years ago that my favourite chef would be making himself at home in my kitchen, I’d have tapped them on the head to check for a brain. This is unreal. Even though I work for the man, I’m a little bit star struck. “Anything you need in particular?”