“Hey, Zoe.” Marcy’s eyes shifted to her cleavage, then back up. “What a surprise to see you here. I didn’t know you liked to party.”
The comment made Zoe angry but then again, it wouldn’t have mattered what Marcy said; everything she said or did made her blood boil because she hated the effect this woman had on her. What had started as a subtle flutter in her stomach had grown over the past weeks, and she’d found herself staring at Marcy on several occasions. She couldn’t stand her, yet she was unable to keep her eyes off Marcy’s toned arms and legs while she was at work. Sitting there like she was ready to take on the world—completely at ease and so confident— Zoe had no doubt she would go home with at least one woman tonight. “How could you? You don’t know anything about me.” She turned her back to Marcy and gave Lisa a hug. “Are you having a good time?”
“Yes, we just got here. Want to join us for a drink?”
“Sure, why not?” Zoe pulled a stool out and sat next to Lisa, then arched a brow at Marcy when she caught her staring again. “Are you seriously checking out my breasts?”
Marcy shifted in her seat, and a sudden nervous demeanour washed over her features. She frowned and was silent for long moments as if digging through her memory. “It’s… it’s your tattoo,” she finally said, pointing at the dragon tattoo on Zoe’s cleavage. “It looks so familiar.”
“It’s beautiful.” Lisa studied the ornate, fluid dragon that grew larger over Zoe’s left breast, its tail curling around her ribcage towards her back. “Did you have that done while you worked in Hong Kong?”
“No, I’ve had it since I was seventeen.” Zoe looked down at it. “I did it as a nod to my heritage, but nowadays I tend to forget it’s there. I’m just so used to it, I suppose. It’s become a part of me.” She looked at Marcy, whose eyes were still fixed on it. Typical. She couldn’t recollect Zoe’s face, but she could recall the tattoo on her breasts. “And you’re right to say it looks familiar. Funny that you remember my tattoo, but you don’t remember me,” she said in a sarcastic tone, then ordered a beer for herself.
Marcy’s eyes widened. “Have we slept together?” She fiddled with her straw, clearly uncomfortable. “If we have, I owe you a big apology for not recognising you.” She groaned when Zoe didn’t answer and buried her face in her hands. “Oh God. We have, haven’t we?”
“You still don’t remember…” Zoe thanked the bartender, took her drink and stood. “Not only have we slept together, Marcy. You…” She dropped a dramatic pause for effect as she wanted Marcy to remember this humiliating moment. “You took my virginity.”
17
Guilt was a bitch, and the tight knot in her stomach just wouldn’t go away. Two days later and it was still all Marcy could think of as she drove to work. Luckily, Zoe hadn’t left the kitchen yesterday, but today there was a meeting with Lisa to check if everything was running to schedule for the official opening next week. She’d have to face her; she had no choice. Marcy had mulled over how to approach her, what to say and how to apologise. She could now see Zoe had been so rude to her, and she couldn’t blame her. It had been a shitty thing to do, but she’d been young and reckless. Nowadays she was clear with her intentions from the start; she was always honest about the fact that she wasn’t looking for anything more than a one-night stand. Back then, she just took off in the middle of the night without an explanation. She’d had no idea it was Zoe’s first time, and if she was still angry about it, it must have meant more to her than she could imagine.
The flowers on the passenger seat were looking a little sorry for themselves, but they were the only semi-decent bunch left at the petrol station she’d passed on her way in. Even if Zoe wouldn’t accept them, it might take away some of her guilt, knowing she’d at least tried to make amends.
Marcy felt nervous as she pulled up in front of the hotel and headed for the kitchen. Zoe was already there; she could hear her laughing with the other chefs. Wanting to slip out before they noticed her, as she felt too embarrassed to apologise in front of them, she backed away, but not before one of the chefs had spotted her.
“Hey, Marcy! Come here and tell us which gazpacho you prefer, will you? We’ve made some changes to the menu and now we can’t decide which one is best. Can you help out?”
Marcy groaned quietly, then panicked, remembering the flowers she was holding. It was too late to hide them now; they’d already seen them. “Hi,” she said, shuffling in the doorway. Zoe arched an unfriendly brow at her, clearly hoping she’d turn down the tasting, but it was now or never, and Marcy wasn’t going to let her chase her away again. “Sure, I’d love to.” Glancing over the shot glasses on the kitchen counter, she picked up a red shot first. “Nice. Tomato, bell peppers, cucumber, olive oil, garlic and chili?” she said after tasting it. “And a bit of vinegar?”
“Spot on. You have a great palate.” The chef looked impressed, but Zoe refrained from commenting.
“And what’s this one?” Marcy tried the white gazpacho and smiled. “This is delicious too. Garlic, bread, olive oil, cucumber, lemon and thyme?” She tasted it again. “There’s also a hint of sweetness but I can’t work out what it is.”
“Almonds,” Zoe said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. That defensive stance again—she always did that when facing her. “So, which one do you prefer?”
Marcy hesitated, afraid to give the wrong answer. “I like them both,” she finally said, shrugging at the groans of frustration coming from the team.
“Right. If we can’t agree on a favourite, I suggest we serve both. Smaller bowls and one extra bowl with garnish to balance the plate.” Zoe picked up the white soup and tasted it again. “Yes, let’s serve both. Sorry, guys, I know it’s a last-minute change, but it’s not that much extra work. Ralph, could you please have a think about the new presentation? I’ll leave you in charge.” She turned back to Marcy and eyed the flowers. “Isn’t it a bit early to be going on a date?” The sarcastic undertone in her voice had not gone unnoticed and Marcy felt her cheeks flush.
“They’re actually for you.” She held them out.
“For me?” Now it was Zoe’s turn to blush, and she rolled her eyes when one of her chefs whistled through his teeth.
“Yeah. Can I talk to you for a minute in private?” Marcy waited for what seemed like an eternity and the noise in the kitchen vanished as everyone looked at them and held their breath.
Finally, Zoe nodded. “Okay. Let’s go to the laundry room.” She turned to her team, who were focused on them both, perhaps speculating if Marcy was going to ask her out. If only they knew. “Guys, I’ll be back in ten.”
“Thank you,” Marcy mumbled, but Zoe ignored her until she’d closed the door behind her in the laundry room, one of the last rooms to be renovated. Marcy’s team was currently finishing the basic cosmetic work on the staff quarters—where the walls were covered in graffiti and broken tiles and old, dented lockers filled the soon to be spruced up space. The only other area free of staff and builders was the laundry room but still, she’d imagined this moment happening in a more salubrious setting.
“What did you want to talk about?” Zoe leaned against one of the industrial dryers and tilted her head, curiously eyeing the flowers. “For me, huh? Has someone got a guilty conscience?”
“Actually, I do. I just wanted to say I’m really, really sorry. First of all, for taking off in the middle of the night and disappearing on you all those years ago, and secondly for not recognising you. You were young then and you looked so different. And now you’re this hot, fit bombshell and—”
“Hold it there with the over-the-top flattery,” Zoe interrupted her. “I’m not like your other conquests; it’s not going to work on me. However, I will accept your apology and I’m glad you at least remember me now.”
“I do.” Marcy held the flowers out again and Zoe took them.
“A petrol station bouquet. What an interesting choice.”
