“Satisfied now?” she asked, her chest still rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.
I twisted my head, catching on her deep blue gaze, strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead, a lopsided smile on full display.
Gorgeous.Always so gorgeous.
“With you?” I said, my body shaking slightly, muscles feeling the fatigue. “I don’t know if I can ever get enough.”
“Watch out, this is hot,”I warned, pulling the turkey crown held between my oven gloves.
“You’re hot,” Kit joked as she backed away, giving me the space to close the oven door with my foot, keeping the heat inside for the rest of the food.
“Thanks.” I smiled back, turning desperate to find some free counter space in the small kitchen. “So is this, and if I don’t put it down somewhere, I’m going to drop it.”
Kit leaped into action, moving some of the prepared food out of the way and allowing me to set the dish down.
I looked down at the crown, the meat swimming in a beautiful golden stock. Liquid gold. “She’s beautiful.”
“You must be a good chef.” She leaned in, looking over my shoulder, her hot breath against the back of my neck sending shivers down my spine as she inspected it. “Do you normally cook on Christmas?”
“I help,” I answered. She stepped away, giving me space to drain the broth from the dish into a free pot. “I’ve always gone home, and while the rest of the family relax, Mom and I work together in the kitchen.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the memory. So many holidays were spent the exact same way, but this one, I’d thought I wanted something different. Turned out I didn’t know what I wanted until Kit Sinclair came knocking.
Her smile flickered, just for a second. “Do you have a date? To go home?”
I’d spent every moment I had sinking into the comfort of her presence, but reality still tugged at me like an impatient child. The reality was that I had other commitments, deadlines, life things to deal with. Not to mention that the day after tomorrow she’d be gone, and I’d be left here with nothing but a memory.
“I need to decide in the new year,” I admitted. “My publisher needs it by the end of January, and I need to figure out what I want to do after.”
“After the book?”
I nodded, finding that I couldn’t bear to look at her as I admitted, “Sometimes I think that coming here was me running away from making a decision. Like, I played through college and expected to continue after. I thought I’d be good enough.”
“Weren’t you?”
I pulled two plates out of the cupboard, getting ready as it drew time to serve. “I played fine, but I felt like I lost some of the passion. When I chose to go to college, it felt like an insurance policy. And in the end, I worked at a tennis training facility for a long time before I decided I wanted to do some travelling. Thought I needed to see the world. So I’ve been doing coaching gigs like this one to keep me going. But I found that there was a disconnect between what I knew players needed and what some of the coaches were teaching, even the ones with more experience. The book felt like a good way to link the two parts of me.”
“And now you’ve been struggling with the ending?” Kit smiled, beginning to help as I started to serve out the food.
“Funny, isn’t it?” I shrugged, feeling anything but the desire to laugh.
“I’m the same,” she admitted, her tone nonchalant as she drifted from my side. Kit opened the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle. “Feeling in between choices.”
“You don’t like modelling?” I asked, trying to keep my concentration as I served the food. I kept looking over at her, watching as she poured some of the bottle between two glasses.
“I love modelling, fashion, and travel. I know it’s superficial, but the glamorous parts of the job are the most fun.”
“So why are you in between?”
“Because of the not-so-glamorous parts,” she said, sparing me a single glance. “I’m not dumb; I know it’s not saving lives. And I know I could quit, but I think part of me worries what else I’ll do.” She turned, leaning back against the counter. “I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen, you know? I left home, moved to London. Never looked back.”
I didn’t like thinking about that, how young she’d been. I knew well enough from my own career how easy it was for people to take advantage of youth. Whether it was feeding themfalse hope or offering them everything they’d been working their short lives towards, dedication was easily manipulated.
“Do you regret it?” was all I managed to ask. I had made sure to get a college education; I’d known that the sport wouldn’t last me forever. Even if I loved it, I was one injury away from sitting on the bench for the rest of my life.
I paused from the food for a moment, watching as her face changed, like she was feeling her way around the question.
“Sometimes.”
