"And you told me you liked to cook," I breathe. "That it relaxed you. That it was the only time your mind went quiet."
He nods.
"I was drifting," he says. "Trying to outrun everything that had happened. But I couldn't—" He swallows. "I felt useless. Like I'd lost my purpose when I lost my team."
I squeeze his hand tighter.
"So, I started cooking." His eyes don't leave mine. "In restaurants. Hostels. Anywhere that would let me into their kitchen. And I found—" He pauses. "I found I had a talent for it. A passion for it."
"James—"
"You made it seem possible, Harper." His voice drops lower, more intense. "That night we spent together. The way you talked about cooking like it was art and science and meditation all at once. The way your entire face lit up when you described the perfect knife cut or the exact moment a sauce comes together." He takes a shaky breath. "You made me realize that cooking could be what I needed. What I'd been searching for."
I can't speak.
Can't do anything except stare at him.
"When I came back to London, I took a loan from Margot." His thumb keeps stroking my hand. Grounding. Soothing. "I started The Edge. Built it into what it is now. And the entire time—" He stops. "The entire time, I was thinking about that night. About you. About thewoman who showed me there was still something worth building toward."
"I—" My voice breaks. "I can't believe it."
His lips quirk, just slightly. "You're not the only one who was affected by our evening together."
Tears prick my eyes.
"James." I have to pause. Breathe. Try again. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I haven't been upfront with you." His eyes search mine. His expression is vulnerable. Open. There’s a touch of uncertainty there that makes my stomach bottom out.
He’s finally opening up to me. Finally, sharing how he feels about me. But he’s been holding back for so long… I still feel wary.
"About what?"
"About how you've been in my head since the moment we met.” He searches my face. "About how you walking into my kitchen wasn’t a coincidence. That hiring you was about your talent, not about the fact that I'd been tracking your career for half a decade.”
I feel like I’m finally seeing all of him, and it’s as if I’ve been hit in the chest by a hammer.
My head spins.
I force myself to speak through lips gone numb. “What are you trying to say?”
“That I waited for nearly half a decade for the opportunity to make you an offer so I could have you work for me. So I could find a way to bind you to me. So, I could keep you in my sights where I could control you. Where I could control my emotions about you. Or so I thought. Only?—”
“Only?”
“Only, I didn’t anticipate you getting past every defense I'd built. Until lying to myself about what you mean to me stopped being an option.”
51
James
"I couldn't keep lying to myself. I couldn’t keep telling myself that you didn’t matter." I draw in a breath. "Because you do, Ember. More than anything."
The words are out.
I finally spoke my mind. I set aside my need for control long enough to tell her how I feel.
The confession hangs there. Messy. Uncontrolled. Everything my OCD can't tolerate.
