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GABRIEL: …
GABRIEL: I might have walked in on her taking the edge off.
FORD: What’s that supposed to mean?
GABRIEL: I’m sure you can easily imagine what it means.
HAYDEN: Holy fuck.
FORD: And you decided to join in?
GABRIEL: Well, ask yourselves, what would either of you have done in my situation? If you had walked in with her whimpering with her hand between her legs?
FORD: …
HAYDEN: …
FORD: You smug son of a bitch.
GABRIEL: Why, thank you.
26
MAEVE
Lydia leads me into the kitchen, which feels even more spacious without the chef and his assistants bustling around. There’s no reason to make dinner when we’re eating at someone else’s house tonight, but I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow or have prepped food that’s easily reheated for the next couple of days.
“When you said that you were into cooking, I just knew I needed your help,” Lydia tells me happily. “Mom refuses store-bought cookies during the holidays, you know, and we could’ve just had the chef make them, but I think making them yourself is part of what makes the holidays special.”
“I completely agree,” I grin. “It’s about the journey. Making them is half the fun, not just having them.”
“I knew you’d see it that way. So…” Lydia gestures at the expansive kitchen around us. “We should have everything you need. Instruct me. I am your willing apprentice.”
I laugh. Lydia’s just such a delight. It’s lovely to be around someone who’s a bit younger than I am, so free and unburdened, just enjoying life. I haven’t had much time for simple fun, ever.
Although my body is still buzzing from what happened with Gabriel and then with Ford, Lydia’s presence and the prospect of baking with quality ingredients helps me put everything else out of my mind for a little while. Baking, even more than cooking, has always been meditative for me. With cooking I improvise a lot, but baking requires me to follow recipes precisely. Kneading dough helps me feel centered and calm.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and survey the well-stocked pantry. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
I immediately think of three recipes. Sugar cookies we can cut into various shapes and ice to look like snowflakes and Christmas trees, gingerbread cookies, and chocolate raspberry cookies with white chocolate chips, for people who want something more sophisticated and complex in flavor.
Lydia proves to be an eager assistant, happy to help and surprisingly good at taking instruction. Between the two of us, I know we’ll be able to get these cookies whipped up and baked in a couple of hours, which will give us just enough time to let them cool and decorate the sugar cookies before we wrap them up and take them to dinner.
I can’t keep the smile off my face as I actually get to bake with proper ingredients in this big, beautiful kitchen. I could cry with how happy it makes me. I know that this won’t last forever. Even when this whole arrangement finishes and I get paid, I won’t have a gorgeous kitchen like this one for a while. I need to savor this while I can.
“You know,” Lydia says as we mix the cookie dough, “I think it’s cute the way you and Ford can’t seem to get enough of each other. Although it’s kind of strange to see my brother acting like this. Is he… you know…”
“Please don’t ask me for details about your brother’s sex life,” I groan—not that I could, even if I wanted to.
“Oh, god, no, please.” Lydia shakes her head and makes a disgusted face. “I was just going to ask if he’s always this sweet with you. It’s nice to see that he’s so into someone. After everything that happened, we worried he wouldn’t ever find anybody.”
My stomach tightens. I know this whole thing was Ford’s idea, but I truly feel like the worst kind of person for deceiving Lydia and her parents this way. They’re going to be so hurt when Ford and I inevitably ‘break things off.’
I wish I could tell myself that if I’d known about Ford’s tragic past, and about how happy his family would be about him finding someone, I would’ve said no to his proposition. But to be honest… I need this money badly, and he’s offering me more than I could’ve ever dreamt of. I hate lying to his family though, and I feel genuinely sick over it.
Lydia must see something on my face, because her expression softens. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. If you’re private about personal stuff, that’s totally your choice. It’s nobody’s business what you do behind closed doors, you know?”
“You’re very sweet,” I tell her honestly, because she truly is. I scramble for something to say that isn’t a complete lie—and I remember the lightbulbs and how furious Ford was that Liam wouldn’t even have noticed my vision issues. “Ford is very… attentive,” I settle on.
