“Yes, Mom, I know. The daughter you never had.”
“Oh, I only say that because I know how much she means to you. I was very happy to see her finally settle down. Now that can happen for you.”
Oh god. Oh god, no.
I look up, hoping that Lachlan is preoccupied, that he can’t hear us at all. But no. That would be asking too much. He’s standing right there, mixing something in a bowl, and those gorgeous, inquisitive eyes are peering into mine.
I tear myself away from him. “That’s not going to happen,” I tell my mom, maybe more harshly than I meant to. “Lachlan is leaving on Sunday.”
She frowns, her needles pausing mid clickety-clack. “Leaving where?”
“Back to Scotland. If you couldn’t tell, he’s from there.”
“Oh,” she says, blinking hard. “Oh dear. That’s terrible. Are you going with him?”
I let out a sharp, caustic laugh. Mainly from shock. “Yeah right!” I cry out. “No. No, he’s actually a very successful rugby player in Edinburgh. He’s got everything waiting for him. And I have, well, I have everything that I have here.”
Which was what? Nothing?
No. Not nothing. My mom. My brothers. My floundering career and my happily-coupled friends.
It was something.
But it wasn’t the something I wanted.
That something was a future filled with hope.
That something was in the kitchen.
That something was unattainable.
That something was burning a hole into me with his eyes. I didn’t even have to look to know. I could feel it. I was so good at feeling his eyes on my skin, always wanting more from me than flesh.
“That’s a shame,” she says. She goes back to her knitting, but her posture loses that verve she had before. Is it possible that my mother would rather me go chasing some beautiful man across the Atlantic Ocean than stay in San Francisco and keep on keeping on? I try not to think about it. In the end, what she wants, hell, what I want, doesn’t really have any bearing on the reality: Lachlan is going back.
And I barely know him.
Thankfully she doesn’t bring him up anymore, and by the time the show is over, he announces with that deep voice of his that dinner is ready.
My mom and I exchange a curious look and head into the kitchen.
Damn.
Just, damn it.
Lachlan has not only put placemats with place settings out, but there’s a nice bottle of red wine in the middle and flickering candles. He moves around like he grew up in this kitchen as I had.
“Sit, please,” he says, gesturing to the chairs. He goes beyond gesturing when it comes to my mom and holds out the chair for her before pushing it in. Then he heads for the kitchen counter, and when he comes back, he places a bowl of mashed potatoes and a dish of chicken parmigiana on the table. Not exactly two things that would go together, but it looks absolutely delicious and smells even better.
“How did you learn to do this?” I ask him. It’s not that he shouldn’t be able to throw a few things together, but it looks so freaking good.
He nods at the plate. “Just try it first and then ask me. I can’t make any promises,” he says, sitting down between us.
I take a bite of the mashed potatoes. They’re better than the ones at Thanksgiving, with just a kick of pepper or some kind of spice. As for the chicken, it melts in your goddamn mouth.
I’m practically glaring at him. “So,” I say between bites, pointing my fork at him. “Last night’s appetizer wasn’t some once in a blue moon thing for you.”
He smirks then rubs his fingers across his lips, taking on a serious face. “I like to cook when I can.”
“You should cook all the time,” my mother says. “This is very, very good.”
“And you should take that as a compliment since she barely eats my food,” I tell him, kicking him lightly under the table.
“Oh, that’s not true,” my mother chides me, but it is totally true. I do my best, but the kitchen has never been my strong suit. When it comes to Lachlan though, it’s one of his many fucking strong suits. I swear to god there is nothing he can’t do.
Why the hell did I have to meet this beast, this superman, who blows my mind in the bedroom, mows down rugby players for a living, rescues helpless animals, looks like a fucking god, and happens to cook, just before he has to leave? Why is life so damn cruel?
“Here I was thinking all you Scots knew how to make was haggis,” I tell him, pushing the heaviness out of my chest and trying to focus on what’s in front of me.
“Oh, I can make some pretty stellar haggis,” he says. “If I had more time here, I’d see what I could do.”
I manage a smile. “As much as I wish you had more time, I’m glad I’m missing out on that.”
After dinner, my mother insists on dessert and brings out the matcha green tea ice cream, something Lachlan’s never had before.
“This is gorgeous,” he says between spoonfuls.
“I grew up on the stuff,” I tell him. “Do you know my favorite thing to eat as a child was sheets and sheets of nori? You know, dried seaweed.”
“It is true,” my mom says with a gentle laugh. “I bought them for sushi, but I would always have to hide them from her. When I found the packets later, they were torn into, like some mouse had gotten into them.”
“Strange little creature,” he comments warmly, sitting back in his chair, studying me. “What else did you get up to as a child?”
“Oh, she was up to everything,” my mother says quickly. “No different than she is now. But she had four older brothers to keep her in line. Brian, Nikko, Paul, and Toshio. Kayla was our little angel. She popped up one day when her father and I never thought I could get pregnant. I never thought I would get my little girl. But here she is.”
My cheeks grow hot, and I busy myself by swirling the ice cream into green soup.
“Unfortunately,” my mom adds, “she was an absolute terror.”
I glare at her while Lachlan lets out a laugh. “Mom,” I warn her.
“Oh, she was,” she says, leaning forward toward Lachlan, her eyes shining. “Even as a little girl, she’d run away from you every chance she got. If it wasn’t for her brothers, I’m sure we would have lost her for good one day. They were good for that, being protective.”
“Yeah, but then in high school it got a bit annoying,” I remind her.
“For you,” she says in jest. “But for us, it was a godsend. She was a boy crazy little girl, you see.”
“Oh, is that so?” Lachlan asks me with large eyes, clearly enjoying this.
“Yes, very much so,” my mom says before I can neither confirm nor deny. “Every day she had a new crush from school. Billy this or Tommy that. She got in trouble once for kissing a boy and making him cry.”
I bury my face in my hands and groan.
Lachlan is laughing hard, such a nice sound, even if it’s at my expense. “What did you do, Kayla?”
I keep my face buried and don’t answer because I know my mom will.
And she does. “The teacher told me that the boy didn’t want to kiss her, so she held him down, and when he tried to run, she punched him in the stomach.”
“You might have been a natural at rugby after all,” he says between laughs.
“So,” my mom goes on, “by the time she got to high school, her brothers acted like chaperones. The poor girl couldn’t go anywhere without them knowing about it. All the boys were kept at bay.”
“Well, I don’t blame your brothers for being protective of you,” Lachlan says. “You were probably as stunning in high school as you are right now.”
Oh god. I look up, and he’s staring at me so sincerely it hurts. My face burns even more at the compliment.
“Look, you’ve made her blush,” my mother says, which isn’t helping. “You’ve gotten under her skin.”
“Okay,” I say quickly, getting to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom. When I get back, can we all agree not to embarrass me anymore?”
“But I love watching you get embarrassed,” Lachlan practically purrs.