CHAPTER NINE
Emma
I spent the rest of the day and much of the next morning hanging out in my bungalow. It was nice not having to go anywhere or do anything. I was determined to remain relaxed.
Well, as relaxed as I could be with a certain hot, annoying ex–hockey player stuck on my mind. God, but I had to repress the urge to google him. I itched to watch him play. But I knew it would be a mistake; I wouldn’t be able to function properly around the man if I saw him all bulked up and badass in hockey gear. I wasn’t a fan, but I knew I would be if I saw Lucian play.
I was quite proud of myself for resisting the temptation. I did not, however, resist the temptation of all the lovely meals the kitchen kept sending my way. Breakfast included delicate palm-size apple turnovers, something I would ordinarily pass on, given that the ones I’d had in the past had been too sweet and cloying. But I knew from experience that the food here should not be ignored.
The first bite of turnover was my undoing. The pastry was not heavy or greasy but light and flakey, golden layers that shattered at the first bite, then melted on the tongue. The filling consisted of sliced apples cooked until just tender, their tartly sweet juice a perfect complement to the richness of the crust. Heaven.
Frankly, I wasn’t sure what I’d do when I left here. Probably go into withdrawal. For the first time, I truly envied Amalie having such an incredible chef. Pastries could be bought at a bakery. Sure, these were the best I’d had, but I could get something close to it if I wanted. Except it wouldn’t be the same. Here, I was pampered with an exacting attention to detail that left me feeling utterly cared for.
The fact that the raisin rolls were not included made me think that yes, Sal had blabbed, and yes, the house had listened and tried another approach to please me. Perhaps I should have been embarrassed or upset that Sal told the chef, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be, not when the results were so delicious. I was definitely going to send a thank-you note to the kitchen as soon as I found something to write on.
Now that breakfast was over, I found myself itching to do something. Anything. Loneliness hit me in an unexpected wave. The stink of it was I couldn’t call any of my friends; they were all dying to know about the finale, and I couldn’t tell them. I might have hung out with some of my costars, but I was still smarting. Basic pride pushed me to hide away and lick my wounds.
With that depressing thought, I washed the dishes and tucked them back into the basket. A knock on the door had me hurrying over with it; the house was nothing if not efficient in breakfast delivery and pickup.
Basket in hand, I opened the door. And found Lucian standing there, looking freshly showered and impossibly large on my sunny stoop.
He was here. He was here.
He eyed the basket. “Going on a picnic?”
“You know this is the food-delivery basket.” I was ridiculously glad to see him but determined not to show it like some panting puppy. Damn it, but the man was unfairly potent, smoldering with swagger.
“I don’t have food delivered to me. That’s only for guests.” He seemed to find this amusing. I found it a tragedy.
“You are missing out, then.”
Lucian’s mouth quirked. “If it’s so good, why are you here, ready to thrust it out the door?”
I was fairly certain he was messing with me. But I took it in stride because I liked when he did. “It’s empty, honey pie. I thought you were here to pick it up.”
“I’m supposed to be busing your dishes now?”
“You’re trying to piss me off, aren’t you?” I said, tossing back the words he’d used on me during our first meeting.
He grinned wide, the gesture so quick and stunningly beautiful on him it made my breath hitch. “It’s so easy,” he answered, just as I had. “At least make me work for it.”
“Don’t worry; I will.”
That shut him up in a hurry. His nostrils flared, all that smiling lightness sliding into something darker, something with promise. Heat coiled around my thighs, as an insistent thud strummed between them.
As though he’d physically felt my reaction, he blinked and swallowed hard. But then his expression returned to basic neutral, which was to say typical stern-and-intense Lucian, and he cleared his throat. “I was actually here to ask if you wanted to go on a hike.”
Flabbergasted, I gaped at him like a fish flipped out of water. It was the absolute last thing I’d expected him to say. And judging by the darkening color along his neck, he knew it.