If Nat had let me read her serial killer book, I would have used it as a guide and killed Willis in every one of the ways she’d dreamed up.
When I reached Asher’s place, I threw on my running clothes and went for a long, hard run, setting a punishing pace to try to exhaust my anger.
One thing for sure, I couldn’t ever make love to Nat again. I couldn’t kiss her, or touch her. Hell, I doubted I could even see her.
I wasn’t angry because she’d kissed another man. Even if she wasn’t dating that Willis asshole—and I’d believed her when she’d said she wasn’t—seeing her kiss him had given me a hard cold dose of the reality I’d been trying to deny.
Nat would never be able to give me the type of love I needed. I’d always known it, and it was as true now as it had ever been.
Sweat quickly started trickling down my back as I ran, the Californian sun intense even early in the morning. By the time I got back to the house, I was bathed in sweat, my chest was heaving, and my legs were on the verge of giving out.
I’d left my phone on the hall table, and Natalie had called while I was running. There was a missed call and a message I didn’t bother to listen to. Deleting it, I sent her a text message.
Heading back to LA for my show. Sorry no time to say goodbye. Good luck with selling the café.
Without waiting for a response, I went to take a shower, then moved into the kitchen to make croissants. From scratch. Because rolling out and folding eighty layers of dough seemed like the most important thing I could do.
Natalie rang while I was kneading the dough, and she called again while I was putting it in the fridge to rest. Instead of picking up her calls, I started making homemade ravioli to bake with roasted tomatoes in a béchamel sauce.
What was left to say to her? In my current mood, I didn’t feel like talking. And as far as she knew, I was on the highway, headed back to LA.
When Asher padded into the kitchen, I was filling ravioli parcels with tiny spoonfuls of spinach and mushroom mixed with three different exotic cheeses.
Asher had clearly been talking to the workers who were preparing the ground next door to put in foundations, because he was carrying rolled-up architectural plans. He’d also removed his shoes, likely because he’d gotten them muddy.
He put the rolled up plans onto the dining table, and I felt his gaze on me for a long moment, though I didn’t look up from what I was doing.
“You okay?” he eventually asked.
I grunted, concentrating on getting each spoonful of ravioli exactly the right size. “Yep. Busy.”
I was working on the kitchen island as it was roomier than the sink counter. Asher slid onto a stool and stared at me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“If you really want to know, I should have grated the provolone a little finer.”
My phone rang again. I’d left it on the corner of the counter when I should have just turned it off.
Asher leaned over to glance at the screen. “It’s Natalie.”
I added more ricotta to the ravioli mix. “I’ll talk to her later.”
My brother hesitated for a long moment, and I thought he was about to answer it and I’d have to yell at him, but then it stopped ringing.
“Whatever happened between you and Natalie, I’m sure you can work it out,” he said. “But only if you actually talk to her.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Making ravioli? At a quarter past ten in the morning?”
There was a loud knock from the front door. Asher got up and went to answer it. He disappeared down the hallway and I heard a low murmuring that went on for long enough that I decided it was probably one of the workmen needing to talk about the work they were doing. Then I heard the door close and Asher walk back down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Only it wasn’t Asher.
It was Natalie.
She was wearing the same T-shirt and jeans as when I’d seen her kissing Willis. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and behind her glasses, her blue eyes were worried.
With just one glance, I couldn’t tell if her lips were swollen from kissing Willis, but I wasn’t about to take a closer look.
“Are you okay?” She slid onto the same stool Asher had been sitting on. “I thought you were heading to LA?”
“I am. First I’m making ravioli.” No point in mentioning the croissants, though I’d start rolling and folding them as soon as the ravioli was done.
“Okay.” She hesitated. “So everything’s fine?”
“Billy called and asked me to head back to the studio right away,” I lied. “I have a lot to do before filming starts. Sorry I can’t cook for you anymore, but duty calls.”
Though I was focused on folding tiny ravioli parcels and not looking up, I was almost certain she was chewing on her bottom lip.
“Oh. Um. Are you coming back, do you think?”
I shrugged, grabbing a brush to sweep a layer of beaten egg across the dough. “I’ll be back sometime after shooting finishes. Six or seven months, maybe.”
“Six or seven months?” Her voice rose, suddenly filling with anger. “You’re leaving with nothing more than a text message?” She made a hard, impatient sound. “Will you stop doing that and talk to me, please?”
Reluctantly, I looked up. Sure enough, she was working her lower lip between her teeth. Her brow was pinched and her cheeks were flushed.
I pretended to be surprised. “Our time’s up. But we both knew that would happen, right?”
“Not like this,” she snapped. “Not after everything that’s happened between us.”
“What happened between us?”
“You know what happened!”
“Just two friends going around the bases. You were the one who wanted to do it. Actually, you were pretty relentless about it.”
I was goading her. I
