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“What look?”
“When your phone goes off and you see who texted you.” She points to my phone now tucked in my pocket. “You get this weird look like you’re worried about something.”
“It’s just work.” I try brushing it off. “Let’s not talk about that though. Let’s talk about what things you geek out over.” I grin.
Thankfully, she accepts the distraction, and work talk is off the table, but the same problem remains whether she sees it or not.
What’s odd is that I’m starting to favor the person I am when I’m with Meg over the guy I have to be when I’m around my family. I’m grateful Meg didn’t have to see the grumpy side of me for very long. She’s brought out a carefree side of me that I never knew existed, and now I don’t want to go back.
In New York, I have to be on all the time. I can never let a single thing slip. The littlest things can mean the difference between closing a huge deal or losing to a competitor. The thought of going back to New York after being here, even for just a few days, makes me feel like I won’t be able to breathe once I get home.
I can’t believe I was so hesitant to come here because now I don’t want to leave.
I have to think of a way to break the whole truth to Meg: who I really am and why I’m actually here. The real trick will be getting her to not hate me once everything is said.
I don’t think there’s a way around her being upset with me when I break the news to her. I lied about my name and who I really am, on top of the fact that my family’s company is going to buy the hotel and surrounding properties.
It’ll take nothing short of a miracle for everything to end well.
Chapter sixteen
Meg - Thumbprints
I want to get to know Drew better, but I know we need to be away from distractions to do it. I consider asking him to leave his phone in his room, seeing that it’s a rather big distraction. Every time it goes off and he reads a notification, his demeanor changes for the worse. Not drastically, but just enough to take away from whatever we’re doing.
It feels like it takes more and more to bring him back to me and away from wherever his mind has gone after he takes business calls. But I don’t feel comfortable asking him to do that yet. Maybe I’ll get there when I know him better.
After an early lunch, I make sure to check with the inn’s cook, who everyone simply calls Chef, if it’s okay to use his kitchen to bake, and if he has the ingredients I needed.
Normally, he’s a really great guy who just dislikes change and is protective of his kitchen. But when new kitchen employees are hired, he gives the same scary speech to them about how no one tells him to do things differently. It’s his way or the highway, and if that’s a problem, they can leave.
Owners would normally have something to say about this, but my grandfather knows what a fantastic chef he is, so even he doesn’t argue with Chef. Besides, he is also my friend Thomas whom I’ve known for years.
So, it’s not quite so scary for me to ask him to share his domain. After a few minutes of assuring him that his kitchen will be in the same state he left it in, he agrees. I’m glad I made sure to mention that I’m a huge believer in the ‘clean as you go’ school of thought when making anything.
By the time Drew and I make it to the kitchen after my last dog walk on the beach, I’m happily surprised to feel the frigid kitchen air and see the needed ingredients accompanied by the measuring cups, bowls, and spoons I need for cookies. I make a mental note to set a few cookies aside for Thomas to thank him.
“Is this what you meant by doing something different?” Drew asks, eyeing the ingredients. “I have to tell you. I’ve never made cookies in the middle of May.”
“That’s why it’s so cold in here,” I say, rubbing the warmth back into my arms. “Chef likes to cook in a kitchen that’s as cold as possible. He says people get too cranky when they work in the heat too long.”
“Smart man.” Drew nods.
I want to get to know Drew better without him overthinking and filtering every answer he gives me. What better distraction than baking something delicious?
“Okay, when was the last time you baked something?” I ask.
He pauses for a moment. “I can’t remember,” he admits.
“Seriously?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“If I eat something, someone else usually makes it for me. In New York, I basically live at the office so cooking isn’t an everyday thing,” he admits. “I’m sure that sounds ridiculous.”
“No, no it doesn’t,” I assure him. “That’s why people like having take-out. All they have to do is enjoy it and it saves them time during the day.”
“I suppose,” he nods.
“Well, something you should know about making food yourself is that it always tastes better.”
