“Who is who?” he asked as innocently as he could manage.
“Or he,” Chef suggested. “I suppose I shouldn’t presume.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Breck said firmly, mutilating the chunk of pineapple and nearly taking his fingers with it.
Chef’s booming laugh filled the kitchen. “I always knew that when you fell, you’d fall hard. One of the bridesmaids? A groomsman? Not one of the grandmothers!”
“Not a grandmother,” Breck said regretfully. A grandmother would have been so much simpler.
“I’m guessing they’re quite a firecracker, to damage your calm this badly,” Chef chuckled.
No one would call Darla a firecracker, Breck thought miserably. She was a moment of stillness, the reflection of the moon on quiet water, a single perfect note of music.
“You don’t have to say,” Chef said, voice rich with amusement. “Whoever it is, I wish you luck. And I wish them even more; they’ll need it.”
Breck nicked one of his fingertips and sucked the stinging pineapple juice from it. “Thanks,” he said dryly.
“That pineapple is irrecoverable for fruit bowls,” Chef observed, accurately. “Even before you bled in it. Go ahead and finish destroying it and I’ll cook it down for a pineapple cheesecake sauce tonight.”
&
nbsp; Breck sighed and went to wash his hands. The cut had already started to heal over by the time he returned, determined to make presentable fruit pieces.
If Breck had been confident that Darla could be happy, that she’d be better off without him, he could have let her go.
Probably.
His nights would have been an agony of wanting and missing, but he could gone on with his life like nothing was wrong, pretending to flirt, keeping up appearances.
But what else could he do? Ask her to call off her wedding? She certainly seemed to be well trapped in the arrangement.
“You’re not doing much better with those,” Chef observed over his shoulder.
The second pineapple had not fared any better than the previous fruit. Breck put the knife down in defeat.
“This isn’t just some girl,” Chef guessed.
Breck exhaled. “No,” he confessed. “Not even close. She’s…” He couldn’t finish.
Our mate, his leopard insisted. It’s simple!
“Maybe you should just wash some dishes and let me handle the sharp items while your brain is figuring out whatever it is you need to figure out,” Chef suggested.
“I don’t think there’s anything to figure out,” Breck admitted. “It’s… not something that can happen.”
“Ah,” Chef said with a smile. “One of those situations. Well, you’d be surprised what your brain can come up with if you give it a chance.”
Breck shrugged at him, not convinced, and went to wash dishes.
“Your brain!” Chef reminded him in a sing-song. “Not the other parts!”
Chapter 15
The spreading lawn was almost flat, in a resort that was unexpectedly steep and built in many levels, and it was large enough for the hundreds of people who would be seated to watch the ceremony that Darla was dreading.
Already, there was a white archway and a small platform half assembled, and two of the resort staff were busily finishing the rest.
“I want this threaded with flowers,” her mother was saying imperiously. “This whole arch! And we should have pots all along the aisle. Oh, do you think this is the right angle? I don’t want the sun to be in anyone’s eyes.”