She got one look at my face then back to where I’d dragged Nora into the kitchen, obviously formed some kind of conclusion about what I was doing, then she nodded. In approval, I assumed.
Kip jumped up from where he’d been leaning his elbows on the bar, probably trying to flirt with the Australian who wanted nothing to do with him. The Australian who was also giving me a sharp, protective stare.
The stares from the two women comforted me since I knew both of them loved Nora and would look out for her.
“We’re goin’,” I snapped at him.
Kip, to his credit, instantly got my vibe and did not try to argue with me or question me until we got in the truck.
Though there was a low thundering in my ears and a fire burning through my body, I’d managed to lock down the worst of my fury.
“Where we goin’?” he asked.
I looked to my best friend. “We’re going to fuck up the piece of shit who laid hands on my woman.”
Chapter
Five
Recipe: Chocolate Chip Cookies
From ‘Dessert Person’
NORA
I was pretty much useless at the bakery for the rest of the day. Luckily, there wasn’t much of the day left, and both Tina and Fiona could run the place in their sleep. They were more than happy for me to putter away in the kitchen, making chocolate chip cookies to calm my nerves.
I had a recipe for every situation, every ill, every season. But my browned butter, sea salt, chocolate chip cookies—made with three kinds of chocolate: dark, semi-sweet and milk—were my default. Though even the cookies—the three batches—didn’t work their usual magic.
The tequila shot that Fiona forced me to pound once Rowan had left helped a little but wore off by the time we’d closed the bakery.
Rowan was not back. I didn’t know if he was even going to come back. I had no idea what he was doing. No idea why he was doing it. My mind kept running over everything he’d said, the fury, the way he’d looked at me. And most importantly, his parting phrase.
“This is the beginning of us.”
The words bounced around in my head over and over, making me feel warm, jittery and absolutely freaked out all at once.
The thought of going home—to my lovely, clean, quiet house—was not enticing in the slightest… I’d be alone with my thoughts, and then I’d probably try to take down the ceiling fan in order to clean it or something equally crazy.
Luckily, I didn’t have to face that because I had a best friend named Fiona. A best friend who had, without asking, followed me home, linked her arm with mine and walked into my house with me, chattering about anything and everything under the sun, not giving me a moment of silence.
She went to my speaker system and hooked up her phone to it, the sounds of Fleetwood Mac filtering through my house. Fiona had a knack for knowing which band, which song, was required for any situation. Kind of like me with baked goods. And I never could have known that Stevie Nicks singing “Landslide” was the exact thing I needed to calm my nerves, but Fiona did.
“You get the wine, I’ll get the glasses.” She nodded at my wine fridge.
The dining table was made of reclaimed wood, rustic and perfect with an antique chandelier hanging over it and pink backed, vintage, French chairs surrounding it. The faded pink rug underneath it covered dark hardwood floors—the original hardwood floors, of course.
Thankful to have a task, I did exactly as she said, picking a bottle from the fridge, going through the process of opening it, and throwing the cork into the large glass vase that was sitting on a shelf in my bar. The vase was filled with other corks. Any time anything big was happening in my life—good or bad—I saved the cork from whatever bottle of wine I was drinking to either deal with or celebrate that life event.
I liked the ritual of it, collecting moments in my life. Both to learn from and to relish in. I wasn’t quite sure what the events of today would mean, but I knew for certain that they were pivotal. That this was a day to be remembered. This was, as Rowan said, the beginning of something.
I felt giddy just thinking about his tone, the look in his eyes when he uttered those words.
Fiona had gotten two glasses out and put them on the counter.
“No, those are Pinot glasses,” I told her. “This is a French Burgundy. You need those glasses.” I pointed to the Burgundy glasses on the second shelf.
Fiona stared at me with a blank look on her face, two glasses dangling from her fingers.
“You are such a fucking grown woman,” she groaned after a beat, returning the glasses to the cabinet. “I mean, different glasses for red wine?” She shook her head. “And fancy ass glasses too.” She held one up in appreciation, twirling it in the light. “I drink my wine from teacups, water glasses or a vase in a pinch.”