I pull my cell away from my ear, looking at the blank screen before placing it face down on my desk.
A light knock on the door startles me and I look up just as the door creaks open and Emma looks around the edge of the wooden frame.
‘I saw your light was on Mr Hawthorne’ she murmurs, ‘I just wanted to let you know that I was in and ask if you needed a coffee?’
I pick up my mug, feeling the outside to find it stone cold, seems I got so caught up in my work I completely forgot to drink it.
‘Yes, black, one su . .’ I start, holding out the mug toward her.
Wendy pushes open the door so she can step inside, her face bright with a smile, ‘one sugar’ she completes for me, ‘I know.’
Taking the cup, she gives me a small nod before walking out again, heading toward the kitchen and I return to my computer, needing to bury myself in something that isn’t thoughts of Tessa.
Tessa’s POV
When I get home from college, I park my new car to the far side of the sweeping drive, making sure not to encroach on the spot that I know Caleb always uses for his own vehicle.
Cutting the engine, I slide out from behind the driver’s seat, shutting the door before trailing my hand over the paintwork. The powder blue Mirage isn’t remotely close the league of some of the cars parked outside of the college building, but to me it’s perfect. As someone who never thought that she would own a car whilst studying, I am already in love with the economic vehicle.
Locking the door, I hurry toward the front door, sliding my key into the lock and pushing the door open. Dropping my bag to the floor, I toe the door shut behind me and pull out the scrap of paper I’ve written the code down on, typing it into the beeping box on the wall to disarm the alarm.
Making sure the door is shut properly, I lock it again, an old habit I haven’t been able to shake from when mum worked late nights and I was home alone.
Sweeping up my bag again, I head up to my room to drop off my stuff and change into some more comfortable clothes. Digging out some leggings and an oversized t-shirt, I pull them on before laying down on my bed to study.
I get over two hours of work done before my stomach growls, telling me that it is time to produce some sort of food. Glancing at my wristwatch I note that it’s nearly six pm, Caleb should be home in roughly thirty minutes. Shuffling off the bed, I pad down the stairs, my footsteps muffled by my thick woollen socks, into the kitchen and open the refrigerator.
I rummage through the well stocked shelves, humming to myself as I contemplate what to make. Another obnoxious rumble lets me know that my body is not going to be happy with waiting too long. Pulling out a carton of eggs, I place them on the side along with a tomato, some sliced chicken, bell peppers and mushrooms. An Omelette is quick, easy and filling, and my mouth waters with the promise of food soon.
I shut the door, tapping my chin as I consider what to put with my meal, moving toward the cupboards, I search for inspiration, my questing fingers finding half a bag of white rice. Smiling widely, I pull it down and start pulling out a chopping board, frying pan and saucepan, setting everything up ready.
Filling the saucepan half full of water, I turn on the hob, throwing some salt into the liquid before leaving it to boil. Turning back to the counter, I take out a knife and slice up peppers, tomato and mushrooms, piling it on a small plate before cutting the precooked chicken into chunks.
As the water starts to bubble behind me, I grab the rice, moving toward the stove before hesitating uncertainly. I was going to make dinner just for me, but should I cook for Caleb? The guy is hard to read, one minute avoiding me like the plague, the next he’s buying me pizza and sitting across the table.
I nibble on my bottom lip as I try to decide before shrugging and throwing in enough rice for both of us.
I start work on the omelettes next, heating a bit of oil in the frying pan and combining all the ingredients.
I groan softly as the smell from the pan wraps around me, everything looks so good. Plating up the Omelettes, I drain off the rice, before heaping it all into a bowl, adding spices and some of the left over peppers from the omelettes.
Scooping a heap onto each plate, I wrinkle my nose slightly, it’s not a lot of food. Heading back to the fridge I find a bag of ready made salad in the bottom drawer and I smile happily, skipping back over to the plates and putting some one each.
I’m just clearing away the ingredients when the lock on the door clicks and Caleb walks into the room seconds later, his eyes finding me immediately before dropping to the plates that I’m now holding in my hands.
‘I made us dinner’ I explain quickly, lifting the plates higher as if he might have missed them somehow. ‘If you go wash up, I’ll put them on the table and we can eat.’
Not waiting for his reply, I sweep toward the table and place our plates across from each other, heading back for cutlery as I silently tell myself that if the moody man chooses not to return then that’s on him.
I take my seat, waiting for a couple of minutes, my chest tightening at each passing second where I’m sat alone. I’m just about to give up when Caleb appears, his suit jacket removed and his shirt now rolled up to the elbows, showing off his forearms.
Pulling at his tie, he takes the seat opposite me, picking up his knife and fork as I stare across at him.
‘Thanks’ he mutters, cutting into the omelette and bringing a piece to his mouth.
‘Your welcome’ I reply before quickly cutting into my own food and starting to eat so I don’t start to feel like I have to force a conversation.
Across from me, my stepbrother chews for a second before pausing, his eyes widening as my grip on my cutlery tightens, Oh God, is it bad? I’m a pretty good cook I thought, I’ve been preparing meals since I was ten, but maybe mum just used to humour me when she said they were good.
Those deep blue eyes look up, finding mine, ‘this is amazing’ he says in evident surprise, ‘you made this?’
I nod, licking my lips nervously, ‘this is awesome’ he continues, shovelling up some of the rice and inhaling it, a groan of pleasure crawling up his throat as the flavours hit his tongue. ‘Where did you learn how to cook?’ he asks through his mouthful as he keeps devouring his meal.
‘Uhh, my mum had to work long hours a lot so I used to make dinner on her late nights so it was ready for when she got home’ I admit shyly, not used to anyone but my mum complimenting me.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.