Married This Year 2: Simmering Love Read online

  “Wow, this looks amazing. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.” Henry piled his plate with rice and chicken curry, and Rachel passed him the bread. He wasted no time starting on his plate, and she smiled as she watched him eat.

  I’m so glad I didn’t cook. He would not have been making those heavenly noises if I had. Time to confess.

  “It wasn’t any trouble, I ended up—” Her phone buzzed beside her, drawing her attention. “Sorry, it’s work. Give me a minute.”

  Henry nodded and kept chewing as she pressed the button to answer. “Hi, Josh, what’s up?”

  “Rachel, did you check your email tonight?”

  “Not yet, I’m having dinner.”

  “Oh, I thought you were keeping on top of the account at night?”

  “I am, but I had plans tonight. I’ll check on it once I’m done.”

  “Hmm.” His tone told her he was not pleased with her answer. “Alright, well when you get to it, please respond to the email waiting for you.” She hung up after a curt goodbye.

  What has gotten into him this week?

  “Work problems?”

  “Not really problems. That was my boss. He’s been behaving badly. On Tuesday, he asked me out.” Henry’s eyebrows shot up into his hair and Rachel laughed. “Don’t worry—I said no.”

  “Phew!”

  She laughed again, glad that he seemed put out by her news. “Ever since that, he’s been awful. Loading me up with jobs that aren’t mine and smirking at me when the fire alarm went off today when he knew I wanted to leave early, not to mention the disaster that was yesterday’s staff meeting.”

  “Is he pissed off that you said no to his invitation?”

  “What other explanation is there? He’s usually quite nice, and I was good about it. I told him his secret was safe with me and I suggested he set his sights on our receptionist. I didn’t tell him, but I know she likes him. So, it should have been a win-win situation. Somehow, it has not turned out like that, though.”

  “Why did you say no to him?” She frowned and narrowed her eyes, and he looked up at the ceiling and whistled softly. “You know, just for interest’s sake.”

  “I told him I’d met someone on the weekend. He pressed harder, so I told him it was serious.” The smile that spread across Henry’s face was all the reward she needed for being brave enough to tell him. They sat smiling at each other for a few moments, until her phone buzzed again. She groaned, picked it up, and slipped it into her handbag. “Honestly, you will have to wait,” she said to the phone. She turned to Henry with a frown, “It’s like he knows you’re here!”

  “Would you have said yes if we hadn’t met on Saturday? Did he stand a chance before then?”

  “I would have still said no, actually. I’d have had to think of an excuse, though.”

  “Because he’s your boss?”

  “No, that’s not it. It’s because of the way he treats me. He’s commented on my looks several times over the years. Occasionally, he complements me on my shoes, or the way my hair is done. It’s quite rare for him to say good things about my work or the accounts I’ve worked on, but he often has an opinion on my appearance. I don’t like to date men who are hung up on my blonde hair and cute nose.” She grinned as she tapped the tip of her nose. “When I asked you why you jokingly proposed, that was a test. If you’d said it was because I was beautiful, or that we’d make a cute couple, you wouldn’t be here right now—no matter how much you smell like cookies.”

  “You know, I’d never considered the smell of cookies to be a tool for picking up women. You’ve opened my eyes on that one.” He held his hands up as she pretended to swat him. “Joke, joke. I won’t use that information for myself. I will pass it on to my single friends, though.” She moved to take his plate, but he put his hand over hers. “Let me clean up. You need to sort out your work email, or he’ll annoy you all night. Get that done, then we can have a snuggle on the couch. I want your full attention, since I won’t see you again until the weekend.”

  She nodded and went to retrieve her laptop from the office. She set it on the table and pulled out her phone. A quick text to Josh assured him she was dealing with the problem, and she was soon engrossed in her reply to the client. Every so often, she glanced up at the broad shouldered man washing the dishes and cleaning up the rubbish. He was quite a distraction, and she had to pull her attention back to the screen several times. When she’d finished her work and closed the laptop, he was settled on the couch, having refilled both their glasses. Watching him, she was reminded of the moment she first saw him in the carpark at the skydiving school.

  “Oh, I have something for you.” She pulled a bag from a drawer and handed it to him. He took it and slipped the photo she’d bought him out of the bag. His smile was all the reward she needed for taking the chance and getting him an extra copy.

  “Oh, this is great. Thank you.” He put the photo on the table and picked up his glass. “Come here.”

  She picked up her glass and sat beside him as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “This is good wine.”

  “It is. I brought it from the restaurant. It’s so easy having a ready-made bottle shop at work.”

  “You’ve had three glasses now. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “What? That I particularly enjoy this vintage?” he pointed to the bottle on the table.

  “No, it means you can’t drive. You could be over the limit.”

  He looked surprised at her answer and put his glass on the table. He took her glass and placed it next to his own. “Well, you know what that means, don’t you?”

  “You’ll be spending the night on my couch?”

  “Spot on.” He smiled and pulled her closer.

  “There’s a chance that we can find a better place than the couch for you tonight,” she whispered, feeling shy that they’d only known each other a few days.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” Her mouth was dry and the words croaked out, making her giggle. She sounded tipsy to her own ears, but she’d only had the one glass of wine with dinner. She was clear-headed, but any rational thought slipped away as his mouth found hers.

  She let herself relax and moved with him, revelling in the feel of his hands on her skin. His hands were large, with one particular callous at the base of his index finger. She’d noticed it on Sunday when they’d held hands, and she felt it now as his hand slid along her leg. She was wearing a skirt, and he slid it up to her waist as he pulled her to sit on his lap. She put both their glasses on the side table and sat back facing him. She liked sitting over him—it made her feel sexy—which made his next words a let down.

  “We should just snuggle tonight.”

  “I was prepared to give you a lot more than snuggling.” She felt movement below her and grinned at him. “Apparently, I’m not the only one!”

  “You little minx. Don’t think you can wave that pert nose at me and get your way, especially after you didn’t want me to mention it.” He pulled her close as he prepared to kiss her again. “We have plenty of time for that. I don’t want us to go too fast.”

  “Okay, I can wait. Unfortunately, I have an early start tomorrow. Do you mind if we retire for the snuggling soon?”

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I’ll have to be up at five to be at the club for the breakfast shift.”

  “I won’t be far behind you, then. I’m usually in the office by seven, although I feel less inclined to be there early after the performance Josh put on tonight. You should have seen his messages.” She stood and reached out her hand for his. “Shall we?”

  “Definitely.” He took her hand and followed her to her bedroom, and she flicked off the lights on the way past.

  In the dark, they stripped off their clothes and Rachel put on an old t-shirt. They slipped under the covers and he pulled her toward him again. She tucked her head into his shoulder and he ran his hands down her back with light strokes. She sighed. This felt so r
ight, even if they weren’t having sex. What had she done right to meet him on the weekend? She must have owed someone a favour somewhere.

  “Dinner was great. Thanks for cooking,” he murmured into her hair. She remembered she’d never gotten around to telling him it was a takeaway meal. Her eyes popped open in the dark, and she decided to set him straight right away. As she was about to speak, the sounds of his quiet snoring reached her ears.

  Damn. He must be tired.

  She snuggled closer and decided to tell him in the morning. Right now she was warm and comfortable, and she closed her eyes again, relaxing against him. Three words kept playing in her mind as she lay wrapped in his arms.

  You dirty cheater.

  Chapter Seven

  When she woke up, Henry was gone. She was disappointed not to get to say goodbye, and she dragged her feet as she went to the kitchen to make breakfast. On the table was a note from Henry, which made all her grumbling dissipate into the morning sunshine.

  Rachel,

  Thanks for last night. I had fun and I didn’t want to go home to my empty house. I’ll call you later. Hope you have a great day.

  H

  xx

  P.S. Thanks for the photo

  Ahh… he wrote kisses on my note. She rolled her eyes at herself. How pathetic. Stop it, you’re not sixteen.

  She did need that pick me up, though. Today was the day she had to work out how to make soup for an army!

  ***

  Cooking the soup was just as horrific as she’d imagined. Once again, her friend, the internet, had been consulted on how best to achieve this goal. She had a recipe and had read instructions on how to cook it in a giant pot. Luckily, the canteen had such a pot, so she didn’t have to find a kitchen shop to buy one. She’d done her shopping on the way to work and staggered to the kitchen with all her bags, once she stepped out of the elevator. Being in the group to transport the food to the venue was looking like the best job of all at the moment.

  Once she’d unpacked the items onto the counter, she consulted her recipe again. First, rinse the soup mix. She found a colander and was rinsing the three packets of mix under the tap when Josh appeared in the doorway.

  “What are you doing? Aren’t you meant to be working on your campaign?”

  “Yes, but you nominated me to make soup for the shelter.”

  “I didn’t think you’d do it on work time.”

  “Yes, you did. You gave us the use of this kitchen to make it. How would I get into the building after hours?”

  He stood there, speechless, as he considered her words. Not having a ready comeback, he switched tactics. “How long will you be?”

  “Well, since I’ve only now discovered that the bloody soup mix has to soak for several hours, I’ll soon be back at my desk, waiting for the time to pass. This pea and ham soup is my priority today, though Josh. You insisted it should be me.”

  “Why didn’t you make something easy, like pumpkin soup?”

  “First, I didn’t know pumpkin soup was easy—I told you I don’t cook, remember? Second, who would help me cut up multiple pumpkins and cut all that skin off? I’d be here all day, chopping and peeling, and my hands couldn’t take it.”

  “I’m sure you’re making a much bigger deal out of it than it is. Hurry up and get back to work.” He flounced out the door and Rachel made a mental note to warn Sarah about his shitty behaviour—she regretted suggesting he invite her out. No one should have to put up with Josh when he was being unreasonable.

  She put the colander in the sink and consulted the packet again. It directed her to “pick over the mix for discoloured grain or foreign material.”

  What in God’s name does that mean? What would be in the soup mix that shouldn’t be there?

  She flicked through the mix, turning it over with her fingers, still mystified by the instructions. She couldn’t see anything that looked like it shouldn’t be there, so she decided it was fine to press on. Half the contents of the packet were discoloured, so she ignored those, too. The recipe from the internet didn’t mention soaking the mix, but the packet said to soak it for eight hours. She didn’t have eight hours, so that couldn’t happen. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

  I can spare four hours and still be finished in time. Now, do the peas expand when you soak them?

  She had no idea, so, to be safe, she grabbed a large mixing bowl and filled it with water. She poured the soup mix in and gave it a stir with a spoon. The colander had soup mix stuck all over it, now, and she used the spoon to scrape it down into the bowl.

  It sure is sticky once it gets wet.

  She re-read the packet and noticed some fine print at the bottom. It said, “any amount of soaking time will reduce the cooking times” and “depending on the age of the peas, beans, or lentils, cooking times may vary.”

  Why, oh why, did I get volunteered for this part? I have no idea how much to adjust the time based on my soaking time of four hours!

  In desperation, she turned to Lori. She dialled her number and hoped Josh didn’t return while she was talking to her friend. Lori answered on the first ring and dissolved into laughter once she heard what Rachel was doing.

  “Oh my God, that’s hilarious. Didn’t you tell him you couldn’t cook?”

  “Of course I did. He ignored me, like I was being a whiny child. Now, stop laughing and tell me what that means about the age of the beans. How am I meant to know how young or old the packet mix is, and how would I adjust the time accordingly?”

  “I can’t believe your mother didn’t teach you this stuff! Don’t worry about that part. Follow the main instructions and ignore the fine print. They print that on the packet because most people would be able to tell when the soup mix is ready. You don’t have that life skill, sweetie, so do what the instructions say and it’ll be close enough.”

  “Should I call mum and ask her for a second opinion?”

  Lori laughed out loud at the panic in Rachel’s voice. “No, even though she should share in the cooking genius she created. Trust me—I’ve made soup before. You’ll be fine. Did you get the ham hock?”

  “I did, eventually. I didn’t know what a ham hock was, so I searched the meat section with no success. Then I looked for a picture on the internet and that made me realise I’d seen them before in the deli.” She pressed on, ignoring Lori’s sniggering on the other end. “I do have one question, though. The hocks have white stuff all over them. They’re not mouldy, are they?”

  The screech down the phone told her Lori had finally lost control. The laughter pouring out made her compress her lips and stare across the room. She was annoyed that, when she needed Lori to help her, she’d succumbed to fits of laughter, instead. When she got herself under control, she happily advised Rachel that the white stuff was perfectly normal.

  “Stop worrying. It’s going to be fine, Rach.”

  “I’m not convinced. It’s going to taste like slop, and everyone will know it was me who ruined it. Why couldn’t he ask for volunteers, so someone who knows how to cook could do this? I may kill him.”

  “Listen, I have to go. Just remember to breathe. Oh, and put cuts in the hock. Talk later.” With that, she was gone and Rachel looked at the phone, perplexed by the meaning of that last statement.

  This torture will never end!

  ***

  After a four-hour stint at her desk, she dragged herself back to the kitchen to get the soup started. She wanted to get some lunch, but now that she was about to start up the cook top, she couldn’t leave it unattended—she didn’t want to be responsible for the second fire in the building within a week. They’d been warned about the cost to the company for the fire brigade to attend fires, and Josh would hang the bill over her head if she was the reason the fire crew had to be called back, especially if it turned out to be a false alarm.

  The soup instructions now said to place the soup mix in a pot in fresh water.

  That’s it? No more information? How much bloody water do
I use?

  She searched the packet and found a side strip, which advocated a quick cook method. In those instructions, it said six cups of water for each packet of soup mix. With no other information to rely on, she filled the pot with 18 cups of water and dropped in all the mix, stirring it as she went. Three ham hocks went into the pot, slits having been cut in them as Lori had instructed. She prayed that Lori had meant to cut them before they were cooked, and not after.

  She added the potatoes, carrots, and celery the recipe called for—not before agonising over the quantities, though. The instructions were made for people who spent more time in the kitchen than Rachel did. Instructions like “add one potato” were lost on her. What size was the potato? What was she meant to do to it? Peel it, or cut it up? Cut it big or small? She had no idea, so she peeled and diced three large potatoes, one for each packet of soup mix, and hoped it was right.

  You can’t put too many potatoes in soup, surely?

  According to the packet, she now had to wait for two to two and a half hours before this was finished. Bay leaves and some garlic put the finishing touches on the dish, and she put the lid on tight, feeling like she was getting somewhere. A tiny sliver of doubt over the bay leaves made her recheck the recipe. It called for “a couple” of leaves, but that was for one normal portion. She had tripled the recipe to make sure there was enough for everyone at the shelter, so at the last minute, she added another handful, just to be sure there was enough in the mixture. Not game to leave the pot unattended for more than a few minutes, she then collected her laptop from her desk and returned to work in the kitchen.

  Every twenty minutes or so, she lifted the lid and stirred the soup, being careful to scrape the bottom of the pot, so it didn’t stick. The mixture was quite frothy, and as it cooked, she worried it was starting to resemble glue. At the hour and a half mark, she panicked and put out a call for help on Facebook. Several people responded with laughter, which she’d expected, and then instructions to skim the top of the soup.