“I’ll talk to Greer about it.”
“Good lad,” she says, smacking my cheek lightly. “Don’t let your hollandaise separate.”
I turn down the heat as she leaves me in the kitchen alone. If there’s one way I know how to express myself, it’s through food. I hope Maisie can appreciate it; if she hates it, well then I’m fucked.
The weekend in Oban made me really see Maisie for the first time and made her impossible to ignore. Her being my scent match only magnified my obsession with her.
There was a lot of work I needed to put in to show her I was all in and I wanted to know her better and for her to know me.
More than anything, I needed her to understand that this wasn’t just because she was my scent match, nor was it a purely physical thing. I meant what I said during her heat: I want to prove myself.
She enters my Nan’s kitchen with a smile on her face. She’s wearing a dark blue dress that’s tight on the top but flares out at the hips.
“You look lovely,” I tell her as I make the final touches on the first course.
“Thank you,” she says softly, coming to sit at the small workspace in the kitchen. I figured if I was also doing something with my hands, I’d be less nervous.
“First course is a seafood bisque,” I say, placing the dish in front of her. Lain said she had devoured the last soup I made for her, so I thought this would be a good choice. Plus, she ordered seafood in Oban so I know she’s not adverse.
I stand while I eat, but I mostly watch her reaction.
“Callum, this is delicious,” she says, and I relax ever so slightly.
I shake my head at her as I finish my bisque. “How was your day?”
Maisie smiles, resting her elbows on the table as she speaks. “It was good. It’s nice to see my sister so happy and well, I’m happy too. What were you up to all day?”
Clearing my throat, I decide to go with honesty. “Prepping everything for tonight, mostly.”
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and she takes a sip from her wineglass, an aged white Rioja that goes perfectly with the first course. She agrees as she hums around the sip.
“So, are you also a sommelier?”
“Yes.” I nod as I sear the scallops for the next course, looking down at the food instead of at her. “I became certified when I was in France. Definitely not a master sommelier, but it’s something I enjoy, plus it goes hand in hand with what I do.”
We’ve already talked about why I work at Greer’s and not some pretentious high-end restaurant. I wanted to cook for real people and I wanted a life outside of work, too.
“Well, you’re quite good at it,” she says as I put the garnish on, sliding her the seared sea scallops with lime beurre blanc, this time with a glass full of Chablis. When she digs in, she nearly makes the same sound of pleasure she did in heat, which has me clearing my throat and standing a little taller.
“Nan said you got her booked for Christmas,” I redirect the conversation to her and she smiles as she finishes the dish.
“Yes. I’m so excited. Effie and I are coming up with all-in-packages to offer for guests to take the guesswork out of their vacation. Like partnering with Lain, the cow farm, and you and Greer, along with coming up with activities to do here at the Beag. I really like the idea of promoting businesses that are Omega friendly,” she says as I take a sip of the citrusy wine.
“Is that what you think you’d like to do?”
“Maybe.” She puts down her fork and looks like she’s thinking hard. “I’ve never been so up in the air about my career before. I don’t want to go back into marketing for cosmetics and I definitely don’t want to go back to the hours I was working before. It feels kind of strange enjoying working with Effie so much, keeping this place organized and coming up with new ways to promote the business. It’s hard to—sorry, I’m rambling.”
I shake my head, reaching out and grabbing her hand with mine. It’s so much smaller; her nails are painted a light pink and she surprisingly grabs my hand back.
“It’s not rambling. I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“It’s just hard to change my mindset. I think I was drinking the LinkedIn Kool-Aid for too long, ya know?”
“What exactly does that mean?” I say, blinking at her.
“Just that you need to keep climbing. The harder you work, the more successful you’ll be, having a productive mindset, that sort of stuff. So even though I know deep down that being happy is more important, along with not causing myself stress, it almost feels like I’m failing the old me.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole truth before,” I say, and she sits up straighter like I’m about to drop some bombshell. “About never wanting to work at a high-end restaurant. I did, for a year. I won a few local awards, but it became my whole life. There was nothing for me outside of that kitchen and I became a shellof myself. I moved back home, Greer helped me get back on my feet and proposed buying the tavern and I was all in. There were moments I felt the same as you as if I was going backwards, but it wasn’t, not at all. I would have never been happy if I stayed there. You get this one life and I’m determined not to waste anymore time with meaningless bullshit.”
