Page 22 of Twins with Daddy’s Bestie

“Got it. I'll use another method next time I try to kill you.”

I pull out of the parking lot and drive toward Drake's house. I don't know what to say to him. Part of me wants to bring up what he said while he was out of it, but it might not be the best time, especially if we’re trying to put this behind us.

“For what it's worth, before I almost died, that was a really good meal,” Drake says with a laugh to cut through the silence.

“Well, that's something I guess,” I laugh nervously. I'm disappointed in myself for making such a big mistake.

“Are you okay?” Drake asks. I can feel his eyes on me as I focus on the road. Wouldn't it be something if I crashed the car and killed us both after nearly killing him with my food?

“I'm just angry with myself,” I say, pulling to a stop at a red light. I take my hands off the wheel and look at him while shaking my head in disappointment. “How am I ever supposed to open a restaurant when I can't even pay attention to allergens? I know you're not upset about this, but if I hadn’t stayed in the room with you while you were eating, you could have died.”

My eyes sting as I think more about it. I bite the inside of my cheeks to calm myself as the light turns green and I ease back onto the gas pedal.

“People make mistakes. You're not perfect. Nobody is,” he says warmly, reaching for my arm to squeeze it.

That's not what you said earlier, I want to say. Instead, I just nod and flash him a half-hearted grin.

“Tell me about this restaurant you want to open,” Drake says as he leans his head back on the seat. “I want to hear the official pitch.”

I laugh and look at him momentarily before turning back to the road. “Okay. To me, food is love. There's no better way to show the people you care about how much you love them than making them something from the heart. I want my restaurant to feel like you're walking into the house of someone you care about and sitting down for dinner. It'll be a set menu with classic, nostalgic meals that everybody will love.”

“Like what?” he asks, sitting up with calm interest. We stop at another red light, and I look at him, seeing the same intensity in his eyes I've noticed so many times already.

“Braised lamb shanks with homemade sweet potato mash and warm apple pie à la mode,” I say, warming on the inside as I think about the love I have for the dishes. “I want each meal to feel like it’s your mom’s family recipe. It should take you back to all the warm, fuzzy memories you have from growing up.”

“That sounds very cozy,” Drake says, taking a deep breath and turning away. “My mom didn't cook much growing up. That's probably why I'm such a picky eater. When I got home from school, I was usually left to my own devices. Plus, there was no shortage of allowance to order pizza with.”

“Every kid's dream,” I chuckle.

“Yeah, it is. But it's a dream for a reason, you know? It's not how kids are supposed to be brought up.” He shrugs and looks out the window. I don't know what to say, but I feel his energy shift as he thinks more about it. “Other kids at school had parents that made them homemade lunches, and I always brought leftover Chinese food or pizza.”

My heart aches hearing how disappointed he sounds talking about it. Some of my happiest childhood memories were around the table; it’s where my love of food stems from. If I didn't have that, I would be heartbroken. I can't even imagine being a young kid and having to fend for myself like that.

“I take it your parents were too busy working to have family meals?”

He laughs halfheartedly. I stop at a red light and watch him as he searches for the right words.

“I don't think my parents wanted a child,” he says with an empty look. My heart hurts even more hearing him admit that. “I know it’s sad, but I've been through therapy for it. They love me, and I know that, but I think the responsibility was more than they were ready for. They had lives, and they weren't ready to sacrifice anything because they had a kid.”

I shake my head disapprovingly. Drake sees me do that, but he doesn't say anything. I'll never understand why people have children just for the sake of it. I'm lucky to have been raised in a household where love was abundant and I can be close with my dad, even if he gets on my nerves sometimes.

“I'm sorry,” I say, looking at his face briefly as I approach his house. “No kid should grow up feeling like that.”

I pull up to his house and hop out of my car to walk him to the front door. He tries to stop me, but I don't let him. After getting the oxygen, he's been a little bit out of it, otherwise he probably never would have shared with me what he just did. Making sure he gets inside safely is the least I can do.

“Again, I'm so sorry about everything,” I say, standing on his porch and remembering what it felt like to be in his house for the first time a week ago today. A lot happened, and I find myself wanting to relive those moments with him right now. Instead, I back away and remind myself that I can't.

“It's not that big of a deal,” Drake says, lingering by the door. “Thank you for staying with me. I think your restaurant will be incredible. If you're ever looking for an investor, you know where to find me.”

His words feel casual, but I know they're sincere. Hearing them makes my jaw drop open and a million possibilities race through my mind. Before I can say anything else, Drake waves at me and closes the door. I turn around and stumble back to my car, wondering if that was a genuine offer or if he was just being nice.

Either way, I am deeply exhausted and need to go home. I think more about the evening as I drive, and I'm proud of myself for having the conversation with him that I did. We have a clean slate now.

At least that's what I tell myself as I try to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth at realizing that Drake and I can just never be together.

14

Drake