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“Daddy, my turn.” Jack tugs at my arm. “Please, Daddy?”
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
I throw my son into the air, and then time seems to slow. He hovers above me as I take in his eyes, so much like Layla’s, his deep brown hair that turns wild when he lets it grow, and the curve of his lips. Everybody says he has my smile, but all I see when I look at him is his mother. When he lands, I hold him for a moment before we play again. He wraps his arms around me.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, son.”
EPILOGUE
FOUR YEARS LATER
Layla
I’m more than a little starstruck as I stand before Florence Penelope. Miles and I curled up with a box of chocolates the other evening to watch her latest romantic comedy. We onlyhalf-watched it since Mom and Noah had the kids for the night, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
Now, she stands in my kitchen, beaming her glamorous smile at me. My staff is around me, their awe plain in their features. Off to the side, Jack leans against the wall, not looking at Florence. He looks at me with a smile that’s one hundred percent his father’s. Jack is quickly becoming addicted to cooking, so sometimes I bring him to work.
That’s one of the perks of owning my own restaurant. I get to make the rules.
When I started the business, I never expected it to become a hot spot for the “who’s who” of the city to visit frequently.
“Why not?”Miles said when I explained my feelings a couple of weeks ago.
After making love, we were in bed together, my man lying on his side with the sheets tangled around his waist. His torso was bare, flecked with sweat, and his lips reminded me of the smirks he used to aim my way in the beginning. No matter how many years pass, he always looks stronger, fiercer, and more protective.
“I always knew you were going to be wildly successful.”
Florence is by far the biggest star who’s ever wanted to pay compliments to the chef.
“That wassublime,” she says in her British accent. “If heaven was a meal, it was that. Do you offer private services? I’d love for you to cater a little Oscar shindig I’m throwing in a few weeks.” I almost screamyes, and then my staff is rushing around me, throwing a mini party.
Once we’re back to work, Jack walks over. He’s an intelligent boy with watchful eyes, reminding me of his father.
“I’m so proud of you, Mom,” he says. “That was amazing. I knew you were the best chef in the world, but that was just, wow. I hope I can be as good as you one day.”
I wrap my arms around him. He’s growing fast, almost reaching my shoulders.
“You’re going to be,” I tell him. “You’re already way more talented than I was at your age.”
He has the perfect circumstances to improve—supportive parents, a quick mind, and a calm, loving home with no stress, no cheating, no drugs, no death, and no sadness. Just happiness, every day, inflating like a balloon of love, and I know it will never pop.
“I can’t wait to tell Dad,” Jack says, squeezing me. “He’s going to be so proud, too. You’re the best chefandmom in the world.”
I kiss the top of his head.
“I’d call you the best son, but Ethan might have something to say about that.”
He looks up, grinning. “That’s okay. I’m cool with it being a tie.”
THE END
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THE AUSTRALIAN’S OBSESSION
