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Magnus might be this big, burly guy in a motorcycle club, but there’s a softness in his eyes that calls me to him. I haven’t had the best history when it comes to dating, but I want to give him a chance. I know I probably shouldn’t. I’m very well aware on how it could complicate things since my brother is his friend . . . but what if it doesn’t?
Is it worth the risk?
He’s telling me he won’t throw me away like trash, how he’ll cherish me. Magnus is saying all of the right things. But what if he’s the kind of man who says these things just to get in your pants and then does the exact thing he’s promising not to do?
I ponder over these thoughts as I open my eyes and return to my pain-in-the-ass client’s email. He tells me how he thought I’d give him something better, how I was referred to him by numerous friends and family, and how he doesn’t know why I was referred to them, especially since I haven’t made him happy.
I’ve invested so much time into this project, and I’m at the point where I’m done. I usually don’t give up on jobs easily, but this guy is starting to really aggravate me, and it’s not worth it to me. I send him back a professional email where I tell him that I am saddened to hear he hasn’t been happy with anything I’ve created for him. I go on to tell him how we might not be the best fit, and I believe he should seek another website designer who he believes can fulfill his vision.
I click the send button before I can chicken out and take away everything I’ve done on his website, then remove my access to his admin pages. He can be someone else’s pain-in-the-ass now.
A branch slams against the window in my bedroom and almost causes me to have a heart attack. I glance outside, surprised at how strong the wind is. The oak tree’s branches are swaying back and forth. It’s almost like they’re dancing in harmony with my conflicted emotions. Ugh, I need some clarity. I need to figure out what to do with Magnus because I don’t know what the right decision is here.
I want to give him a chance, but I can’t bear to be hurt again. It helps that all of my friends are trying to direct me right into his arms. It can only mean they think highly of him. If they’re all trying to convince me I should go for it, shouldn’t I?
My computer dings that an incoming email has arrived, and I shut my laptop immediately. I can almost guarantee I have a strongly worded email from that pain-in-the-butt client. It’s about lunchtime and my stomach has been grumbling over the last half an hour, so I get out of my desk chair and head for my door.
The left side of my door holds a small, slightly tarnished mirror that reflects back a disheveled version of myself. My hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun, stray strands falling out and framing my face. I’m dressed in an old, oversized shirt that bears the stain of countless cups of coffee, a testament to my dedication to work. Underneath my tired eyes, there are deep purple bags, evidence of my restless tossing and turning.
Ugh, whatever. It’s not like I have anyone to impress anyway. Plus, all these guys should know women don’t look amazing all day, every day.
I make it down to the industrial-sized kitchen we have on the first floor of the clubhouse and open the fridge. Sometimes, some of the ol’ ladies will make a bunch of food and pop it in here so we can all grab a few things throughout the day or even the week. Unfortunately for me, there isn’t anything here.
Sighing, I grab a five-pound pack of ground beef, a few bags of shredded Mexican cheese mix, four tomatoes, some sour cream, and taco sauce. I can throw together some tacos for everyone while I’m here. I know exactly where they keep the onions, so I grab five red onions and begin chopping them while I’m browning the ground beef.
We don’t have a lot of taco seasoning left, so I take it upon myself to mix some seasonings together to make some homemade seasoning. It’s really not that hard. All you need is cumin, smoked paprika, onion powder, garlic powder, chili powder, black pepper, crushed red pepper flakes, and a little bit of dried oregano.
“Making some tacos?” Mom’s voice rings from the doorway of the kitchen.
I turn around and see my mom standing there, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. She’s always had a knack for appearing out of thin air just when I least expect it. I used to hate it so much when I was a kid, especially if I wasn’t up to any good.
“Yeah, thought I’d whip up a quick lunch for everyone. I haven’t found the tortillas, though. So, would you mind scrounging the cabinets while I deal with all this?” I reply, giving her a small smile. Cooking has always been a therapeutic activity for me, something that helps me clear my mind and find some semblance of peace.
Mom walks over to me and leans against the counter, watching for a brief moment as I chop the onions with practiced ease. “Of course. You know, your tacos are always a hit,” she says, her voice laced with pride. “Any time you’ve ever cooked for me and my friends back home, they always say you have a knack for cooking.”
She begins looking through the cabinets, trying to help me find the tortillas. I chuckle softly and glance at her. “Well, I guess it’s good I’m decent at it since there aren’t any places nearby for decent take-out. If there are, no one has told me about them,” I say. The clubhouse is located on the outskirts of town, far away from any restaurants or take-out places. We’re even on a backroad, which is honestly kind of nice. With everything going on, I like being tucked away.
Mom nods in agreement. “That’s true. But still, you’re exceptionally good at it.” She finally finds the tortillas and pulls out a couple packets of them. They’re smaller, which is going to be perfect for tacos. “Oh, I found some rice packets too.”
“Mexican rice?”
“Yep, there are four here.”
“Cool. Do you mind grabbing a pot and getting those started?” I flip the beef around and begin chopping it up with my meat masher, wanting to make sure the beef is cooked all the way through when we put it in the tacos.
I finish chopping the onions, and the fragrant smell fills the room, mingling with the sizzling sound of ground beef browning on the stove. I toss in half of the red onions because I personally like it when they’re hot cooked down in my own tacos.
The familiar scents envelop me in a sense of nostalgia, reminding me of all those times when Mom and I used to cook together when I was a child. Memories from my childhood flood my mind. After Loren went away, it wasn’t too bad.
“How have things been with you and a certain someone?” Mom can’t help being nosey sometimes. It’s not like she doesn’t know about my dilemma with Magnus. I talk to her about everything.
“It’s not really anything yet. I’m trying to decide if I really want to bark up that tree, you know?”
“Rayna Michelle, come on.” Mom’s at the sink, and water is pouring into the massive pot she found for the rice. “If you’re going to give anyone a chance, it should be him. He won’t hurt you like others in the past.”
I use my spatula to flip the beef over again, satisfied with the brown color of the meat. I take the pan and walk over to the other side of the sink, putting all the meat in a strainer and letting all of the grease drain out.
“I know, but it’s not so easy to just jump into something like that.”
