Meet Me in Hawaii Georgia Toffolo (tharntype novel english .TXT) 📖

‘Like you said, people would see it as you taking an active role in the evening, us dining out together won’t be so easily explained away.’

‘Fair point. So, my place or yours?’

She seemed to consider the question and then did a double-take. ‘Yours, definitely yours!’

He laughed. ‘Quite adamant about that?’

‘You haven’t tasted my cooking…’

‘Well, in that case my place it is.’

‘I assume your… people, at the house…’

‘You mean the staff?’

‘Yes, although that just sounds weird… I assume they’re quite discreet.’

‘Of course, although if anyone asks, we can just say you’re there to discuss plans for the kids.’

She nodded slowly. ‘For the work we’re pretending to know nothing about for today only.’

‘Yes.’

She suppressed what looked like an excited grin. ‘This is getting quite elaborate, don’t you think?’

‘Our secret, no-work, twelve-hour bubble?’

She hummed her agreement.

‘All the best things in life require intricate planning.’

‘The best things?’ she practically cooed. ‘Now for that, Todd Masters, you’ve earned another kiss.’

His lips were on hers before she could even finish, and it was everything and not enough at once. He wished away the people around them, their work, their lives, their reality.

All he wanted in that moment was her. And he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted this. It should have scared him, but he was too wrapped up in the taste of her, the feel of her, of what they shared to care…

Twelve hours, a few weeks, in that moment he would take whatever she was willing to give to feel like this for longer.

Watching someone cook was quite fascinating, especially when they were as skilled as Todd. Malie was most definitely her mother when it came to culinary skill. Useless. So it made it particularly captivating to watch him work, she just had to keep reminding herself not to drool…

‘Aside from struggling to find stuff, you’re quite the talented chef,’ she remarked as she sat on a bar stool at the marble-topped centre island, her chin resting in her hand.

He looked up briefly from the chopping board, all the vegetables neatly arranged to one side of it, the bowls with the sliced stuff arranged in front. ‘I haven’t cooked anything yet.’

She smiled and gestured to the bowls. ‘You’ve sliced those veggies so thinly, I’d have lost a nail at the very least.’

He laughed as he continued. ‘There are definitely no surprise nails in this.’

She lifted her wine glass and sipped at the cooling white liquid, her eyes hooked on him. Who’d have thought watching someone cook could be sexy? Well, not just anyone, of course, she’d watched Lils cook plenty of times and never been as captivated as this. Sorry, Lils.

He wore a plain black T-shirt and beige trousers tonight, the fabric doing the most amazing things to his behind as he navigated around the kitchen, bending into cupboards, lifting to bring things down. His hair was soft, no sign of his usual slicked-back look and he’d obviously showered – she had smelled his fresh cologne as she’d passed him at the front door, could still catch hints of it now. Her belly fluttered up with a mixture of nerves, want, and hunger, definitely hunger. And not for food… just as it hadn’t been when they’d eaten their corn at the plantation. Especially when he’d licked his fingers and lips clean every few minutes. Heaven.

She took another swig of wine. ‘So, where did you learn to cook?’

He looked to her briefly, a small smile playing about his lips. ‘Would you believe I did quite well in Home Economics at school? That and Maths. Figured they were decent life skills – the rest…’ he shrugged, ‘I didn’t have time for it.’

‘Too busy working?’

‘Pretty much. You gotta eat, right? And any shrewd businessman, teen or otherwise, needs to get their figures right.’

‘You cooked a lot for yourself as a kid then?’

He didn’t look up, but she could see the frown lines that bracketed his mouth, saw his Adam’s apple bob.

‘When I was back with Dad, I did… he was either too drunk or too despondent to care. I cooked the basics, then tried to jazz it up – Chinese, Indian, Italian, you name it, I tried it.’

He brushed off his hands and turned his attention to the hob. Pulling out a wok, he drizzled in some oil and lit the gas beneath it.

‘He just didn’t want to know.’ He still didn’t look back at her and she wondered what she would see if he did. Was he trying to hide it from her? Or was he reliving it?

‘Then a friend of his from the local pub was diagnosed with cancer. I was twenty-five by then, my business was thriving and taking up most of my time. But Dad was there for his friend until the end – I think it was the sharp shock he needed to wake up to the waste he was making of his own life. His friend had a family – a wife, two kids – and then he was gone.’

‘It must have been hard for your dad to witness.’

‘It was.’ He didn’t stop cooking as he spoke and she was happy to listen, even though her heart ached for him. ‘He called me the day after the funeral, begging my forgiveness, told me he was getting help, that he was sorting himself out and that he wanted to be a better father.’

‘It’s sad that it took his friend passing away for him to come to you like that.’

‘It was hard to accept at the time, but then I wasn’t sure I believed him either. It took months to convince me he wasn’t just saying it all, that it wasn’t some brief remorse born out of grief for his friend and that he’d fall off the wagon again soon enough.’

‘But he did it, he got through it?’

‘Yes.’ He filled the kettle with water and tapped it on, his eyes finding hers. ‘I guess I’m more relieved than angry now. Relieved that I don’t have to