Brody’s words sparked my curiosity as to what Cole was doing.
When I got to my doorway, I peeked out into the kitchen, wondering where that man was. If he was stealing from the restaurant, surely that wouldn’t look good to a judge if I decided to take Cole to court over that contract, right? Maybe this was my Hail Mary to get Cole out of my life for good.
I made my way over to the stove, where a pot was simmering over a lit burner. I studied it, wondering if I should lift the lid or not. If Cole was stealing from the restaurant, I had a right to know. But what if it was completely innocent? What if there was just caked-on food inside of the pot, and he was boiling water to loosen it?
Was I really so untrusting of this man that I needed to inspect every little thing he was doing?
I shook my head and turned to grab an oven mitt that was hanging on the wall. Yes. I needed to see firsthand what he was doing inmykitchen.
As soon as I removed the lid, the smell of chicken broth and vegetables wafted up with the steam. I’d never known that such a simplistic dish could smell this good. I closed my eyes and inhaled again, allowing the scent to wash over me.
It smelled so good it was like I was tasting it.
“What are you doing?”
I yelped and whipped my eyes open. I almost lost control of the lid, but I managed to keep myself from dropping it. I turned to see Cole standing there with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. His eyebrow was quirked as he studied me.
I willed Business Willow to enter the chat. I planted both of my feet and narrowed my eyes. “What are you making?” I demanded.
“I figured you’d know since you were getting a facial from the steam.”
Embarrassed, I brought my wrist to my forehead and dabbed at the condensation that had accumulated there. Partly from the heat of the stove and partly from the heat of his glare.
“Why are you making chicken noodle soup?” I asked as I returned the lid to the pot. “The diner is closed.” I narrowed my eyes. “These better not be the diner’s ingredients.”
He sighed as he clicked the dustpan onto the broom. “They aren’t the diner’s ingredients. I’m not that dumb.” He turned and headed toward the back, where we kept all the cleaning supplies.
He’d only answered one of my questions, and I wasn’t going to let him off easy. “But why are you making it? Is it for you?” I asked as I followed after him.
He just glanced at me from over his shoulder but didn’t stop what he was doing or answer me.
“The diner is closed. Are you getting a head start on tomorrow?” That didn’t seem right. After all, if Cole was cooking something for the diner, wouldn’t Brody have known?
Cole was standing in front of the hooks that held all sorts of cleaning devices. He adjusted his grip on the broom handle so he could slide the end onto a hook. Then he dropped his hand and finally met my gaze before he headed back into the kitchen.
“Cole, if we’re going to work together, we need to be honest with each other. You can’t just do things here and not tell me. That’s not how partnerships work.” I followed behind him as he made his way back to the stove.
He removed the lid, grabbed a ladle, and started stirring the soup. Then he tapped the handle of the ladle against the rim of the pot and set it back down.
“I was hoping to make this as a peace offering,” he said as he folded his arms and leaned against the counter next to the stove. He was facing me now, his gaze dark and piercing as his focus remained on me.
“A peace offering?” I asked, my brain desperate to figure out what he was talking about.
He sighed and glanced to the side before he turned his attention back to me. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have made assumptions this morning. What I said to you…” His voice drifted off as he studied me for a moment longer and then dropped his gaze. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Was Cole Watkins apologizing to me? This was strange. Harold had never apologized to me. Ever. Everything bad that went on between us was my fault.
I was so confused. Why did he care enough to apologize?
“I overheard some ladies at lunch talking about how Jasper was sick. They were praising you for coming in but also sympathizing with you having to leave your sick son at home.” He brought his gaze back up to mine. “I realized I’d been an asshole.”
My brain was slowly putting the pieces together. “So you’re making me chicken noodle soup?”
“It’s the least I can do.” He nodded toward the pot. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She always made it when I didn’t feel good. I thought…” His voice drifted off as he dropped his arms and shoved his hands into his front pockets. “I hope that’s okay.”
I didn’t know how to process this, much less how to determine if it was okay or not. This was strange. So strange.
“I can throw it away if you want.” He held up his hands. “It’s all my own ingredients, I promise. I went to Godwin’s on my lunch break and bought all the supplies. This won’t affect the diner at all.”
