Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(26)

     



 



"Listen, I was just about to go for a spot of tea down the road. Care to  join while you wait for that lazy chef of yours to open his damn  kitchen?"



I smile and nod, "Sure. Actually, the place is closed, I'm just an idiot  and forgot." He chuckles and I shake my head, "But definitely, though  I'm more of a coffee girl."



"Ahh, well, I guess I'm just old school then." He offers his arm, which I  take, before he leans in and winks, "Of course, not too old there,  luv."



The blush in my cheeks goes bright crimson as I lower my face to hide my grin.



"And now what do you do at Jolie, Ms. Chloe?" Danny asks as we stroll down the south bank street in search of tea and coffee.



"Pastry."



"And what brought you there?"



I smile, "What, to baking?"



"Indeed."



"I don't know, I guess I just love it. My dad baked bread, and I just  fell in love with it. The mixing, the making something with your hands."



He nods knowingly at me, "Making greatness."



"Yeah," I say, smiling, "Yeah, I guess that's exactly it." I grin as I  glance at him realizing how good it feels to talk shop with someone like  this who gets it. Someone who gets why a person would want to spend all  day in a hot, loud, chaotic kitchen making food for people.



Well, someone who gets it who also isn't making my head spin with desire  and thoughts I shouldn't be having. Someone who's name isn't Oliver  Beckett.



"Yep, that's the spark, isn't it," Danny nods, "Finding it at Jolie are you?"



"Oh, definitely. Oliver's amazing."



"He's a cocky prick is what he is."



I choke out a laugh as I turn and raise my eyebrows at him.



"Oh, it's fine, he and I go way back. I actually know his family from  way back in the old neighborhood, truth be told." He grins at my  surprise look, "Oy, don't let the tres chic haute couture that I  surround myself in fool you, luv. I'm an East-Ender from way back; it's  how I know that little prick."



"Wait, so you taught him how to cook or something?"



Danny shrugs. "Eh, I taught him how not to get himself cut, burned, or  beaten up with that mouth of his in the kitchen, the army taught him a  bit more, and then I just showed him where he was fucking up later when  he came back." He snorts, "Oy, he was a little terror that one, when he  was young. He and that little shit Marco got in with the wrong crew, as  it were. It was his mum, you know; she's the one that asked me to give  him his first kitchen job to keep him outta trouble."



I'm grinning at the thought of a young Oliver running around terrorizing  the neighborhood. Of course, in my bizarre mind, young Oliver still has  all the same tattoos and the same buzzed-side haircut he does now,  which makes the image even more hilarious.



Danny grins at my slight chuckle, "Oy, I'll tell you, any other woman  but Ella, and he'd ‘ave been right back on his arse in the street."



"Ella?"



"His mum." A shadow crosses over Danny's face for a half second before  he looks away; "She was one of the good ones, I'll tell you." He frowns,  "It's her I knew, from way back when we were kids." He laughs, the  sound darker and empty this time, "Course, then she has to go and marry  that prick Barney. What she saw in him I've got no idea." He shakes his  head, suddenly smiling brightly again as he turns back to me. "Anyways,  ugh. Ancient history; utterly boring stuff, isn't it?"



"Not at all, actually," I say, smiling, "It's nice to hear about my new family."



Danny frowns for a second before suddenly the recognition hits his face,  "Oh blimey! You're fuckin Chloe!" He suddenly takes a step back from  me, "Well fuck me, huh?"



"Excuse me?" I narrow my eyes at him as I jerk my hand out his arm.



He must see the look on my face because he stops laughing for a second  and gives me a quick look, "Aww, no-no, luv, nothing like that. I just  get it now."



I frown, "Get what?"



"What that little shit's problem is."



"Who?"



Danny laughs, "Ollie!"



I shake my head. "I'm not sure I follow. What's his problem?"



He grins and cocks a finger at me, "You are, luv."



"Pardon?"



"Or you're each other's problem, rather, as I sense the case may be."



My cheeks go bright red as I frown at him, "I- I don't know what-"



"Oh stop it," he says, pulling another cigarette out of his pack and  sticking it his mouth, "Fuck, if you were my stepsister I'd want in your  knickers too."



My face goes positively magenta as I roll my eyes.



"Jesus, and here I am the dirty old man hitting on you." He quickly  flashes me an apologetic look, "So sorry, gorgeous. Won't happen again,  scout's honor and all that." He does a little salute, as he puffs on his  cigarette and I have to laugh, which seems to release the sudden  tension.



"He's good, you know." Danny nods at me, "Oliver that is. He's good, and Jolie is a good place, but he could be great."



We stop in front of the tea shop and he glances at me, "Don't suppose  you still want to get that coffee after I acted like little scoundrel  back there."



I grin. "I'd love to."



Danny laughs and flicks his smoke away as he reaches for the door, "Lovely, lovely. Besides, how old are you? Twenty-two?"



"Twenty-three."



He winces dramatically and clutches at his heart, "Oof, see? Sorry, luv,  but it'd never work out with us anyways. You're much too old for me."



I'm still hooting with laughter as we step into the tea shop.





A week later, and I'm hitting the wall. The games aren't working, or if  they are they aren't working fast enough. Because this girl is driving  me fucking nuts. She's hot then cold, and for the last nine damn days,  she's been frosty and full of one word answers.



At first, the "yes chef" thing was kind of awesome; it was like winning  the power game. Except now, it's just getting annoying. Now, I just want  her to say my name. Fuck, I mean what I actually want is to hear her  scream it, but I'd settle for a normal conversation at this point. I'm  tempted to fuck off on the whole thing. Honestly, I need to go fuck  Chloe right out of my system. I need to fuck every single thing with  tits in the restaurant until whatever brief dirty fling I had with my  stepsister is out of my head. What am I, afraid of hurting her feelings  or some shit?



*****



I'm checking in the meat delivery out back, sipping espresso with my  clipboard in hand when she comes walking around the corner, giggling.



With fucking Marco.



Every muscle in my body tightens. Marco might be a mate, but I'm certainly not above burying him in a shallow fucking grave.



"Marco!" I snap, jerking his attention from the opening at the top of Chloe's blouse to me.



"Oy chef!" He grins, nodding at me as they come up in front of me, "Shit, mate, you catch that fuckin footy game last-"



"You're late," I snap.



Marco frowns, and then quickly nods, shifting right into work mode.



Good man.



"Sorry, chef."



I soften the sour look on my face, "Hey, do me a favor and get that stock going before you break down these shanks, yeah?"



"You got it, boss," he nods. He shoots a quick look at Chloe before ducking inside.



She rolls her eyes the second the backdoor to the kitchen shuts behind him. "Oh what is it?"



I scowl, "Nothing, I'm just curious what that whole things was."



She sighs, "He saw me coming out of the tube, we got coffee on the way over."



I nod. "Huh, great."



"Jesus, Oliver, are we going to play this game forever?"



"And what game is that, luv?"



"The game where we act like we're children. The game where you don't talk to me because I said no to you."



I bark out a laugh, "Right, as if that's what all this is."



Of course it is.



"Look, I told you, it's not … "



She trails off and I grin, "It's not … what? ‘It's not you, it's me'?" I snort.



"Whatever, you know what I mean. We just can't do this," she whispers quietly.



"I don't see why not."



She shoots me a look, "Seriously?" She shakes her head, "Oliver, I told you, it's not like I don't want us to be friends-"



"I don't."



She stumbles. "Excuse me?"



And right then, something inside snaps. It's like saying it cements all  the roaring, rambling thoughts I've had inside my head for the past  week; hell, since she stepped off that fucking plane. Whatever it is,  it's like a switch being flicked, and the rest of world drops away  except for her and me, standing in the raining London afternoon.