Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(36)

     



 



I walk out from behind the line and follow him back into the dining  room, and then suddenly, the floor just drops out from under me.



It's Chloe.



Chloe sitting alone at the table with a single red rose in a small vase in front of her.



She doesn't stand when she sees me, she just grins as I walk through the  dining room, past hushed ‘oh, that's chef Beckett!' conversations,  darting looks, and even one fucking idiot with his phone out taking a  picture.



"So," she says as I come to a stop in front of her table, crossing my arms over my chest, "What's good here?"



I arch an eyebrow at her. She's playing it cool, pretending to look over the menu.



Pretending there's absolutely nothing strange about the fact that she's  sitting in my fucking restaurant, in London-bloody-England six months  after she ran out of my life back to the States.



"Hmm … " She furrows her brow and taps the menu, "Noticeable lack of cucumber salad I see."



I smirk, and she looks up quickly, biting her lip.



"Where've you been, Chloe?"



"Hiding."



I don't say anything.



"Oliver-"



"You know, it was pretty cold to run out like that," I narrow my eyes at  her. "I've gotta say, being on the receiving end of that for once sucks  a bit."



Chloe looks at me plaintively before she looks around, "You're sort of the toast of the town, you know."



"That's what they tell me."



"And a Michelin star too, huh?"



"Yeah it's amazing what I could get done without that annoying pastry cook holding me back always trying to get in my pants."



She shoots me a glare and I grin, "I missed you, you know," I say  quietly. I'm acutely aware that most of the dining room is still trying  to figure out what I'm doing out here amongst the mortals, talking to  this random American girl sitting alone with a rose.



"I missed you too, and … " She looks down, toying with her fingers before  she looks up at me, those big brown eyes of hers looking right into  mine. "Oliver, I'm so sorry for-"



"Leaving?"



"I was going to say ‘being a coward, and an idiot', but yeah, that too."



I clear my throat and lean down closer to whisper to her, "Could you  speak up a bit for the shit-head with the camera back there?" I say  quietly, winking at her.



"I said I'm sorry for being a coward and an idiot!" Her voice thunders  across the dining room, silencing everyone. Forks clatter to plates,  conversations stops, faces turn our way.



"Uh, Chloe-"



I look at her like she's crazy, and I start to sit but she shakes her head and holds her hand out, "No, wait, don't sit."



"What?"



She looks at me, her eyes wide, and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth. "Don't sit, I have to ask you something first."



I frown and I'm about to damn well sit anyways and ask her what the hell  she's doing here and why she's acting so mental when suddenly she's  getting out of her seat and onto the floor.



"Chloe!" I hiss, "Seriously, are you drunk? This is fucking ridicu-"



"Oliver Beckett?" And suddenly, there's a box in her hand.



A box with a ring inside of it.



You have got to be fucking kidding me.



Chloe looks up at me, her chest rising and falling and a blush creeping across her cheeks, "Will you marry me?"



I don't remember anything past that except the applause; from guests,  and waiters, and all the cooks in the kitchen leaning out of the doors. I  remember picking her up into my arms and kissing her, kissing her with  everything I have because they're the last lips I ever want to kiss in  this world.



"You have to say it, you know," she whispers into my lips.



I pull back and wink at her, "That a fact, huh?"



"Mhmm," she nods.



"Well in that case, yeah, that's a big fuckin' ‘yes', luv," I say.



She giggles and hugs me tighter, and then I'm picking her up and spinning her around as the whole fucking place goes wild.



"You're fucking mental, you know," I whisper into her ear.



She laughs, "Oh, you don't know the half of it," she says, grinning as she kisses me. "I didn't even get a return ticket."



"Where are you staying?"



"No idea."



"Job?"



"Looking for a baker?"



I laugh and wrap my arms around her as I pick her up and twirl her  around again in front of the crowds and the staff and the cameras and  all that shit. "You know, I could always use a cupcake girl."



She pokes me in the chest, "Dick."



I kiss her, "Tease."



She looks into my eyes, "By the way, have I ever mentioned that I love you?"



"You never had to."



"Well, I love you, Oliver Beckett," she says softly, grinning from ear to ear. "I love every crude, cocky, cheeky inch of you."



And then she's in my arms. "I love you too," I whisper in her ear, "And  you play your cards right and you might just get buggered something  proper with all of my inches"



She laughs as she kisses me, and the crowd goes wild.





I grin as I watch Oliver fidget with the sign on the inside of the glass front door to Ella.



Close for the holiday weekend, it says, and I smile while I wait outside  by the car as I watch him meticulously level it. "You know, I can  promise you that the restaurant will be here when we get back."



He smirks at me through the glass before he finally steps back, nods at  his handiwork, and walks out the door to join me. "Just remember where  we parked it, yeah?" He says with a sly wink.



"Are you sure this is a good idea?"



"Closing for three days over the holidays?" Oliver snorts. "Fuck no, but I think we might lose our minds if we don't."



I laugh. "No, I mean, my mom coming, and her meeting Danny?"



Oliver arches a brow at me as he checks his watch. "Well her plane lands  in two hours. Bit late for second thoughts, luv. Besides, after the  convincing it took to get her to come back to the general vicinity of  Europe, let alone London?" He whistles.



OK, so it took both of us, pleading to get Mom to come over for  Christmas. I mean what was she going to do, spend it alone in our house  back home? I mean it's not like I could fly.



Third trimester and all that.



Ultimately, I think it was Oliver promising that Barney was still  boozing it up somewhere in the Casino circuit of Italy and would not be  anywhere close to London that convinced her. Introducing her to Danny  Cole again was not my idea, but Oliver insists they hit it off the first  time.



"I'm really not sure about that."



Oliver grins at me. "And why ever not?"



I know what he's up to, and arch my brow at him. "Um, because he's little bit crude and crass and-"



"And a bit like me, yeah?"



"Honestly, yes."



He laughs.



"And my mom is a little more level; she's a little bit more prim and proper I guess. Just a little bit-"



"Like you?"



I smirk as Oliver turns the key in the lock of the front door to Ella  and throws an arm over my shoulder. "Yeah, bizarre that one. Imagine  that; the uptight prude and the bossy scoundrel." He winks at me.  "Right, can't see that one possibly working out," he says, leaning down  to kiss the top of my head.



Life is complicated. Oliver and his dad have talked, but infrequently,  but I think they both know they need space from each other. Of course if  Barney ever comes near my mom again, I think even Oliver might toss him  out a window.



Jolie is still around; we even pass it infrequently on strolls around  our new South Bank neighborhood, which is sort of sweet considering our  history there. Of course, it's not exactly bustling the same way it was a  year ago, when Oliver and I were there and before the Times review was  published.



I didn't end up reading it until much later, after I'd decided I was an  idiot and came running back to the heart I'd left in London. But the  review ended up being decent for Jolie, but amazing for Oliver. A  "classic case of ego run amok in the management ranks" I believe they  said, regarding Barney's drunken fight with Oliver and subsequent public  firing. "An efficient, if not creatively stifling environment for the  best thing to hit the London food circuit since Danny Cole, and probably  better."



Yeah, that stoked my husband's ego in ways it couldn't possibly need, but I also couldn't have been prouder.



Oh, right, yeah; husband. I guess I forgot to mention that little detail.



Oliver and I were married less than two months after I came back, in a small ceremony back in L.A., actually.



Barney and Delia, who are apparently and quite unbelievably still together, were not invited.



Danny did come though, grinning the whole time like he couldn't possibly  be prouder of Oliver. Marco managed to come out as well, and ended up  being so taken with the food scene in L.A. that he ended up staying and  landing a pretty great job.