Merry with a Brewmaster (The Love Beach Holiday Collection)

15. Vienna

15

VIENNA

DECEMBER

“ D addy,” Haven whines as she stares at her father, “I want waffles for dinner.”

“But I already took chicken out. We can make waffles tomorrow.”

“I think I heard something about waffles,” I say conspiratorially, earning a glare from Wells and a beaming smile from Haven.

“Vienna,” he says in warning, and he’s just too damn cute for his own good. It had been weeks since the incident on the couch, and both of us were acting like it had never happened. It was strange, but things had been better than normal and I hadn’t questioned it.

“How about a compromise?”

“Like what?” Haven says skeptically.

“What about chicken and waffles?”

“What?” Haven screeches, a horrified expression on her face. “Together? That’s gross!”

I gasp and lay a hand over my heart as I grab her hand. “Are you kidding? You’ve never had it?” She giggles and I turn my mock outrage on Wells. “You’ve never made her chicken and waffles? I can’t believe you would deprive this poor girl like that.”

Wells’s head is tipped up to the ceiling, his lips twitching as he tries to fight his smile. “It’s never come up.”

“That is a punishable crime in Tennessee,” I hiss, shaking Haven gently by the shoulders.

“Fine, you win,” Wells concedes, holding his hand out in surrender. “Now what?”

“To the kitchen!” Haven and I yell in unison, making Wells laugh and shake his head.

Running to the pantry, Haven grabs our matching unicorn-printed aprons and hands me mine before getting her stool and setting it in front of the island before going to wash her hands.

“Wow,” Wells says as she sprints past him to the bathroom. “I don’t think I’ve seen her move so fast.”

Taking the butter, eggs, and buttermilk from the fridge, I smile. “She loves cooking and getting messy.” I shrug. “My nan always let me help. She was such a good cook and always made plenty.”

The counter is littered with bowls and spices and utensils by the time Haven has returned, and just when I think Wells is going to leave, he grabs a seltzer from the fridge and settles on a stool.

“Haven, tell your dad what the first rule of the kitchen is.”

Very seriously, Haven turn to Wells and says, “We always have a playlist.”

Wells barks out a laugh as “Shake It” by Metro Station fills the kitchen, and I grin knowing we’re about to “MMMBop” in a minute.

Reading off the ingredients, Haven lines them up, her tongue sticking out as she tries to read each label.

I get the oil going in the skillet and then nod as she shows me each measurement before dumping them into the bowl. She’s separated wet and dry ingredients, and I can’t help the way my heart warms as Wells looks on in awe.

Haven is careful, double-checking each one and setting it aside when she’s done. Dutifully, I put them away so we can keep our workspace as clean as possible. She’s a natural, her fudge brownies already way better than most.

Working in tandem, I fry the chicken while Haven makes the waffles, her father getting up to help her place them in the warming drawer until we’re ready. It feels natural being together like this.

Like a family.

And maybe in a weird way we are.

Wells sets the table as Haven carries all the bowls to the sink, putting the ones she can manage into the dishwasher and leaving the rest for later.

“Do you put syrup on it?” Wells asks, looking in the fridge and pulling out a fake generic bottle of “syrup.”

“I seriously cannot believe you,” I grumble as I pull a bottle of maple syrup from the cabinet that Aspen had given me the last time I saw her. Heating it on the stove, I grab three mugs from the cabinet and mentally add buy pitchers for syrup to my list of things to get next time I go to the store.

Carefully, I pour the syrup into each, setting aside a plain one and then adding cinnamon and nutmeg to the second and cayenne and hot sauce to the other.

A mountain of fried chicken and waffles lines the middle of the table, and Haven beams with pride as she looks at what we’ve done. It’s the same way I look at a bouquet after I’ve gotten it just right.

Smiling, I grab my phone and type out a quick text to my sister.

VIENNA: Would it be possible for Haven to shadow you for part of a day? She LOVES cooking!

ASPEN: Of course!

ASPEN: Just let me know when so I can make sure I have a shirt in her size ready

VIENNA: You’re the best

ASPEN: Don’t I know it (kiss face emoji)

“Hey Haven,”—I pause and wait for her to look at me—“remember my sister, Aspen? The one that you met with the food truck?” She nods and I grin. “Well,” I say, taking a seat and forking a waffle onto my plate, “I just asked her if you could help her one day in the truck and you know what she said?”

“What?” she replies, practically vibrating with excitement as she sits up in her chair.

“She said she would love for you to come with her for the day.” I wink at her as Wells leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Can I, Dad?”

“I think that would be really great. Maybe we could make a day of it. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Magnolia Point, and I have some very fond,”—his eyes meet mine and I gulp as they flash with desire—“ memories. ”

I want to laugh at his word choice but honestly, I’m too turned on to comment. Mercifully, he turns to Haven and helps her cut her waffle and chicken, keeping a healthy distance between them on her plate before dousing both in syrup.

Grinning, I stab a piece of each and dip my fork in the spicy syrup before sliding it into my mouth. I moan and Wells’s head snaps up, but I swear I can’t help it. I can’t remember the last time I had chicken and waffles, let alone made them, but they’re just like Nan’s, and my heart soars at the thought of sharing a little piece of home with them.

“Be careful.” Wells mouths the words, his stare focused on my lips before slowly moving up to meet my gaze.

“Or what?” I mouth back as Haven happily slides another piece of waffle through the syrup on her plate.

“Do it again and find out.”

We stare at each other as his dare hangs silently between us.

I want to more than anything, but I can’t.

Right?