withdraw the company’s support for the charity. He stayed put.
Maya took a breath and turned around, pasting on the smile that he recognised from his office.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t cook for people who think my food is “fine”. If I know you won’t enjoy the food, I won’t enjoy cooking it. If I don’t enjoy cooking it, what’s the point? The food won’t be any good and I won’t be happy.’
‘Is this a general rule?’ he asked. He forced a note of humour into his voice, hoping to lighten the mood.
The atmosphere in here was intense, and he could see from her tight muscles and hunched shoulders that Maya was a few wrong words away from an outburst that would put a permanent end to his project. Even putting that aside, he didn’t want to see that happen. Being so close to such a volume of emotion made him uneasy; he could feel his own emotions welling up in response, weighing heavily against the door that kept them shut away.
‘Do you always turn down business from people who don’t gush over your food?’ He tried to inject a little laughter, but his voice cracked and that door shifted when he saw the distress in her features.
‘I don’t know about a rule,’ she said, her voice weaker now, flat, as she stared down at the floor. ‘It’s never happened before.’
Will took a minute to think about this. He knew that he was the problem, and that the solution had to come from him. But he was trying desperately to see a way out of the plan that Rachel and Cuthbert had pincered him into. There had to be something. Because the thought of having to go through with it tightened his chest until he struggled to breathe.
‘Look, Maya. I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye on this; I don’t appreciate food like you do.’ He took a deep breath, tried to steady his voice. ‘But what if I was prepared to learn?’
He regretted the words immediately. He knew that as much as he would try to fight off the memories being back in a kitchen, oohing and aahing over delicious treats, would be close to torture.
‘What do you mean?’ She turned around and looked at him, surprise in her voice and on her face.
‘Back at the office you told Rachel that you’re running a cookery course next week, and that there was a space free. If I take the course, try to connect with your food, will you reconsider?’ He controlled his fear and his voice, but if he’d had any other choice, if this was any other project, he’d be running from here—from her—as fast as he could.
She eyed him carefully, her head tilted to one side. ‘I’m not sure.’
She turned to face him. The anger and the tension had left her stance, and instead she studied his face. The tightness in his chest lightened.
‘And that space is gone anyway. The client called me—they managed to find someone to fill it.’
‘Well, can’t you run it with one extra?’
Maya shook her head and went back to her sauce, stirring more gently now. But Will didn’t make a move to leave. He had to get her to agree, somehow, and she looked as if she might be thinking it over, reconsidering. Eventually, she spoke.
‘I can’t. There’s not enough space in the kitchen and it wouldn’t be fair on the other students. If you’re serious, though—if you really want to learn—I have some time the following week. I’ll have to fit in some development and planning work, but if you’re happy to work around that I can run another course.’
He gulped. ‘One on one?’
‘One on one.’
MAYA FIDDLED WITH her necklace as the car door slammed and forced her feet to the floor, determined not to be waiting for him at the door. This was a bad idea. The hurt she’d felt in his office was something she’d thought she was long past. The feeling of rejection was something she’d not felt since she’d last seen her parents. But after an hour in this man’s company self-doubt had been needling her non-stop.
If it hadn’t been for the flash of fear and hurt she’d recognised in his eyes—well hidden, but still just visible—she’d have turned him down again. But in the face of his desperation, and her curiosity, she’d known she had to think of some way to help him. And perhaps if she could get him here, get him to enjoy her food, those doubts would fade. Her faith in the joy she could bring with her food could blossom again.
She tidied away the last of her lunch dishes and surveyed the kitchen. It was always spotless, of course, but this morning, with summer in the air, it seemed to glow more than usual. It had been carefully designed to balance the charmingly old and the strikingly modern—the stainless steel of a professional grill with rich, warm Cotswold stone and aged oak beams. Perhaps the charm of the old cottage would mellow him, she pondered nervously.
Nervous anticipation spread through her body at the thought of being alone in the house with the man who had so riled and frustrated her. Their last two meetings had left her unsettled, and she knew that she was gambling with her emotions, with the happy life and the confidence that she had built for herself, and couldn’t quite recall why she had suggested this.
Because when he had come to her, asking her to reconsider, she’d seen a glimpse of something in his eyes that had made her pause—just for a second he’d seemed vulnerable. So different from the coolness she’d felt in his office—and she was curious. She had also seen what he’d been trying so hard to hide—he needed her. He was desperate for her help. And she’d found that she couldn’t say no, whatever it might cost her.
And then she remembered how he had looked at her, his wide eyes skimming her, almost in disbelief...how her mouth had watered and her lips had tingled at the sight of him...and she suspected she might have had an ulterior motive.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him in the days since they’d met. To start with it had been easy to ignore her attraction, to concentrate instead on her hurt and her anger at the way he had completely rejected her food—and, by extension, her. But since he’d come to her door, begged her to reconsider, she hadn’t been able to get those silver eyes out of her mind, trying to work out what was beneath.
The doorbell rang and she knew that it was too late for doubts and worries. She would make this work.
Smoothing back her hair, she forced her shoulders down and went to answer the door.
‘Will, welcome to Rose Cottage.’ He flinched as she said the words, and she had to school her features not to reflect it back to him. Acting on instinct, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm to reassure him. She hated to see anyone distressed, ached to make things right. But he pulled away from her abruptly, shock and annoyance on his face. She cringed; she’d only been trying to help and he’d rejected her. Again.
Now, of course, she was questioning the wisdom of having him here more than ever. But she had a chance to make this cold, indifferent man fall in love with food, to make his world a brighter, more joyful place, and she couldn’t resist it.
And the plan had one other redeeming feature, she supposed: Will was pretty easy on the eye. He wore another grey suit today—Maya doubted he owned any other colour—and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. She guessed that he’d come straight from the office, no matter that it was a Sunday,
