Frozen Heart, Melting Kiss

In the end, with her finger and her feelings hurting more than she wanted to admit, she decided she just wanted the day over with and gave up any pretence of trying to reach him. The sooner it was ready, the sooner they could eat, and then she could escape this stifling atmosphere that had invaded her home.

This wasn’t what her kitchen was for. She loved to share her passion with other people. Help them to discover a new talent, or develop a skill, or just eat chocolate pudding until they couldn’t move if that was what brought them pleasure. This room existed to make people happy, created the bliss that she needed to fend off the memories of her childhood. Or it had until this man had walked in here, all taciturn and cold, and brought her decades-old insecurities with him.

With a final addition of salt and pepper she decided that the food was as good as it was going to get, considering the mood of the chefs, and set it on warm plates. She and Will carried the food and a bottle of chilled white wine to the table outside, and Maya wondered how they were going to get through this dinner. Will had said barely five words since they’d left the sink, and if she allowed it to the silence would become unbearable.

But what could they talk about?

Maya wished that she’d thought this through before she’d agreed to run the course for him. She loved to talk about food. When people found out that she was a cook they always asked about her work, and she was happy to talk shop for as long as they would put up with her. But she suspected that food would not be high on Will’s list of favourite topics of conversation. In fact she wondered if he had ever had a conversation about food that hadn’t involved a consideration of gross profit.

Silence. It was definitely not golden. It was bad-tempered and it was awkward and it was the final insult for a much-abused meal.

She gazed out over the meadow beyond the garden, hoping that the view, which never normally failed to cheer her, would have its usual soothing effect. The shadows of the clouds chased over the ground, causing the colours of the wildflowers to shift and change, and the corners of her lips twitched upwards. She encouraged it into a full-blown smile as she let the beauty and serenity of her home topple her bad temper.

She’d fallen in love with the view, and this house, the moment that she’d first seen them. It was exactly what she’d needed: somewhere to escape from the slick city kitchens she had been working in until then, to get away from the constant client pitches, the networking events. And so she’d created a haven here—somewhere she could experience the intense colours and fresh scents of the natural world, could be completely creative. And she’d made herself part of the community. Here she understood what she needed to do, how to make people happy.

She’d thought she’d known what she was getting when she’d paid for the old stone house and its beautiful garden. And then the place had sprung a surprise on her.

The first cookery class she’d run had been a complete accident: she’d invited faithful clients to come for the weekend and sample her new menu, not long after having her professional kitchen installed. She’d been sure no one else would feel quite the same thrill she did at the sight of her new oven, but she’d wanted to show it off anyway.

Except once her guests had arrived they hadn’t been content just to sit and watch her cook for them. They had all wanted to muck in, despite the fact that not one of them had known how to chop an onion. They’d pushed her to let them help, and she’d realised that cooking wasn’t the only thing that could make her glow. Teaching was another way of sharing her food, and her love of food, with others. Before the weekend was over they’d practically written her business plan for her, and she’d found herself with a teaching business alongside her cooking.

And now Will was threatening that thrill as well. Every time he turned his nose up at her food he impugned her teaching as well as her cooking.

But the beautiful view boosted her. She’d bloomed when she’d come here from the city, when her world had shrunk and she’d finally found a place for herself. Maybe Will just needed a little of that magic. He’d charged her with teaching him, and she wasn’t going to give up just because of his bad temper.

As she gazed off into the distance she realised that putting space between her and Will, constantly pulling away from him, was going to doom their experiment from the start. How could she expect him to open up and appreciate what was around him if she was sitting there trying to pretend that he wasn’t there?

She drew her gaze back from the meadow and fixed it on Will’s face. The expression in his eyes was serious, focussed, and it intrigued her. She wondered what thoughts lay behind those silver-grey eyes, where he went when he retreated like this. Tracing her gaze over his features, she followed the line of his straight, narrow nose to lips that looked almost too full, too sumptuous, with his slim face and sharp features.

He slid his knife through the fish in neat, straight lines, carving it methodically. She watched, intrigued, his precise, emotionless approach, and fought down her instinct to look for approval. Her feelings when she served someone her food were always the same. Did they like it? Of course Will’s face gave her no hint. She had to force down the disappointment that he showed no pleasure in it. Tell herself that this was still early days. But she couldn’t stop herself hoping. Just a few small genuine words from him would soothe her fears, show her that they were on the right track. Ease the pain that the rejection of their first meeting had caused.

Will seemed to sense her staring at him, because he glanced up and held her gaze for a moment, before remembering what manners required of him.

‘This is nice, thank you.’

Maya sighed; they still had a lot of work to do—not least on thickening her skin. But they had to start somewhere, and if she wanted him to be open with her, to open himself to the joy that she hoped her food would bring, she would have to show him the way. She should see each barb as an opportunity—he had come to her for help, and each sting would tell her how much work they still had to do.

She glanced across at the meadow, letting the colours and the glory of the sunset sink into her skin and smooth away this latest hurt. Eventually she turned to Will, trying to reflect those rays of evening sun back to him.

‘So, Will, why don’t you tell me more about your work?’

He met her eyes again, and she watched his face for clues, signs that he was making progress. But all she saw was him bracing himself, hardening his eyes and fixing a neutral expression. All that for small talk, she thought, and wondered what pain lingered behind the façade to make it such a frightening prospect.

‘My company offers a range of financial services,’ he said, his voice flat and clipped. ‘At the moment I’m working on a project to raise funds for a health sector construction scheme.’ A frown creased his brow and he looked troubled...tired. ‘But I won’t bore you with the details.’

‘I’m not bored,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested. I’d like to understand more about your work. It’s a charity fundraiser, the dinner you want me to cater, isn’t it? Do you do a lot of work with charities?’

‘No.’

As she watched she could see him trying to distance himself further. He looked away, past her shoulder, and plucked his phone from his jacket pocket. She suspected he didn’t even realise that he’d done it. One-sided small talk was its own particular form of torture, and without his help she had no idea how to steer this conversation onto safer ground. She stumbled for words, not wanting them to end the evening on an awkward silence, hoping for even the tiniest breakthrough. She decided to stick with business questions—maybe if they could get comfortable talking about that, they could progress from there.

‘So, is it interesting, working with a charity? What type of charity is it? How did you get involved?’

Perhaps if she just kept throwing questions out there one of them would stick. But at the last one Will dropped his fork, placed his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand.

Will looked...broken. More pain than she’d seen one person bear weighed heavy in his eyes and on his shoulders, and she hated that she’d caused that. Regret curled in her belly at the knowledge that she’d brought someone so much grief. This week was meant to be about pleasure, about learning to appreciate flavour and beauty and art. But from the way that his elbows had come up onto the table to turn him in on himself, shield his body, she knew that she’d made a huge error.

Her instincts told her to move closer, but his body language screamed Keep Out. She rested her hands flat on the table to stop herself reaching across to him. Seeing Will like this threw everything that she’d thought she knew about him into new light. She’d seen hints of something haunting him, but had never imagined that he was carrying such raw pain.

‘Will...?’ She didn’t want to make this worse; she only wanted to help.

‘It’s a hospice,’ he said quietly. ‘I have a...a family connection to it.’

‘Oh.’

She knew that the response was inadequate. His few words, forced out through gritted teeth, had carried a great weight of buried hurt. There was so much she didn’t know about him, but with those words she’d started to understand him a little more. No wonder he was distant, if this was what threatened when he opened up. No wonder he eyed her with distrust and trepidation when she wanted emotion from him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, caving in to her instincts and touching his hand. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘It’s fine.’ Will picked up his fork, shrugging off her touch, and his face was smoothed over.

Maya guessed that he was fighting against memories, and winning this time.

‘Julia, my foster mother, died fifteen years ago. One of her nurses started a hospice charity and asked me to provide financial advice.’ He spoke with an angry edge to his voice, apparently still fighting for control.

‘Oh,’ she said again. It was still inadequate.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Will said, solving her dilemma. ‘Not now. Not ever.’

* * *

Maya lay in bed and checked the clock on her bedside table. Still only five o’clock. A little early to be crashing around when she had a guest in the house, especially one who’d seemed so annoyed with her by the time they’d gone upstairs last night. After her disastrous attempt at small talk Will had swept up the dishes from the table and clattered around in the kitchen, tidying up. She’d followed him, wanting to help—with the dishes, with his pain—but he’d scowled at her when she’d walked through the door and told her that he could manage. She’d started to argue, to insist that he didn’t need to, but the glare that he’d sent in her direction had had her retracing her steps out through the door. She’d watched through the window as she picked up the last few things from the table, had seen the blank look in his eyes. He’d scrubbed at the counters, cleaning them in long straight strokes, and she guessed that he’d found some comfort in those actions.

She’d known beyond doubt that her presence in the kitchen would upset him further. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to apologise, to put things right, he’d needed her to stay away.

When he’d finally gone upstairs she’d wished him goodnight and told him she’d see him back down here in the morning; then she’d sorted through the last few things in the kitchen before following him up. As she’d reached the landing she’d heard frantic typing, fingers being hammered into a keyboard, and had let out a long sigh. This week was already proving to be so much harder than she’d ever dreamt, and this was only day one. Will had asked her to teach him, but she was worried that he would fight the temptation to learn with his last breath.

Lying in bed was doing her no good this morning. She’d woken so many times through the night, thinking about the disastrous evening in the kitchen and on the terrace—she couldn’t have slept for more than an hour at a time.

Making this week a success had never seemed less likely than it did this morning. But Will had laid down the gauntlet, challenged her to teach him, and she was determined to see it through. He was here, and there was something in that simple fact that made Maya want to persevere. This man needed happiness in his life, something to balance the grief she had glimpsed last night, and the only thing she knew that could deliver joy of that magnitude was food.

She wouldn’t push. She couldn’t force something that he didn’t feel. All she could do was make her food so irresistible that he couldn’t help but enjoy it. And her sleepless night had given her plenty of time to think about how to go about it. This morning she wouldn’t ask Will to cook. She would just surround him with delicious smells and tastes, lighten his mood and help him feel relaxed in the kitchen.

She dragged her tired body out of bed and into the shower, making plans in her head for something that would reach out and bring Will a little relief. Perhaps something with fresh fruit? That way it would introduce him to more of her garden. Or something spiced that would appeal to the nose as well as the palate?

After blasting her hair with the dryer she selected her pinkest, floweriest, summeriest dress from the wardrobe. For someone with as much red hair as she had it was not an obvious choice of colour, but she was going to exude sunshine and pleasure today. Will had been in her house a day, and seemed even less happy than he had when he’d arrived. She couldn’t allow herself to take a step back; if she was going to make this work she had to throw everything she could at it.

She hunted frantically for ingredients, looking for inspiration in the walk-in fridge, grabbing fruit and butter, eggs and milk. She whipped and beat and whisked and folded, and every time she slid another tray into the oven she reached for a mixing bowl again. The familiar actions chased last night’s shadows out of the kitchen and she breathed more easily as she saw the results of her work piling up on the countertops. This would work. This had to work. There had to be something here that would get through to him.

She threw the switch on her food mixer, adjusted the oven temperature, turned cakes out onto racks. A simple sponge, shortbread, scones, pizza bases. She found spiced cream, home-made jams and fresh berries. Perfect for building layers of flavours.

She picked at the fruit and munched on biscuits as she went. With her recent late nights, and the stress of a student who didn’t want to learn, she was asking for a migraine. Lucky for her, keeping her blood sugar up and cooking out her stress were the best ways to fend one off.

And when at last the huge container of flour was empty she leaned back against the counter and surveyed her work. Spoons, spatulas and whisks were stacked up by the sink. Her supply of mixing bowls was exhausted and every inch of counter space was covered with the evidence or the fruits of her labour.

Some of it she barely remembered making. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d just let her hands and her heart take over her body.

She thought of Will’s fingers stroking the screen of his phone, hammering on his laptop last night, and couldn’t help but recognise the similarities. She’d reached for comfort this morning, as she’d seen him do.

There was more food here than she and Will could eat in a month, never mind a week. It could go in the freezer once it cooled, she thought, mentally flicking through her diary for the next couple of weeks. She had a couple of afternoon teas booked that the cakes and biscuits would be perfect for.

She glanced at the clock. It was gone ten o’clock already and she’d seen no sign of Will yet. Oh, well, he wouldn’t be the first hardened workaholic to succumb to the effects of country air. She’d plan for elevenses and if there was no sign of him by then she’d knock on his door, just to make sure everything was okay. Unless he’s not in his room, she thought to herself, and her spoon dropped to the counter with a clatter.

What if he had left already? Decided that whatever she was trying to teach him wasn’t worth sticking around for?

A stab of pain slid through her belly as memories of being just not good enough surfaced. Weekends spent in an empty house because her parents had had more important things to do, or long summer holidays spent at school because she wasn’t wanted at home. She’d thought that those feelings were long gone. Until she’d met Will Thomas she’d not thought of those times for years, but now... He had rejected her once. It would be so easy for him to do it again.

The hollow feeling of fear curled in her stomach and she rushed to the front door, relieved to see Will’s car still parked on the drive. He was still here. That had to count for something. She still had a chance.

She couldn’t quite rationalise her relief, given how frustrating yesterday had been. But, however difficult it was proving to be, she needed to help him. She couldn’t look at someone in pain, someone who needed help, and simply do nothing. And then there was the spark that she’d felt between them when he’d bandaged her finger. The tender concern he’d shown her. The way that he’d started to pull her close before getting spooked. The fact that he’d pushed her away almost immediately should have been enough to tell her that she would have been better off if he’d gone.

‘Everything all right?’ Will appeared at the top of the stairs dressed in grey trousers and another crisp white shirt, phone in hand.

‘Everything’s fine,’ Maya said, not wanting him to guess what she’d been thinking. ‘I thought I heard the doorbell.’

She gestured widely with her arm towards the front door from where she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Turning her body towards him, she rested her hands on her hips and smiled up at him.

‘Did the country air knock you out?’

‘No, no. I’ve been up for a while. I was going to come and find you, actually,’ Will said.

He was looking for her? Warmth spread through her body at that thought, chasing away the cold she’d felt a second ago when she’d thought he might have left. She was so overwhelmed with relief that he hadn’t walked away, hadn’t rejected her as she’d thought, that she didn’t step back from the stairs as he descended. Even when he reached the bottom and was standing just a few inches away. Instead she enjoyed the feeling of being close to him, the way the air between them almost hummed. Like yesterday, those few good moments in a sea of disaster, when he’d shown such concern for the little cut on her finger.

The memory of the cold that had followed as he’d walked away was not, apparently, enough to make her body stop wanting him.

‘You were?’

‘Yes, my battery’s about to die and I’ve forgotten my charger.’ He poked at the screen of his phone and then gave a long sigh. ‘I have a conference call in ten minutes. I don’t suppose there’s a spare one around here anywhere?’

Maya gulped, trying not to show her anger. He was working. He’d probably been up at the crack of dawn, as she had. But whereas she’d spent hours in the kitchen, trying to figure out how they were going to make this experiment of theirs work, he’d been happily ensconced in his room, getting on with business as normal. He hadn’t even bothered to tell her what he was doing that morning. He’d just got on with his day without giving her a single thought.

Maya felt a chill sink through her as the implications hit home. She had spent all morning trying to make his day better in a small way, even if all she had to offer him was cake. She knew that it couldn’t possibly fix his pain. But she’d tried. She’d thrown everything at helping him the only way she knew how. And he’d not thought of her at all. He couldn’t have made it any clearer how little she, her food or her time meant to him.

She took a step back as her shoulders slumped, and her arms came across her body, protecting her from further blows.

‘That’s not a problem, is it?’ Will ran a hand through his hair and it came to rest of the back of his neck.

Maya picked up on the tension in his body, the sharper edge to his voice. He’d sensed he’d upset her, she guessed, and was looking for an escape route.

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t think you’d need me in the kitchen until this evening. You didn’t mention last night...’

Actually, she had mentioned it last night, but he clearly hadn’t been listening. And she shouldn’t have to force him. His attendance on the course had been his idea. He was the one who had said that he wanted to learn—or that he was prepared to try, at least. And if that was the case then he had to be proactive. He had to make an effort—not just show up when he thought it was unavoidable.

She clenched her fist against the anger building in her—at herself as well as at him. All morning. She’d spent all morning trying to make this idea of his work, and he hadn’t even bothered to turn up.

This thought, heaped on top of disappointment, sparked anger—at Will, at her parents, at herself—and she knew that they couldn’t continue like this. Every day that she was around Will she was reminded that she’d never been enough. When her food wasn’t working for her she felt unworthy of his, anyone’s attention. She wasn’t helping him; all she was doing was hurting them both. He would be better off leaving.

Maya tried to keep the heartbreak from her voice, reminding herself that really this was just business. ‘I think we need to talk. I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen.’ She didn’t bother looking to see Will’s reaction but stalked through the door and let it slam behind her. She knew that she hadn’t succeeded. Her words had been sharp, clipped, forced out so that her voice wouldn’t waver. But she knew that she hadn’t fooled him into thinking they were detached.

When Will walked into the kitchen she recognised the determination on his face—he was obviously worried that he had blown his chance with her, and with good reason. She couldn’t take any more of his cutting insults, whether he knew that he was making them or not.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise you’d started already. You should have shouted if you needed my help.’ He ran a hand through his hair as he took in the array of baked goods cooling on the counter.

A flush of colour crept up Maya’s neck as she tried to rein in her frustration and embarrassment—her every feeling was laid bare on the worktops of her kitchen. Hours of love and hope had been poured into cake tins, lined up carefully on baking trays, and there was no hiding from the passion that was displayed on every side.

‘I didn’t need your help, Will,’ she snapped. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was wearing her heart on her sleeve, showing him how important he was to her—something she hadn’t quite realised herself before this moment—he’d completely missed the point. ‘I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. But why weren’t you here? This week was your idea. You committed to doing it. But all I’m getting from you is half-measures. You’re wasting my time as well as yours, and I think you should pack your bags and go.’

She watched as her words registered and knew that she had shocked him. For a minute he actually relaxed and leaned back against the counter, his eyes wide as he watched her. She could understand why. She almost wished she could see herself from the outside right now, because she didn’t recognise the person who had just spoken. Maya was always nice. It was who she was—what she did every day. Making people happy. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever lost her temper and spoken to someone the way she’d just hissed at him.

She was surprised at how good it felt—it was exhilarating. There was a freedom in it that she’d never felt before. If her food meant nothing to him, then she had nothing else to offer. He couldn’t make her feel any worse than he had just now, so what did she have to lose?