Perfect Match Enemies to lovers romance - Leia Stone Page 0,25

and my gaze fell to her lips for a fraction of a second.

“Goodnight, Millie.”

She gulped, eyes stuck on my scar. “Night, Ashton.”

When she left, my mind chewed on our altercation for hours. Would Darcy have helped me lug my hundred and fifty-pound father up the stairs at 2 a.m. covered in shit and vomit?

Hell no.

Would any woman I’d barely just met for that matter?

There was something about Millie, something deep and special, and it bothered me because I didn’t want it in my life. Her light only illuminated my shadows.

Millie

I woke up the morning after helping Ashton with his father and my heart felt heavy. Ashton was probably too far gone for me to save. How much trauma could a person handle before they went past the point of no return? I’d been naive in my quest to make a good man out of him without knowing his story. But now that I’d seen what he was dealing with, I wanted to help him more than ever. Worse, I felt … something … come alive around him. In between the asshole comments and his closed-up emotions, something was there. The way my body reacted when he got too close or touched me … it scared me. I came here to say goodbye to Colin, not to find another man to replace him.

There was a knock at the door and I yelped in excitement as I stared down at the FedEx package lying at my feet.

It was from Julie with all my favorite clothes, makeup, shoes, and essentials. Including sheets and my comforter! I’d been sleeping with a borrowed set from Mrs. Pennyweather, a cat face print that smelled of marijuana.

I dug around the box, pulling things out, and grinned as my eyes fell on my knife set and white chef coat! Bless you, Julie. With it was a note.

I’m going to hell for helping you do this crazy thing.

Love, Julie

Flat ironing my hair, putting on makeup, slipping my feet into my Dansko leather clogs, and pulling on my crisp white chef’s coat, made me come alive. I hadn’t felt this good in a long time, I finally felt like I had a purpose. Although last night should have derailed me, it only served to make me want to help Ashton more.

He’d given me a key to the restaurant, so I decided to slip in early and prep some food for later—right after I went to the hardware store and got a window A/C unit. No more sweaty chef. I had five days until the party on Saturday, until my last-ditch attempt to prove to him I could make this place profitable. The thousand flyers I’d stuck around town were coupled with a Facebook page for Wayne’s Place that I’d made and an event page. Last night we had thirty-six people interested, but I couldn’t sleep after leaving Ashton’s, so I made a graphic that said: Free Craft Beer with every order of Avocado Toast, and the numbers went up to over two hundred! The huge chalkboard street sign menu I’d ordered had arrived, and I couldn’t wait to write all the new items for the world to see.

I was scrubbing down the kitchen, marveling at the cool air blowing on me from the new A/C unit, when Ashton walked in.

“What’s this doctor getup? Isn’t it too early for Halloween costumes?”

I stiffened for a second, worried about things being awkward from last night and his dad, but decided not saying anything was best.

“Ha ha! I went to one of the finest chef schools in the world. I earned this coat.”

“Prove it. Make me breakfast,” he said.

That sounded like both a challenge and a manipulative way to get me to cook for him, but I didn’t care. I was going to make him beg for my food.

“Coming right up, boss!”

An hour later, I served him my famous eggs benedict with bacon cheese hash browns. We sat together eating quietly while he all but licked the plate clean.

“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked. “Can I continue to call myself a chef?”

He looked at me behind those dark lashes, blue eyes piercing into me. “What if we offered brunch? Think that would bring in money?”

I sat up straighter, a small sliver of hope that he might actually be on board to save this place.

“Yeah.” My voice brightened. “Brunch would be great. We could do nine to noon, then close until four for dinner.”

He rubbed his chin, assessing me with inquisitive eyes. “What’s your story?