“Who are you meeting for lunch?”
“A guy who’s thinking of applying to the doctoral program. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
It’s back again—this tight, persistent tension in my chest. Did I want to know if he was meeting Maggie Hamilton? Would I care if he was?
No. And no.
Maggie Hamilton is no threat to our marriage. Neither is Tyler Wilkes. The danger lies solely between me and my husband.
Dean changes into a suit and tie and heads out after giving me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. After he leaves, I spend the afternoon doing laundry and cleaning, mostly to occupy my time.
It’s Tuesday. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to miss cooking class, but… yeah. Not the most favorable of circumstances.
Dean’s not home from work by six-thirty, so I finally decide to attend class. I should set things straight with Tyler anyway. I’m the first one there, which is good, and I walk to the instructor’s station.
Tyler glances up and gives me an uneasy smile. “Hi, Liv. I… uh, I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”
“Why?”
“You know, because of what happened.”
“I told you I’d come back,” I remind him. “Did you think I’d be too ashamed and change my mind?”
“Well, no.” He scratches his head. “Um, just that it’d be like this. You know, awkward. I’m really sorry. It was a mistake. I never meant for that to happen.”
I sigh. “Look, never mind. I just wanted to tell you I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. And you’re right, it was a mistake. We’re both just going to forget it now, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” He looks a little disappointed, but makes no further remark.
I head to my station to get organized for the evening. The other students file in, and we exchange greetings and small talk until the clock strikes seven.
Tyler calls for our attention and discusses the various cuts of pork, then demonstrates how to butterfly the tenderloin and prepare it with roasted apples and onions.
We watch attentively and take notes, then start on our own preparations when he’s finished. I put out my bowls and wash the apples. Just as I’m taking the knife from a drawer, I look up to see Dean walk into the room.
I drop the knife with a clatter. My heart hammers.
This can’t be good.
Dean catches my eye. He looks handsome as the devil—his navy suit impeccable, without a single crease, his tie perfectly knotted, his dark hair brushed away from his forehead. Aside from his five o’clock shadow, you’d never know he just spent an entire afternoon in meetings and teaching classes on Gothic architecture.
He comes toward me, his long stride and air of confident authority drawing the attention of the other students. “Hello, Liv.”
“Dean.” I wipe my clammy hands on my apron. “What are you doing here?”
He scans the room, his eyes growing cold.
Shit.
Tyler is looking at us from his station. After a heartbeat, he approaches.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asks Dean politely.
“Dean West.” Dislike and intimidation radiate from Dean. He sizes Tyler up in one glance and clearly finds him lacking. “Olivia’s husband.”
“Oh.” A crimson flush crawls up Tyler’s neck to his cheeks. He’s sweating a little from standing over a hot stove, and he wipes his forehead with his sleeve before responding. “Uh, good to meet you. I’m Tyler Wilkes. Liv is… um, she’s doing great.”
“So I’ve heard.”
I wince. “Dean, what are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d sit in on class, see how things go.”
“I’m not sure that’s—” Tyler begins.
“You don’t mind.” Dean looks Tyler hard in the eye. “Do you?”
Embarrassment heats my face. Dean is taller than Tyler, and he’s looking down at the poor guy as if daring him to say yes, he does mind. Tyler swallows. A bead of sweat drips down his temple.
“Dean, that’s really not—” I begin.
“I’ll sit over there.” Dean nods toward several chairs placed against the wall. “Go on with your lesson, Chef Wilkes.”
“Er… okay.” After hesitating, Tyler steps back and glances at me. I try to give him a reassuring smile, which I’m certain comes out more like a grimace.
The other students return to their preparations, their initial curiosity waning as they learn who Dean is and the apparently uninteresting reason for his visit. He sits down, his arms crossed and his gaze level on me.
Focus, Liv.
I turn back to my work. My hands are shaking, but after a few minutes I calm down and get my ingredients in order.
I know Dean will not cause a scene. He’s here to stake some sort of manly claim, to intimidate Tyler, but he’ll be civilized about it.
Sort of.