Falling for the Best Man Read online

  Falling for the Best Man

  A Domestic Discipline Romance

  Eden Greenwood

  ‘Falling for the Best Man’ Copyright Eden Greenwood 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  Part One

  After running around all day getting things together for the engagement party tonight, I was starving. While pulling into the driveway, I mentally went through the contents of the refrigerator, deciding what I would make myself. I’d rushed out that morning without breakfast, and between getting my hair and nails done, picking up dry cleaning, and exchanging an ill fitting pair of shoes, I hadn’t had time to eat.

  I walked inside, my sights set on a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, when I immediately had to switch gears. Roger was on the couch where I’d left him this morning, wearing his pajamas and playing video games.

  “Hey, Baby,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Hey,” I said, looking around the living room. “I thought you were going to vacuum.”

  “I am,” Roger said. “I just need to beat this level.”

  I pressed my lips together, not saying what I wanted to say, which was, ‘Do it right now. Our guests will be here in two hours. Your video game can wait.’ But I didn’t want to be a nag, like Roger always accused me of. It was a habit I was trying to get under control. We’d be married soon, and I had to learn to compromise.

  Plus, there were more urgent matters at hand. I headed to the kitchen to fix my sandwich. When I walked in, I could’ve cried. I’d left the counters sparkling this morning, but now, there were dishes smeared with ketchup in the sink, packages left open, and crumbs everywhere. I rubbed my temples, trying not to yell at Roger. There wouldn’t be any point to it. Roger would insist he’d clean up his mess ‘in a minute,’ and that minute would never come. Rolling up my sleeves, I set to work.

  After the kitchen was cleaned, I glanced at the clock in panic. Time was running out, and there was still so much to do. I didn’t want to waste any more time arguing with Roger, so I retrieved the vacuum from the closet, marched into the living room, and turned it on.

  “Babe, I was going to do that,” Roger said.

  “I got it,” I said, pushing the vacuum furiously.

  “Okay,” Roger said, lifting his eyebrows.

  I huffed. He had a way of making me think I was the unreasonable one. He continued playing video games while I moved furniture around so I could vacuum underneath it, not offering to lift a finger. When I was done, I was sweaty, irritated, and starving. I walked over to the TV and turned it off.

  “Hey,” Roger yelled. “I hadn't saved that game.”

  I pointed to the clock. “You need to get dressed.”

  Roger casually tossed the controller to the side, then chuckled. “Why are you snapping at me?”

  This is what he did. He never took my anger, or any other emotion, seriously.

  “You need to get dressed,” I repeated, calmly.

  Roger stood and walked carefully over to me, as if he were negotiating a hostage situation. He placed his hands on my shoulders and began to massage.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, softly. “Try to relax. I’m going to get dressed now.” He kissed me on the forehead, then headed to our bedroom.

  I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. Roger had left his video game system, chords, and controllers strewn across the couch. I started picking them up and putting them away as quickly as I could.

  Am I crazy? Maybe I am. Roger made me feel like I was sometimes. I’d always enjoyed Roger’s carefree attitude, even loved him for it, but I resented that fact that if there was something that needed to be done, the responsibility always fell to me. Roger always encouraged me to go with the flow. I couldn’t do that. It wasn't in my nature. I was the head chef of a four star restaurant, a job where perfect timing was essential. I knew, down to the second, how long it took to cook a risotto, roast a pork loin, or boil an egg. My days were organized in increments of a few minutes, with every detail accounted for. This was how I got the most out of my time, out of my life.

  Roger couldn’t be more different. He never planned ahead, just took everything as it came. He was the IT guy at a local law firm. I’d seen the way he worked, kicked back in his cubicle listening to music, surfing the net, waiting for someone to call on him if their computer froze up. He’d designed his life to have very little stress and responsibility. I’d always thought he’d change by now, but he hadn’t. And neither had I.

  Sharp hunger pangs gut punched my stomach. I figured I’d have time for a handful of nuts, maybe a piece of cheese. Before I could make it to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. It was my sous chef, Melinda, and our kitchen staff with the catering for the party.

  “There’s the bride to be,” Melinda said, cheeringly. She crinkled her brow when she saw my face. “Your makeup.”

  “I got a bit sweaty,” I said, wiping the perspiration from my brow.

  “Let me guess,” Melinda said, placing a hand on her hip. “Roger hasn’t been much help.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. Melinda turned to the staff behind her.

  “Let’s get this place set up. Move.” She turned to me. “I’ll help you fix your makeup.”

  The staff filed in carrying trays of food. It all smelled amazing, and made my stomach rumble even harder. I stared at the food wistfully while Melinda dragged me away to fix my makeup.

  *

  I stood in front of the mirror putting on my earrings, the last piece of the puzzle. I wore a warm beige, form fitting dress, and accessorized with gold and diamond jewelry. Roger emerged from the bathroom, his hair gelled, face freshly shaved, and wearing his suit.

  “Ta-da,” he said.

  I laughed. “You clean up nice.”

  Roger gave me a debonair smile, then step ball changed over to me. I swooned when he stood behind me and kissed the side of my neck. For all of Roger’s faults, there was no denying his physical attractiveness. He had dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and a perpetual tan. I worried sometimes that his good looks had led me to overlook some of his flaws.

  “Where’s your ring?” Roger asked.

  “Oh,” I said, hiding my hand behind my back. “It doesn’t really go with this outfit.”

  Roger walked over to my vanity and picked up the ring. It was a cheap, plastic ring he’d purchased on the boardwalk and proposed with. I’d thought it was charming at the time, but Roger had made no moves to replace it with something real. He took my hand, and slipped the rugged, pink plastic band onto my finger.

  “Everyone needs to know you’re mine,” Roger said, then kissed me softly on the lips. “Now, come on. I think our guests are here.”

  *

  Roger and I walked into the party together. Once he found a group of his friends, he abandoned me to hang out with them. I was trying to make my way to the buffet, but kept getting intercepted by family and friends, all wishing to congratulate me. I ended up getting cornered by my mom and her three sisters.

  “We are just so happy for you, Maggie,” my aunt Carla said.

  Mom huffed, causing me to tighten my grip around my wine glass.

  “Let’s just hope there’s still enough time to give me grandchildren,” Mom said.

  I smiled, trying to keep the mood light. “I have plenty of time for that.”

  Mom pointed her finger at me. “It’s that kind of thinking that will leave you dried up and childless.”

  “Cindy,” Aunt Cora said. “Give the girl a break.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” Mom said. “I’ve waited patiently while she wasted her fertile years going to college, and then culinary school, and then living in France for some reason.”

&nbs
p; I tightened my smile. “I was training under Chef Hubert Beauvau. He has several Michelin Stars.”

  Mom snorted. “And a lot of good that’s done you. Chefs don’t make that much money, you know.”

  I closed my eyes, zoning out while my mother analyzed my life choices, all while wondering where she went wrong. My eyes danced around the room when I noticed a familiar, handsome face. He stood just a few feet away, in listening distance of my mom. He was tall, standing at least a foot over the rest of the guests, with neat, dark hair. Our eyes locked, and for some reason, my breath stalled. It was like we couldn’t pull away from each other. The noise of the room melted away, and we were the only people there. The electric pull between us was obvious, and it frightened me. An ominous thought came out of nowhere.

  He will disrupt your life, all of your carefully laid plans.

  Suddenly, I felt lightheaded, and overcome by fatigue. I swayed back and forth on my feet.

  “Are you okay?” Aunt Carrie asked.

  “I’m okay,” I said, though I was breaking out in a cold sweat. “I need to eat.”

  I turned from my mother and aunts and rushed into the kitchen. Two staff members were in there arranging hors d’oeuvres on silver platters.

  “There she is,” a line cook named Steven said. “How’s the food, Chef?”

  “I’m about to find out,” I said, gleefully. “What are these? Crab cakes?” Before Steven could answer, I shoved one in my mouth, and nearly swallowed it whole. “These are so small,” I said, before eating three more.

  “Maggie.”

  I picked my head up from the platter of crab cakes, and stared at Steven, my face white with shock. That voice, I knew it, but I couldn’t place it. Steven just shrugged. I shut my mouth as best I could over the crab cakes, and turned around.

  It was him, the one who’d held my gaze a few moments ago. Slowly, my brain did the work of remembering him. His name was Tom, and was Roger’s first roommate in college, and would be the best man in my wedding. I smiled at him, covering my mouth, and swallowing quickly. A breadcrumb got caught in my throat, and I started coughing. Steven quickly handed me a glass of water.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow as if he were genuinely concerned. “You haven’t?”

  “It’s been a busy day,” I said, trying to laugh it off. “Anyway, Tom, it’s great to see you. Thank you for coming and being in the wedding.”

  “It’s great to be here, and seeing everyone,” Tom said. He took a step closer, looking intently into my eyes.

  How could I not have recognized him? I hadn’t seen him for at least a decade, and he did look different, more mature, more confident. Back in college, I’d harbored a huge crush on him. I could never act on it because he had a girlfriend. Then, I started dating Roger, and tried to forget I’d ever had feelings for Tom. I tried hard to be his platonic friend, though I had to be strict and not give in to my real feelings, or even acknowledge they existed. The hardest part was that I suspected Tom felt the same way about me.

  “I couldn’t help but hear your conversation out there,” Tom said. “So, you’re a chef?”

  “Yes,” I said. “To my mother’s disapproval, as I’m sure you heard.”

  Tom gave me a calm smile that was slightly hypnotizing. “I know you, Maggie. Even though we haven’t see each other for a while, I still know you. I know you worked your ass off to get where you are. You struggled for years, paying your dues, and now, people can’t quite accept your success.”

  Though I hadn’t thought that exact thing before, I knew instantly that he was right. It all came rushing back, why I’d been attracted to him. It wasn’t just his fit body and striking face.

  I was staring at him, I knew I was. I had to say something. I opened my mouth and said, “Wow.”

  Tom’s smile deepened, showing his dimples. “I knew I was right.”

  I cleared my throat of the last of the breadcrumbs, trying to get a hold of myself. “If you don’t mind me saying, Tom, I didn’t know you and Roger were still close.”

  “We weren’t for awhile, then I found him on Facebook, and we started talking again,” Tom said.

  “I guess I wouldn’t know,” I said, proudly. “I’m not on Facebook.”

  “I know,” Tom said, in a way that sent chills up my spine. “I’ll admit, I was surprised when Roger asked me to be his best man. But you know how he is. He’s a sentimental guy.” Tom cocked his head, and gave me a narrowed look. “How are you? You seem stressed.”

  I took a deep, ragged breath, and gave an awkward laugh. “I have a lot going on. It’s a stressful time.”

  Tom’s expression hardened. “Roger shouldn’t let you get stressed.”

  I had to laugh, a real, loud guffaw that came from my belly. “Let me get stressed?” I asked. “He makes me stressed.”

  I thought Tom would laugh too, since he knew Roger so well, but he didn’t. His face only grew more concerned.

  “Maggie, there you are,” said Mom, barging into the kitchen. “I thought you should know your groom is trying to start up a game of charades. If that’s not a party killer, I don’t know what is.”

  “Excuse me,” I told Tom. “It was nice seeing you.”

  “You too,” he said, as I followed Mom out of the kitchen.

  “Who was that?” Mom whispered in my ear.

  “His name’s Tom. He’s the best man.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Mother,” I scolded.

  *

  When I closed my eyes to go to sleep that night, all I could see was Tom’s face. But my vision was more than that. I could feel him, sense how he cared about me, was concerned for my wellbeing. It was something I’d never felt from Roger, and only now realized that I wanted from the man in my life.

  No, not this again, I thought, turning on my side. I didn’t want to pine over Tom again, to think about him all the time, all while knowing that I couldn’t have him. It was a pain and desperation that I didn’t want to relive again.

  Roger swung his arm over and placed his hand on my hip. “Can’t sleep?”

  I knew that meant he wanted sex. After seeing Tom tonight, I didn’t think I could go through with it. I murmured, acting like I was asleep. I heard Roger rise up on his elbow and look at my face. After a few moments, he took his hand away, and went to sleep himself.

  *

  Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him, I recited in my head as I chopped carrots for service that night. I loved this part of the process, the preparation. The steady chop, chop, chop was a soothing rhythm. Most chefs had their sous chefs do this kind of stuff, but this was where I had the most control. I could take raw, natural ingredients, and turn them into uniform shapes.

  I’d had a revelation that morning, in fact, several. Roger and I had been together for over ten years. He’d been with me through everything, my decision to go to culinary school and to move to France, and had encouraged me along the way. If I’d listened to my mother instead of him, I’d have gotten a job as a secretary and married my boss instead of pursuing my dream. I owed a lot to Roger. I was just irritated with him because I had a lot on my plate with work and the wedding planning.

  “Maggie, earth to Maggie.”

  Melinda stood a few feet from me, waving a pasta basket in my face.

  “Yeah, what do you need?” I said, flustered.

  Melinda narrowed her eyes and regarded me skeptically. “How many gnocchi do you want in an order?”

  I focused my thoughts back on my kitchen, where they should have been in the first place.

  “Try four,” I said. “See how that looks on the plate. Make sure to leave plenty of room for the garnish.”

  “Okay,” Melinda said, nodding slowly. “So, were you pleased with the party last night? How did it turn out?”

  “Great,” I said, quickly. I really didn’t want to talk about the party.

 
“Good,” Melinda said. She stared at me, quietly, making me unnerved. “Who was that man you were talking to in the kitchen?”

  The knife slipped from my hand, and julienned carrots went flying everywhere. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Melinda said. “Tall, dark, handsome. Couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  Steven, I thought. He’d probably told Melinda everything he’d seen in the kitchen, and she’d most likely pressed him for every small detail.

  “Oh, him?” I said, casually. “That was Tom. An old friend of Roger’s. He’s the best man.”

  “Best man,” Melinda said. “How forbidden.”

  “Melinda,” I said, patiently. “Do I have to remind you, again, that I’m your boss?”

  Melinda scoffed. “Don’t play the boss card with me. You only do that when I steer you into uncomfortable territory, which is what needs to happen every now and then.” Melinda walked a few yards away and started rolling out gnocchi. “Palpable, that was the word,” Melinda said to herself, but loud enough so I could hear.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “That’s how Steven described the electricity between you two. Palpable.”

  “Melinda,” I shouted. “Get to work.”

  Melinda sighed, then punched her fist into the gnocchi dough.

  “Yes, Chef,” she said.

  *

  Palpable.

  All through dinner service, I couldn't get that word out of my head, which resulted in three steaks being sent back of being undercooked. After service, I had to train my staff to cook a new dish we’d be unveiling tomorrow. By the time we’d cleaned the kitchen and locked up afterwards, it was very late. When I got home, Roger was already in bed.

  I was too wired to go to sleep. With a glass of wine, I sat down at the computer. I told myself I was going to research frying techniques, but what I actually did was go straight to Facebook. I typed Tom’s name into the search bar, and gasped when his picture showed up. He was wearing a suit and hard hat and holding a shovel. It looked like he was at some kind of breaking ground ceremony.