Page 15 of Strawberry Kisses

“So, Oli said Connor popped in the other night.” Aaron leant casually against the wall that made up the open door frame. Clearly, he wasn’t in a rush to go back to his own kitchen. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No, there’s nothing.” I reached into the fridge for some fruit to prep, including my nemesis, pomegranates.

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“I overheard Levi telling Ben that Connor had asked him to cover open practice this weekend as he’s going away.” Aaron’s voice was casual, but I could tell he was digging. Why was everyone I knew so insufferably nosy?

“Oh, and how did you hear that?”

“Just casually when Levi was in yesterday. They were in the office when I went in to talk to Ben about staffing.” It was just my luck that Connor’s boss, Levi, and my boss, Ben, happened to be brothers. And it was just my luck that Aaron had a habit of sticking his nose into things whether he was wanted or not.

“What Connor does with his weekends isn’t up to me.”

“You’re being really bloody obstinate about this.”

“Careful,” I said, shooting him a grin. “Doesn’t that count for the swear jar?”

“Bloody is an adjective, Pads. It doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.” Aaron picked up the jar from where he’d set it down on the service rack, scanning the list of fines. Then he grabbed a sharpie out of my pen pot and crossed something out. “Not any more it doesn’t. I can’t get by without at least one good descriptor.”

I smiled to myself and shook my head. I wasn’t going to argue with him. Ben was the one who’d probably made the swear jar, and Aaron could take it up with him if he wanted. They’d known each other since they were five, and if anyone was going to call Aaron out on his colourful use of language, it would be Ben. Maybe he’d gotten just as sick of the fighting as the rest of us. Not that I was convinced a swear jar was the best solution. I was pretty sure Aaron would just come up with more inventive ways to insult Josh instead, but I wasn’t going to say that.

“Hey, Pads,” Aaron said, lowering the jar, sharpie still in hand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Er, sure?”

“Are you happy?”

I stared at him, my fingers stilling in their chopping of strawberries for an Eaton Mess. “Yes. Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure.” He shrugged. “You spend a lot of time here, and as your friend, I just wanted to make sure you were happy. I mean, I know being a chef is tough as shit, especially with the hours, but I want to make sure you have a life outside this fucking place. Like, I know we all put our hearts and souls into it, but there’s more to life than fucking work.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I like my job, and I like being here. Besides, I have things outside work.” Mostly President Whiskers and hanging out with Connor, but I wasn’t going to say that. I didn’t want Aaron to suddenly get the idea that I was sad or pitiful. I liked my life. Truly, I did. Sure, it would be nice to have a boyfriend to come home to in the evenings or someone to curl up in bed next to when I finally dragged myself home at midnight after a long dinner service, but I wasn’t going to complain. I was perfectly content.

The last thing I needed was Aaron trying to find me a boyfriend as well. He and I had vastly different ideas about what made for a good relationship. I didn’t think Aaron had ever had one that lasted more than three months.

“Like Connor?”

“Don’t you have work to do?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “And you need to put money in that jar now.”

“Nope, it doesn’t apply to your kitchen. Only mine.”

“So this is my kitchen now?” I gestured at the small space that now smelt strongly of sponge cake.

“It’s always been your kitchen, Pads. Everyone knows that.” Aaron grabbed his jar and turned to go. “Have a good weekend if I don’t see you before you leave. And have some fucking fun. You fucking deserve it.”

Yes, I could definitely see the swear jar working. If it didn’t end up in the bin before I came back on Tuesday, it would be a bloody miracle.

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