When New York and London Collide

Chapter 15

Celine Haufftner

I have to admit, seeing Liam on his knees nearly the entire day, made me feel bad. But imagine me getting soft. I wouldn't want him to think it would be easy. Looking at the clock from the bed, I noticed that it's nearly dinner time. The sounds coming from my stomach also confirmed this. I hadn't left the apartment the entire day, and I really wasn't in the mood to go out and get dinner. Then again, I didn't know how to cook, and today's pancake debacle proved it.

Should I just forgive him so I don't have to get dinner alone? Or should I continue being stubborn, and maybe try to cook something without sending myself to the hospital? Going out alone was an option too, but I'd been stuck on the bed the entire day, I just didn't want to leave.

Eventually, I decided to try this whole "domesticated independence" thing again. Pancakes were a start-from-scratch meal, with the flour, eggs, milk. Too many ingredients, too much room for error. But cooking dinner? I was sure all I'd have to do was slice up some leftover chicken, pour some oil, and fry it up. Easy peasy.

Walking out, I was surprised to see that Liam hadn't moved an inch from the position I saw at lunch where I ate a leftover sandwich. Too bad there aren't any of those left. He eyed me while I walked, and I made sure not to look. One look at his face and I was sure I'd melt and give in. And I can't, I had already held up for so long, just a few more hours to go.

Grabbing the remaining raw chicken breast from the fridge, I sliced it as nicely as a person who has had a personal chef for years could.

"Celine," he started. Ignoring him, I went on looking through his spice drawer. Onion powder, garlic powder, Himalayan salt, different mixes. God, what happened to regular salt and pepper?

While closely inspecting the oregano and thyme trying to play spot the difference, I felt warmth radiating from beside me. Turning, I see Liam remedying my butchered chicken, and using paprika and something called cayenne pepper.

"I know you want me to continue begging, but I don't want you to kill yourself with either a knife, the wrong measurement of an extremely spicy spice, or your food." He grabbed a pan and started skilfully frying up the chicken and took the two small spice jars from my hand that I still haven't figured out the difference between.

"Have you learnt your lesson?" I asked, eyes trained on the chicken. Why did he have to be a chef? And why did I have to be so useless when it came to anything involving the kitchen? The chicken looked mouth watering, I almost forgot I was supposed to be angry.

"I think the angry marks on my knees would say yes," he joked. Now I really felt bad. After serving me dinner, which was incredible as usual, I quickly walked to his room where the first aid kit was. Normally, if someone crossed me and got hurt, I'd say fuck you with a smile. Hell, I would probably even laugh about it. In their face. But, we were talking about Liam. The man who although did get on my nerves, always loved me, made sure I ate well, and was one of the only guys I knew who could take my spoiled and bratty personality. He was the only one who saw beneath my exterior.

Forcing him to sit on the couch, I knelt down and started cleaning his wound. I heard small hisses from him, so I tried to be as gentle as possible.

Gosh Celine, you really are stubborn, I could feel the red marks on his knee tell me.

"There. All better." I looked at the bandaged knee. I stared up at him, and he pulled me up gently by my arm and onto his lap, where I was now straddling him.

"I take it you now forgive me?" He said against my lips. Nodding, he grabbed my chin roughly and seared a kiss onto my lips. Passionate, loving, everything I loved about our kisses, he gave.

"Don't ever, ever do that again. Or I will kill you." I smiled, breathless.