Blessing in Disguise

Chapter 68: The fruit of Patience

As the clock struck four, Maximilian hurriedly traversed his office and entered the awaiting car at the door. George, his driver, navigated through the bustling office streets and halted in front of Saffron Street. Before Maximilian could disembark, he looked at George and said, "You can go; I'll walk back." George nodded, offering his best wishes, "All the best, sir." Maximilian acknowledged him with a look and then exited the car.

Entering the cafe, he found it deserted, with lunchtime long past and the workday still ongoing. Aware of the upcoming rush after five, when employees left their offices, he knew he had ample time to savor the presence of his talented chef and reconnect with his little blessing, whom he had sorely missed. Softly opening the door to minimize any noise, Maximilian aimed to be the first to glimpse her. He desired to take in her presence before approaching her, recalling Victor's advice. He was determined not to appear as a gaping fish in front of his little chef.

As he entered quietly, he overheard his little chef expressing her discontent about the missing letter to the hostess. He stifled a smile, and the complaints continued. Though the hostess had noticed him, he signaled for her to stay silent, wanting to eavesdrop. Her back was turned to him, revealing long, black-brown locks cascading down like a waterfall behind the chair. The setting sun illuminated them, giving some strands a lighter hue. As he listened to her speak, he closed his eyes, absorbing the tone of her voice-the softness and the captivating way she expressed herself.

He then heard her adorable complaints about him being a rude man and not knowing how to use the word "please." Somehow, through his letters, she had deduced that he was a commanding man with no polite bone in him. Maximilian wanted to laugh, but he suppressed any sound. He pursed his lips, continuing to listen to how taken aback she was when he had called her a little girl. She asserted that she should never have been called a little girl because she was a mother, emphasizing that he was apparently not old enough to use such a term. "I just want to go and kiss the hell out of her," thought Maximilian as he absorbed her words.

He caught the chime of a device resting on the table, and the hostess shot him another look, informing Seher that she needed to go upstairs to the washroom and check on his sleeping blessing. Maximilian recognized the device as a baby monitor.

Having a few minutes before the hostess returned with his blessing, Maximilian took the opportunity to appreciate Meher's mother. He welcomed this time before the energetic two-year-old would inevitably claim all his attention-a prospect he eagerly anticipated. As the hostess, Ashley, hurried upstairs to what he presumed was Seher and Meher's apartment, his little chef turned around. It felt like a sudden punch to the middle of his chest.

She greeted him with a smile, but it faded as she took him in, and he reciprocated. The long brown locks that had caught his attention earlier were now partially in front of her, a peach-colored shirt with a visible white vest and a subtle hint of cleavage neatly tucked in. She wore loose black pants with numerous pockets and pink sneakers, and her face had minimal makeup.

Maximilian observed his little chef, recalling Victor's descriptor - radiant. He acknowledged that his brother was spot on; she was truly radiant. Her eyes mirrored the color of her hair, a rich brown reminiscent of chocolate, with a petite nose and lips that might have been adorned with some color in the morning, now displaying a natural pink hue with a hint of morning pigment. He refrained from delving further into his observations, aware that scrutinizing her objectively could complicate matters, especially ones in his trousers. His gaze shifted to her hands, which she raised to her cheeks. The pinkness intensified, taking on a deeper shade, perhaps to cool down, and he couldn't help but smirk. The impact he had on his little chef was something he thoroughly enjoyed.

She appeared petite, probably not surpassing five and a half feet, and despite being a mother, her figure bore no evident signs of the impact of pregnancy or motherhood. Maximilian couldn't help but appreciate her like a piece of art. Cheeks ablaze, lips slightly parted, eyes widened, and her wild hair framing her face, she now had her hands folded in front of her, wearing a watch on one wrist and a silver-colored bangle on the other. He realized she didn't look a day over 25, resembling a university student - not the bratty ones, but rather the teacher's pets. A smirk played on his lips as he heard her recognize him, and in a breathy tone, she stated "Maximilian," making his name sound better than ever. Internally, Maximilian groaned at the effect.