Chelsea Cameron - My Favourite Mistake

We didn’t talk much as we walked. At first it was strange, but the more we walked, the easier it was. It was the longest I’d heard Hunter go without a sarcastic comment or sexual innuendo. It was kind of nice.

“So, about dinner,” he said when we walked into the apartment. “What do you want me to make?”

The room was quiet; the other girls must still have been at class.

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

I set my bag down and leaned on the counter. Okay, Hunter Zaccadelli, you can make me dinner.

“Stuffed French toast, sweet potato hash and strawberries and cream.”

“Breakfast for dinner? You rebel, you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I live on the edge. So, think you’re up to the challenge, Z?” I said, using the ridiculous nickname the bouncer had used last night.

“Piece of cake. Or toast, in your case. I’ll stuff your toast, baby.”

I rolled my eyes. Soon I would be desensitized to his comments, but I hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

“Whatever. I’m going to take a shower. No, you can’t come with me,” I said, cutting off whatever comment he was going to make.

“Anytime you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Unfortunately, I did.

“How the hell did you do that?” I said, looking at the dining room table. It was spread with mounds of my favorite French toast that was stuffed with oozing Nutella; sweet potato hash that he’d made exactly how I did, despite my vague and confusing-on-purpose instructions; and strawberries that he’d somehow cut and stuffed with the hand-whipped cream. He’d even found champagne and made mimosas.

“I’m a man of many talents. Some of them are hidden. Some are not. Maybe sometime you’ll let me show you some of the hidden ones.” I was too dazzled by the meal to make a snappy comment.

“Holy crap, dude. I didn’t know you could cook,” Renee said, coming out of her room.

Darah had already picked up her job as a desk attendant at the Union and wouldn’t be back until late.

“We should probably eat it before it gets cold. Dig in, ladies,” he said, handing me a plate. There was definitely enough food for about twelve people. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Mase over. Dev and Sean might come, too.”

So that was why he’d made so much. I couldn’t really stop him from having his friends over, but I didn’t want our apartment turning into a frat house with beer cans everywhere and strange girls sneaking out in the morning from one-night stands on our couch. Yuck and ew.

“Fine with me,” Renee said, piling her plate with strawberries and cream and only one piece of French toast.

What was it with girls being afraid to eat in front of guys? I’d never had that fear, so I loaded my plate up. Just as I was about to plunge my fork into the French toast and unleash the Nutella-y goodness, there was a knock at the door. I had to hand it to them, at least they hadn’t just barged in.

Hunter opened the door, and Mase and Dev came in.

“What are you making? It smells fantastic,” Mase said, going right for the table full of food.

“I made this on Taylor’s request. She doubted my cooking skills, so I had to show her what I’ve got.”

“You should never doubt Hunter when he brags about something. Most of the time if he’s bad at something, he just won’t talk about it. If he’s bragging, it means he’s telling the truth,” Mase said, grabbing a fork and shoveling French toast onto a napkin.

“Do you want a plate?” I said.

“Nah, I’m good like this. Then you don’t have to wash an extra.”

How considerate. Dev was more cautious, asking me where the plates were and waiting until everyone else had gotten their fill before taking what was left, which wasn’t much. Sean followed suit. There weren’t enough chairs, so we crashed on the couch and the living room floor like we had the night before with the pizza.

Choruses of “oh my God,” “mmm” and “dear sweet Jesus” were interspersed with loud chewing and swallowing. Other than that, the conversation was nonexistent.

Okay, okay, I had to admit it. Hunter hit it out of the park. French toast was one of those foods that seemed easy to make, but was crazy easy to screw up. He’d overstuffed the middle with so much Nutella that it oozed out when I cut it with my fork and dripped down my chin when I bit it. I wiped it off and licked my finger. Hunter was watching me, as if waiting for my reaction.

“It’s okay, I guess,” I said, cutting up another piece and shoving it in my mouth. He raised his eyebrows and took a bite of his own, chewing slowly.

Sweet Christ it was like I’d died and gone to breakfast heaven. I really hoped he wouldn’t use his cooking skills as leverage for sexual favors. For this, I might have to give in.

“I think we need to have a toast,” Renee said, raising her glass. Well, it was really a plastic cup. None of us had brought champagne glasses with us when we moved in. “To hidden talents,” she said.

We all clinked our glasses. Hunter winked when ours met. I wrinkled my nose at him.

“If you guys are going to eat like this every night, I might have to move in,” Mase said. “All we have is microwave popcorn, beer and week-old fried chicken that no one remembers buying.”

I shuddered, as did Renee.

“My ex-boyfriend never stocked his fridge. I always had to bring my own groceries when I stayed over,” Renee said, emphasizing the word ex. As if everyone hadn’t caught it.

“I think it’s a guy thing,” I said.

“Not every guy,” Hunter said.

“Apparently not,” I responded.

My phone vibrated with a text from my mother, and I excused myself to chat with her. Hunter gave me a questioning look, but I hit Call, put the phone to my ear and ignored him.

“Hey, Kid, long time no talk! I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere,” she said as I settled onto my bed to chat.

“Nope, sorry to disappoint. I’m alive and well. Sorry I haven’t called you. Things have been a little nuts.”

“How did moving in go?”

I gave her a quick rundown. I felt like I needed to record myself telling the story so I could just hit Play when someone asked. I left out a lot when I gave her the mom-version. I didn’t want to worry her. She always worried about me more than Tawny. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was the baby or because of my issues. Perhaps both.

“Oh, no.” She proceeded to urge me to go right down to housing and give them hell. I told her that was what I had done, but I hadn’t gotten anywhere.

“Well, I’m going to call and give them a piece of my mind. That’s ridiculous that they won’t do anything. They’re just being lazy. Hang on,” she said, and I could tell she was putting me on speaker so she could look up the number.

“Mom, it’s okay. I’ll deal. You don’t have to fight the bullies for me.”

“But I’m your mother. I’ll always want to beat the crap out of people who are mean to you.”

“No one was mean to me. It’s fine.” I was beginning to regret telling her. Mom was always trying to make up for not protecting me that one time. She’d been making up for it since I was twelve, and I didn’t know when it was going to end, or at least lower in intensity. I loved her more than I could say, but I didn’t need her to fight my battles for me.

“Are you sure? You know I can make things happen.”

It was true. That woman could talk her way in or out of anything. She had this way of making people believe what she wanted them to. In another life I thought she would have been a lawyer.

“I know you can, and I love you for it. I’ve just gotta deal with it, okay? How about we talk about something else. How’s work?”