Chapter 64

CHAPTER 64

ZAYN

M arigold stood at the counter, tying an apron around her waist. She glanced over at me with a playful smile.

"Ready for your cooking lesson?" she asked, hands on her hips.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. "You realize I've been in Michelin-star restaurants, right? I'm not exactly new to this."

"I saw your attempt at cooking. Trust me, being in a restaurant doesn't make you a chef. Just like standing in a garage doesn't make you a car. We're making a roast. It's fairly simple."

She pulled a knife from the block and handed it to me.

I took the knife, spinning it in my hand with a smirk. "You're going to regret giving me this."

"Not as much as I'll regret letting you make another meal without giving you some basic cooking skills." She gestured to the vegetables piled on the counter. "Start chopping. I'll supervise and make sure you don't lose a finger."

I chuckled and slid up next to her, taking my position at the cutting board. "Chop?" I said. I understood the word, but I wasn't entirely sure what the end result was supposed to look like.

She let out a laugh and walked over to where I stood. Her fingers lightly brushed mine as she adjusted my grip on the knife. "Small, even pieces," Marigold explained, her voice gentle yet insistent. "Like this." She guided my hands.

The process was slow at first, the blade awkward. But with Marigold standing so close, I didn't mind it. Eventually, I found my rhythm in the repetitive process, each chop making me feel like I was actually doing something.

As I diced carrots, onions, and potatoes, I couldn't help but sneak glances at her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She had a focused look. Watching her make slices in the roast and then season it made it feel like home. It was weird, realizing I felt more at home in this tiny kitchen in Wyoming than I had in my penthouse in New York without her.

"Careful with that," Marigold said, her voice cutting through my thoughts as she nudged me with her elbow. "You're supposed to chop, not mash."

"Pretty sure you just wanted me to come in here so you could critique my cooking technique," I shot back, nudging her back with a grin.

She shook her head with a smile. "Nope. This is all about teaching you. You're a terrible student, by the way."

"Terrible? I'm crushing this. Look at these carrots. Perfect cubes."

She leaned over to inspect them, her lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. "Uh huh. I'll be sure to call Gordon Ramsay to tell him about your carrot cubes."

"Do it. He'll call you a donkey for not believing in me." I laughed, puffing out my chest before getting back to work. "Are we putting the vegetables in another pot?"

"Same pot," she answered. "We're making pot roast. All the flavors meld together this way. You'll see."

She started to show me how she layered the vegetables and beef in the large dish, her fingers delicately arranging them with a precision that came from years of practice.

Listening to her explain each ingredient and its purpose was fascinating. She talked about herbs and spices as if they were old friends. I was only half-listening to what she said. I was more interested in watching her.

"Did your mother teach you all this?" I asked.

She poured a dark red wine over the top of the vegetables and beef. "Yes," she murmured. "She used to love cooking big dinners."

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Our meals were usually prepared by the housekeeper or ordered in from some fancy restaurant. Mom cooked, but she didn't have a lot of time with our busy schedules.

"And this," Marigold was saying as she sprinkled some kind of herb over the top of the dish, "is rosemary. It gives the roast a wonderful flavor."

The aroma wafted up from the pot, filling the small kitchen with a smell that made my stomach growl.

"I can't wait," I said. "It looks and smells really good."

"It's going to be good."

Outside, I heard the unmistakable thwack of an axe splitting wood. I glanced out the window and saw Jay chopping firewood like a pro. I never really pictured myself chopping wood, but then again, I hadn't pictured a lot of the things that had happened over the past few weeks.

"Your dad's a beast with that axe," I said, nodding toward the window.

Marigold looked over, grinning. "Yeah, he's been chopping firewood since before I was born. You should go out and help him."

I paused as I was washing my hands. "Help him? You're kidding, right?"

She shook her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You want the full Wyoming experience, right? Go show him your impressive muscle power. I'm sure he'd appreciate the help."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help grinning. "Fine, but I'm blaming you when I throw my back out."

"My dad is twice your age," she said.

"Yeah, but like you said, he's been doing this forever."

I shot her a smirk as I made my way to the door. "Don't burn anything while I'm gone. That's my job."

She tossed a dish towel at me. "Go before I make you peel apples for the pie, too."

I stepped outside. The crisp winter air hit me, a sharp contrast to the cozy warmth inside the house. Jay was methodically chopping logs, his movements smooth and practiced. He glanced up when he saw me coming. He grinned like he was surprised to see me.

"Thought I'd come lend a hand," I said, trying to sound casual. The truth was, this was probably going to end with me embarrassing myself, but I had to at least try, right?

Jay nodded, setting the axe down and motioning to the stack of logs. "Grab that axe over there. It's a little lighter."

I would have been insulted about needing a lighter axe, but I had a feeling that was for my own safety. I was going to trust his judgment.

I picked up the spare axe, giving it a quick test swing. It was heavier than it looked, but I wasn't about to back out now. I positioned myself next to Jay, giving Marigold a quick glance through the window. She was watching us with a grin, clearly entertained by the sight of me preparing to chop wood like some lumberjack wannabe.

"Alright, slide your hands up," Jay said. "I'm going to assume you've never done this before."

"You would assume correctly." I nodded.

Jay chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Alright, first things first." He gestured toward the log I was supposed to chop. "Watch your toes."

I glanced down at my sneakers and then back up at him.

What the fuck was I doing? I was seriously risking life and limb.

"Got it," I said.

"Now, balance is key, too. You need to position your feet shoulder-width apart. And when you're swinging that axe, remember, it's all in the hips and the legs. Not just the arms."

I blinked at him before glancing at the log. Lumberjacks were far more skilled than I gave them credit for.

Jay stepped out of the way. "Give it a swing. Watch the bounce."

"The bounce?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"If you don't hit it hard enough and bury the axe in the wood, it'll bounce off like a trampoline."

"And then what?"

"Then we'll be going to the emergency room."

I stared at him, hoping to see he was joking.

He wasn't.

With a deep breath, I swung the axe down, aiming for the center of the log. To my surprise, it split cleanly in half. I straightened up, shooting Marigold a cocky grin through the window.

See? I've got this.

Jay let out a low chuckle next to me, shaking his head. "Not bad."

I shrugged, feeling more confident than I probably should have. "I try."

I was just so damn glad I wasn't bleeding and on my way to the hospital. I had exceeded my own expectations.

"Alright, go ahead and I'll start stacking this."

I was doing my best not to look like a complete amateur. I continued to swing, grabbing one log after another.

Jay looked at me. It was the kind of look that made me stop. I wanted to give him my full attention.

"You really care about her, don't you?" he asked, his tone serious.

I rested the axe on my shoulder, feeling like Paul Bunyan. There was no point in dodging the question. I'd been thinking about it a lot lately, and the answer had become clearer with each passing day.

"Yeah, I really care about her," I said, meeting his gaze. "I've never been in love before. Honestly, I wasn't even sure if I'd know what it felt like when it finally happened. But now? Now I know."

Jay didn't say anything for a moment, just studied me like he was trying to figure out if he could trust me with his daughter. I shifted a little under his scrutiny, but I didn't back down. I had nothing but love for his baby girl.

"I've never been great at relationships," I admitted, leaning the axe against the log pile. "I was too focused on my career, too distracted to really open myself up to someone else. But with Marigold it's different. She makes the world feel better. When I'm with her, I feel like I'm capable of more than I ever thought possible. And I want to give her everything I used to want for myself. Everything is about her. My happiness is dependent on her happiness."

Jay smiled. It was a slow, genuine smile that made me feel like I wasn't completely screwing this up. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You have it, by the way."

I blinked, confused. "Have what?"

"My blessing," he said simply. "She's always been independent and headstrong. But she needs someone who sees her the way you do. Someone who'll put her first. Someone who supports her instead of tearing her down."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I swear, I'll always put her first."

He leaned against the stack of wood and sighed softly. "Her mother was the same way, you know. Beautiful, smart, full of life. But she had this way of not believing in herself, of putting everyone else ahead of her own happiness. I see that in Marigold, too. She's got that same spark, that same light, but also the same willingness to put herself last."

"Yeah," I said quietly, feeling the weight of his words. "I've noticed that. She's always thinking about everyone else. She doubts herself like she can't see how fucking amazing she is."

Jay nodded. "Don't let her do that to herself, Zayn. And don't let her settle for less just because she's afraid of leaving people behind. Especially me."

I swallowed hard, understanding exactly what he was saying. Marigold had come back to Wyoming partly because she thought her dad needed her. And maybe, before now, he did. But now, standing here in the cold with Jay, I realized he wanted more for her than just staying put out of obligation.

And the man seemed pretty capable to me.

"That's actually something I wanted to talk to you about," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I've been thinking about New York," I said, glancing toward the house where Marigold was still moving around in the kitchen.

"I don't want her to stay here just for me," he said before I could say anything.

"I get it."

"You're a good man, Zayn. I see why she loves you."

"Thank you."

"She's her mother's daughter, through and through. And when she loves, she loves with everything she has."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded. I understood the feeling. With Marigold, my chest felt like it was bursting with affection. It overflowed from a bottomless source and it was all focused on her, the crazy woman who changed my entire life.

There was no way I could ever go back to the way things were before I'd met her. That life had been washed out and faded, a shadow of how things could be. With her, the world exploded with color, and I woke up every day excited to share it with her. When she left, all the brightness dimmed and the colors bled from the world. I had been miserable.

We finished stacking the last of the wood and headed inside. I was immediately hit with the amazing aroma of dinner cooking in the oven.

"You survived!" Marigold teased.

"I did. I don't know if I'll be able to move tomorrow, but I can check lumberjack off the list of things I wanted to try."

She leaned in close. "And you looked very sexy doing it."