Chapter 14 - Rami

Rami loved working on cars. Old ones, new ones, crappy ones, nice ones. Whatever it was, he was happy to roll his sleeves up and get under it. Loved the satisfaction that came with solving the problem with nothing but his hands, his brain, and some tools.

It’d been his refuge as a teenager. When his parents got to arguing, he’d pull out the manual and start tinkering with his car, a shitty little beater he’d kept running far longer than it had any right to. He almost couldn’t hear them screaming at each other in the driveway or the garage.

If it got really bad, so bad he knew the neighbors would be calling the cops, he’d hop in and go for a drive. One day, he’d started driving and never turned around. After a few months on the road, he’d been bitten by a were on a drunken night out and had his life changed forever.

Rami had Vera’s car up on the jack. She was due for an oil change, and he wanted to give the thing a once-over while he was down there and make sure she was driving around something safe. He set down the pan to catch the oil, but the smell of smoke hit his nostrils, sharp and bitter, before he could unscrew the cap.

He grabbed the front bumper, pulled himself out from under the car, and leaped to his feet. The smell was coming from the house. Fear seized him. Rami sprinted for the door and threw it open, prepared to race up the stairs to grab Vera and Jessa.

“No, no, no.” He heard Vera begging from the kitchen. She didn’t sound scared, just frustrated. Some of the tension eased itself from around Rami’s chest.

“Vera? Is something burning?” The answer to that question became obvious when he stepped into the kitchen.

She slammed the oven door shut, cutting off the billowing smoke that was emanating from inside it, and whipped around.

“I thought you were working on my car!” Her hair was pulled back off her face in a ponytail that bobbed as she shook a dish towel at the smoke, waving it away from where Jessa bounced in her green walker. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Dishes and pans were scattered over the counters, along with an improbable number of knives, like she’d used a different one for everything she’d cut up.

“You do know knives don’t need to be sterile? Like, you can cut a carrot and an onion with the same knife, and nothing bad is going to happen.”

Rami rubbed Jessa’s fuzzy head, smiling down at the vivacious girl who seemed captivated by the whirlwind of activity that was Vera in the kitchen. He’d stopped by Vera’s vet clinic often enough to see her unflappability while working—panic was strictly reserved for the preparation of food.

“You say that, and then we all get salmonella.” Vera ran her hands through her hair, smearing tomato sauce across her cheek. Paired with the fierce look in her eye, it resembled war paint.

She turned back to the stove, pulling the lid off of a pot. The smell was anything but appetizing. He wondered if he should be removing Jessa from the biohazard that was the kitchen, but she was happily bumping around into the cabinets.

“Oh no,” Vera gulped. Her shoulders slumped, and Rami got the feeling she was fighting back tears. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He knew better. He knew there was too much between them for any touch to be casual, but he couldn’t just stand there as she broke down. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She stiffened, her hands frozen around a wooden spoon. Strangled sobs hiccuped through her body.

“Shh.” Rami eased the spoon from her hands. “You’ve never done this before. It’s not going to be perfect on the first try.”

After a moment, her body relaxed. In his arms, she leaned back against him, let him hold her weight. He rested his chin on top of her head, breathing in the smell of her, that potent mate scent that sent his world spinning around her.

“It’s cooking, Rami. Anyone can figure it out. Except me, because I missed the domestic route ten years ago, and apparently, there’s no going back now.” She sniffled.

“I don’t think that’s true. You might not be a domestic goddess, but there’s always time to learn, if that’s something you want to do.” He’d never imagined her in that role, apron on, vacuuming the house, and fixing dinner, but then he’d never imagined her with kids either. There was more to Vera than he knew. “Do you want that?”

She twisted in his arms, looking up at him with tear-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s so embarrassing. Maybe I do?”

The last was said in a voice so small he could barely hear the words, even with her standing so close to him. He tilted her chin up with his fingers so she was looking at him again.

“It’s not embarrassing.”

Her forehead dropped against his chest, and she scoffed. “It is. I had a career. A good one. Prestigious, even. Then I throw it all away because I think maybe I want something else? I think I’m having some kind of early midlife crisis. Maybe I’ll buy a cherry red convertible next just to round out the cliche. Find myself a frat boy to date.”

His fingers tightened against her back at that. The thought of her in another man’s arms was enough to make him puke. He’d given up all claim to her when he’d dumped her and pushed thoughts of what her moving on would look like to the back of his mind, but she was his mate.

He loosened his grip on her shirt and smoothed his hands down her back to her hips. “I’ll help you pick one out.”

“A frat boy?” She asked, nose wrinkling. “Be a bit of an awkward wingman, don’t you think?”

“Excuse you, I’d be a great wingman.” He wouldn’t, unless Vera’s goal was to send every man running. “But no, a convertible.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She gave one final sniffle and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

Rami reached around her and turned the burners off. Whatever was in there was already beyond the point of saving, but perhaps the pots themselves were salvageable.

“Let’s start simple.” He was reluctant to let her go.

When would she let him hold her again? Much as he hated seeing her cry, he didn’t hate that he got to comfort her, got to feel her against him again. But he didn’t want her to think he was trying to jump back into a relationship after she’d told him she was done. He had to earn it.

“Maybe we should just order pizza.” Vera looked forlornly around the kitchen. “This is a disaster area. It should be cordoned off. Remember finishing schools? Are those still a thing? I should’ve gone there instead of vet school.”

“You’re an amazing vet. That would’ve been a waste of your talents and your passion.” Rami meant it. The way she had lit up whenever she’d tell him about a particularly difficult patient she’d helped that day had made it obvious. “But you can be more than one thing. Like me, I’m not just a nerdy bookseller.”

“Right.” Vera nodded eagerly. “You’re also a jerk.”

“Not quite where I was heading with that, but the point stands. If you want to learn to cook, we’ll learn. Together. Where I can supervise you and ensure the house doesn’t burn down.”

She considered him for a moment, leaning back against the counter, cheek still painted with tomato sauce. He liked her attention on him, the way her eyes lingered on his lips like she was thinking about kissing him in spite of herself. Her lips thinned.

“Fine. But don’t get your hopes up for any more of this.” She pointed her fingers at herself and then back at him a few times. “There’s no touching involved in cooking. Got it? Strictly professional.”

“Scout’s honor,” he agreed.

They worked together to clean up the mess she’d already made, scraping the ruined food into the compost before scouring the pans clean. As he wiped the pans dry, Jessa bumped into the back of his knees, using the plastic walker as a battering ram. Vera laughed and scooped the baby up, nuzzling her cheek.

“You get ‘im.” She checked the clock. “It’s time for her bottle. Mind if I do it?”

“Go for it. I’ll have us set up by the time you’re finished.”

Vera mixed up the formula and sat down at the kitchen table to feed Jessa. He felt her eyes on his back as he worked, wiping the counters clean and starting to pull the supplies out for dinner attempt number two. Rami tried to keep his attention on his task. It was almost impossible not to steal peeks over his shoulder to glimpse the two of them, his mate and his baby, safe in his home.

He admired the way Vera tried everything she did and slid into her role as nanny despite her lack of experience. He even admired the way she’d questioned him, pushing back on the need for a routine in Jessa’s life even though he was her father. She wasn’t afraid to voice her opinions.

But she wasn’t the rigid, unshakeable woman he’d known before the breakup. He’d loved that Vera too, but seeing her vulnerable had hit him like a truck, unlocking new depths of love he hadn’t known he could feel. This Vera was afraid but willing to press on. If she could handle that, maybe she could handle the mess Rami brought to the table.

“There you go. Belly full? That’s a good girl.” Vera encouraged Jessa, setting her back into her walker.

So maybe she did still talk to Jessa like she was a puppy. They could work on that. One step at a time.

“Come on over; we’re ready to roll.” Rami pulled the cheese from the fridge and slapped it down on the counter next to Vera. “Put that pan on medium heat and toss a smidge of butter in there.”

Vera lifted the cheese from the corner, eyeing it skeptically. “American cheese?”

“Don’t question it. Just go with the flow.” He intervened when she grabbed the chef’s knife to slice the butter, putting a butter knife into her hand. Was he just looking for an excuse to touch her? Probably. “Overkill. Butter knife. Butter. Make sense?”

She gave him a withering look, tossing the butter into the pan, where it started to sizzle. “Next.”

He handed her the bread. “Now, put two slices of cheese in the middle.”

“Are we seriously making grilled cheese?”

“I told you we have to start at square one, and this one will come in handy in a few years when Jessa is in her ‘I only eat chicken nuggets and grilled cheese’ phase. Now put the sandwich on top of the butter in the pan and give it a good smush with the spatula.”

He hovered just behind her, ready to jump in if it started to burn.

“Is that a phase they go through?” She asked, poking at the sandwich with the corner of the spatula.

“So I read in the parenting blogs. Lift up one corner and check how brown it is underneath.”

Vera slid the corner of the spatula under the sandwich and lifted. “It’s brown!”

Jessa babbled, matching Vera’s enthusiasm like a cheerleader.

“Perfect, now flip it. All at once. Don’t fear the sandwich; the sandwich should fear you.”

“You are so corny,” Vera groaned. She gave the spatula a sharp flick and flipped the sandwich over.

“Yeah!’ Rami cheered, holding his hand up for a high five. She slapped it, and they shared a grin.

He stepped back to let her finish without his guidance, ready to step in if she asked for help. When the two sandwiches were done, almost golden brown apart from a slight char in one corner, she insisted on carrying the dishes to the table. She set them down with a small bow.

“Call me Martha Stewart,” she declared.

Rami set Jessa on his lap, out of the zone of potential falling food, and took a bite. “Mmm. You make a mean grilled cheese. Tomorrow, we’ll try pasta.”

She bit into the sandwich. “That’s not bad at all. Go, us.”

He polished off his sandwich and leaned back in his chair, noting Jessa’s sleepy blinks. “I’m quite proud of us. Me, the wise teacher, and you, the eager student.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. Looks like someone is ready for bed,” she said, leaning forward to cup Jessa’s cheek. “Team up?”

“Yes, please.”

It didn’t take long for them to get Jessa down. She was comfortable in their routine, familiar with the steps that lead to bedtime, and in a matter of moments, was quietly snoozing. They snuck out of the bedroom, and Rami couldn’t help but think of what had happened the last time they’d done the same, when Vera had led them to the bedroom. From the flush in her cheeks, she was remembering the same thing.

“I should get ready for bed.” Vera turned away from him abruptly, heading for her bedroom.

He watched her go. She swung the door shut but not completely; he didn’t hear it click closed. Everything he wanted to say to her was burning inside of him, demanding to be let out. Idiot, she knows that you want to be with her already and she made it clear you missed your chance. But did she? He hadn’t told her directly what he’d realized—that he had issues to work on, but finally, finally, he was ready to start, and that he wanted her to be there.

The thought of saying those words out loud had him squirming. But he remembered the words in his book, that vulnerability was often uncomfortable, but it was worthwhile. It brought people closer together. Steeling himself, he approached Vera’s door.

He could hear her moving around inside, the water splashing in the sink, the sigh of her relaxing. Rami wrapped his knuckles on the door. It opened slightly.

“Can I come in?”

Vera didn’t answer straight away. Finally, once he’d nearly given up and started to turn around, she replied. “I suppose so.”

She was sitting bare-faced on the edge of her bed and wearing a set of periwinkle pajamas. Her hair was free of its ponytail.

“Vera.” He stood just inside the door, afraid to presume any farther.

One knee was drawn up to her chest, and he could see the pale skin of her thigh and its soft underside. Her head tilted to one side expectantly.

“Well?”

He crossed the room and knelt before her, almost level with her eyes. Would she let him take her hand? It would be easier to explain himself if they were touching; it’d said that in the book as well, but he hadn’t earned that yet. It wasn’t on her to make this easier for him.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete buffoon. All those times you wanted to know how I felt and I just recoiled, I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything to do with you and everything to do with me. I’m working on it now, starting to. I don’t want to hide my emotions anymore.”

Her eyes were wide with surprise, her mouth parted slightly in an O. He rushed on.

“I can’t say it would be a smooth road but I can promise that I would try every single day. To be vulnerable with you, to trust you, to let you in. I know you’ve said that it’s over, and I can’t blame you for that. It’s what I deserve. But if there’s any part of you willing to take one last chance on me…” he trailed off, feeling like he’d ripped his heart from his chest and handed it to her.

Would she take it?