Age Gap Romance by Penny Wylder
Nicola
I add another drop of basil into the custard sample and taste it. Dammit, it’s still not right. When I thought of the orange-basil combination, I didn’t think that the balance would be so delicate. But getting the right strength of citrus with the aromatic punch of basil without creating any weird after-taste has been tricky. I’ll get it though. I always do.
Every time I run into a snag I make a point of reminding myself that I love this job. I do. Never in my life did I think my dad would let me mess with Thompson’s ice cream, but so far, it’s turned out better than I ever could have imagined.
Granted, I spend more of my time than I’d like running focus groups to test the flavors, but that’s the price I have to pay. If I had my way, I’d lock myself up in this lab for hours and just create all the flavors that pop into my head, no matter how random.
But I have one of those focus groups right now. It’s not going to go well. Because if I can tell that the flavor isn’t right, the people that we’re asking to test it aren’t going to like it. But I add the variation to the computer so it can create the samples for our group. Hopefully I’ll be able to nail down this formula in the next couple of days, and the next focus group that we have will give us a thumbs up. I don’t like to get stuck on something for as long as I’ve been stuck on this.
I can feel this one though—whenever I have a winning flavor on my hands, I get this sense in my gut that it’s going to be popular. This flavor gives me that feeling. The formula is so close that I can almost taste it.
Except for not literally, because I still haven’t gotten it right. Fuck.
I hang my lab coat on the rack and straighten the dress I’ve put on for the group today. One benefit of being the flavor creator here is that I can wear whatever I like. I don’t have to wear a uniform or any kind of business attire. So I get to be me. Which most often is pretty and feminine. Flowing with bright colors and clean, clear lines. Even if it is January and not really the kind of weather for what I’m wearing, I need a little taste of summer in my life.
Today I’m wearing a blue maxi dress that’s always made me feel whimsical. It helps my mood, and I’ve found that leaning into the mystery and glamor of being a ‘flavor creator’ when I do the focus groups helps. For some reason being the quirky and mysterious woman who invents ice cream flavors makes our participants more willing to help.
Jill falls into step beside me as I walk toward the focus group suite. “I found one.”
“You found what?” I’m going to play dumb with my best friend in the world because I’m trying to discourage her from finding anymore ‘ones.’ No matter how many times I tell her that I’m not interested, she doesn’t seem to take the hint.
“I found you a date for the Valentine’s Gala, and he’s literally perfect.”
I roll my eyes. “How many times have I told you that I don’t want a date for the gala? That I don’t want a date at all?”
“I’m trying to get you laid, girl,” she says looping her arm through mine and walking with me. “It’s about damn time.”
I laugh. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“Your vibrator must get a workout,” she grumbles.
She doesn’t need to know how true that is. It’s my best friend in the evenings, as I fantasize about the one man that I’ve always wanted but won’t ever be able to have. But I made a decision a long time ago, that he was the only man for me, and even if he’s not in the picture right now, I haven’t ever changed my mind.
“Please,” Jill begs, “will you at least meet the guy before you shut him down?”
“If I know that I’m going to shut him down then why would I meet him and give him any kind of hope? That seems unnecessarily cruel.”
“Because,” she says, matter-of-fact, “I think that once you meet him you’ll see how fantastically hot he is and experience his brilliant mind and change your mind.”
I won’t. “It sounds like maybe he should be your date to the gala.”
Jill waves a hand. “I already have a date.”
We turn the corner and the door to the focus room is open. My father is inside, and someone is standing with him. My stomach drops through the floor and adrenaline fizzles through my veins because I would know that man anywhere. But it can’t be, right? Tristan can’t actually be here in the flesh.
My friend comes around to face me. “If you won’t even think about a date then at the very least we need to talk about the final decorations. And the seating chart. And about a million other things, and if I can talk you into a double date with me, I’m damn well going to.”
I’m trying to listen to her and focus on her words because that’s what a good friend would do, but I can’t take my eyes off the person behind my dad. I can almost see him, but not quite. He turns, and our eyes lock. I swear I can see they’re green from here. Oh fuck.
It’s him. It really is him, and I’m being consumed by fire and heat. I haven’t seen him in person since he left, and he only got hotter. And now when he’s looking at me I don’t feel any of that hesitation that I felt when I told him what I wanted. Instead he’s staring at me with singular purpose. What is going on?
“Earth to Nicola. Are you there?”
“Yeah,” I say, not looking away from Tristan. My heart is pounding in my chest and my palms—and other things—are suddenly slick with moisture. “We’ll set up a time to finalize prep this week, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t look convinced when I glance at her. “You all right?”
“Fine,” I squeak out, even though I’m anything but fine in this moment. “I’m just going to be late for this focus group.” The blush climbing up my cheeks reveals I’m a liar, but I’m hoping she won’t call me on it. Tristan is still staring at me.
Jill gives me a smile, though her eyes are suspicious. “Well, good. Go kick Orange and Basil’s ass.”
I laugh. “I’ll do my best.”
As I turn away from her, I can feel his gaze on me like a physical touch, reminding me viscerally of the one and only time that he’s ever touched me. The only man who’s ever touched me like that, and I’ve sworn to keep it that way. I did not lie to him when I said that I would wait as long as it takes.
Is he working here now? Just visiting? God, if he’s going to be in this focus group than I am never going to be able to focus.
I walk into the room, and I feel like I can’t breathe. Sharing a physical space with Tristan is like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. Or maybe it’s just the way that he’s staring at me. He looks like he wants to talk to me, and of course I want to talk to him. But my father sees me first. “Nicola, perfect timing. We’re ready to get started, but I want a quick word with you first.” He turns to the assembled group of testers. “We’ll be with you in just a moment.”
Tristan’s eyes are still on me as my dad takes my elbow and pulls me to the side of the room. “What’s going on?”
“Tristan just came back to town, and I’m bringing him in to replace Cynthia. He’s perfect for the position.”
My heart leaps and my stomach drops at the same time, leaving me dizzy. It’s true, Tristan works in marketing. But here? Every day? Cynthia and I used to work side by side. There wasn’t a day that she and I didn’t work closely together. If that’s going to be Tristan’s position, then we’re going to work closely, and I’m not sure I’ll survive. I’ll spontaneously combust, first. “Oh.”
My dad suddenly looks concerned. “Is everything okay? I thought it would be fine since you know him.”
“No, of course,” I say. “Just sudden, that’s all.”
He smiles. “I know, but we need someone if we’re going to get some of these lines going and the expansion launched before the busy season. So I’m throwing him in the deep end. I was hoping you’d show him the ropes and help him get settled?”
My breath goes short in my chest. Images of what that might mean flash in my head. Hot and heavy and dark images that aren’t even close to what he means. “Sure.”
“I’m going to stick around for this group, because I’m curious about how it’s going. But after that, he’s all yours.”
I make a face. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not right yet. I don’t feel it. Closer, but not there yet.”
Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk back toward the participants. “Noted. But like we always say…”
“All data is good data.”
“That’s right,” he grins. We stop in front of Tristan. “You remember Tristan?” When I look at him, asking him if he’s serious, he laughs. “Of course you do.”
I finally get the chance to look at him then, and his gaze scorches me. “I could never forget,” I say, more breathless than I intended. Reaching out, I extend a handshake. “It’s good to see you.”
When his skin touches mine I have no control over the goosebumps that cover my body. “The pleasure is all mine,” he says. His voice has always donethings to me, and now is no exception. It’s like rich chocolate, promising delicious pleasure and satisfaction.
“Shall we get started?” my dad asks.
I pull my hand away from Tristan’s, knowing that I’m going to feel his hand on mine for hours. “Of course.” It only takes a few minutes to introduce myself and explain the scoring and comment procedures to the participants of the focus group. Though the speech that I’ve had down since I’ve started working here, I mess up. Twice. Because I can feel Tristan’s eyes on my back and it’s all I can think about.
But I get the first round of samples out to the participants and try to focus on tasting. This is a good time for me too, to figure out what’s going on with this flavor. Dad and Tristan are tasting too.
This group will have four variations. Three that I’d prepped beforehand and the formula I just made in the lab. The first one is overwhelmingly orange, and though everyone likes it, that’s not the point of the flavor. The second one is too much basil, to the point where it borders on being a savory flavor. The third one I think is the closest to where I want it to be, and probably what I’ll move forward with in my experimentation.
It’s the fourth variation—the new one—where disaster strikes. “I just finished with this formula,” I tell the group. “So it will not have had time to chill all the way down. For that reason, it will be a little more liquid than the rest of the samples. I apologize for that.” No one seems too bothered.
After distributing to the testers, I grab some for the rest of us. This whole time I’ve only been able to hold on to my feelings by not making eye contact with Tristan, and I continue to do that as I hand him one of the little paper cups after I’ve given Dad his.
But Tristan’s hand folds over mine as I hand it to him, and he steps closer so that I’m the only one who can hear. “The last time I saw you you were wearing an equally beautiful dress,” he whispers. “And I vividly remember that there was nothing underneath it.”
All the blood rushes to my face at once, and I take a step back, unintentionally ripping my hand from his. Ice cream mixture goes flying, and lands right on my dress. Fuck. “Oh dear,” I say, pulling away and still not meeting his eyes. I’m not going to admit why I’m so flustered. I guess I don’t have to ask him whether or not he remembers that night. I know that I’ll never forget it.
“I should get this out,” I direct the statement to my father. “I don’t want this to stain.”
He nods. “We’re nearly done. I’ll make sure a copy of the data goes on your desk.”
“Thanks.” I escape the room without looking back. Because if I look back at Tristan I’m going to want to stay and ask him why he brought it up. Ask him why he’s back? And why he’s looking at me like that when the last thing I remember him doing was telling me that we couldn’t be together and then disappearing for four years.
Thankfully I can get the custard out of my dress without too much trouble. I like this dress, and I wasn’t expecting it to be the victim of ice cream today.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I take a deep breath. No matter what my body and mind tell me, no matter that every cell in my being wants to grab onto Tristan and never let go, I’m not the same girl that I was four years ago. And I don’t know why he’s here. He left.
He left. Not just me but everyone. It still stings.
Not to mention that this isn’t like we’re hanging out casually, this is my job. I love it. And even if I didn’t, Dad is my boss. He’s going to be watching to see how Tristan does, and be around more because Tristan is his best friend. What happens if I let myself pursue Tristan and he notices? That’s the only part of the plan that I never figured out when I told Tristan how I felt. And I never made myself figure it out, because I had no idea if I’d ever see him again.
Dad could fire me. Or fire Tristan. Possibly cut him off, which would be painful for both of them.
Fuck.
Honestly, it doesn’t matter how I feel now or how I felt then. Things today are just so much more complicated than they were before he left. I have to resist it. I can’t let him get too close to me, not until I know why he’s here and how everything’s going to play out. I’m strong enough. I have to be.
Taking a deep breath, I push out of the bathroom door and immediately trip. The door collides with a body and I’m falling until I’m not. Strong arms are around my waist, and I’m saved by the very man I just said I had to resist. Being held tight against his body isn’t doing anything for my resolve, and our faces are so close I can almost taste our kiss—I’ve never forgotten it.
“The focus group is over,” he says, smirking. “Your dad sent me to find you so that you could show me around to my new office.”
That confident smile, and the way his fingers grip me just a little tighter, have my stomach doing flips and drawing up buckets of desire from a well I’ve tried unsuccessfully to close off for years.
I am in so much trouble.
