The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

“Hey, baby, just checking in. My flight’s at eight a.m. New York time tomorrow. That’s your two p.m. in the afternoon, so I’ll get in before dawn to climb into bed with you.” Arry’s voice is a breath of fresh air after another shitty day at school, another round of mean girl antics, and being made to feel like a leper. But I won’t let him know. He’s been gone two whole days already, I miss him like crazy, but it hasn’t been as unbearable as I thought it would. I’ve been so busy with work and essays to think beyond it that really; I only get pangs for him before bed and early in the day when I get up.

“Okay dokes. I’ll look forward to being woken by you and that sexy mouth.” I giggle down the phone, wishing it was tonight instead. I could really use an Arry hug, it’s severely missing in my life and his effects on me.

“You can count on it…What you doing any way? I miss you, baby, tell me what you’re doing.” He sounds husky and tired, even though it’s still the middle of the day for him there, while I’m home and already in a fluffy unicorn Onesie. Settling down for the evening while Paris has another monumental downpour of a rainstorm.

“Making food, getting ready to watch a movie in bed. Missing you crazily.” I smile to myself as I push toast in the machine and press it down.

“Wait… Making food? Sophs, why are you making food? We have a cook?” He sounds instantly alarmed, mild panic to that normally cool tone, and I frown that he thinks I’m this incapable.

I mean, really?

“I told her I would do it myself tonight. I’m making food because I want to. I am capable of cooking for myself.” I realize the toaster hasn’t lit up so look around for the plug in case it’s off and notice I never clicked it down properly. Messing with the dial to get it on, after a second, it lights up.

“Baby… In all seriousness… You can’t cook. Do you need me to list the amount of times you’ve set fire to our kitchen in New York? How many attempts at teaching you to cook have ended in failure?” He sounds more than alarmed; in fact, he sounds kind of horrified and I eye roll at his dramatics.

“Shhhhh… You’re being dumb. I can make toast. I know how to work the oven. You let me heat up oven food at home all the time.” I eye up the ready meal in the glass door I picked up on the walk home and peer in to see if it looks like it’s burning yet.

“Jesus Christ, woman!! Sophie, you do not make toast in the oven. Why the hell would you not let the cook, cook for you? It’s why I pay her. And me leaving you food to put in the oven when I’m due home is not the same as letting you make oven food unsupervised.” So now he sounds pissed and afraid, maybe a lot afraid and sometimes I wonder why my big manly boy can be such a girl at times. Anyone would think I was a complete reject at life, and he forgets, I did used to feed myself in the time before Arry.

“Firstly. I’m using the toaster, I’m not that dumb. Secondly… The oven is for the thing I got at the store; I am following instructions, sort of. And thirdly. She makes weird food, I don’t like, or even recognize.” I rattle off my responses motioning numbers with my fingers in mid-air, sniffing when it smells like something is burning and open the oven in alarm. Can’t see any fire so I shut it again.

“You bought food with instructions, instead of letting the cook do her job? And now you’re in the kitchen, using the oven… Alone? From a box?” He says it slowly, like he’s really having a hard time understanding this.

Okay so he’s not really amusing me with this anymore and I am starting to feel downright insulted.

“Weird food… didn’t like it.” I repeat with a sigh. He tolerates my Diva side, so I have to tolerate his anally overbearing side, I guess. Although I have way less patience than he does.

“She is your cook; she tells you what’s for dinner and you tell her yes, or no… She makes what you ask for, Sophs. Hence being your cook!” Talking to me like I’m a child and I glare at my cell as the toast pops up and startles me. It looks a bit black and I wave a hand at the little rivers of smoke coming from the toaster which only make me sigh harder.

“She talks French… I don’t know what she is saying.” I’m distracted by the fact that my toasts till seems to be smoldering and prod at it with a butter knife absentmindedly. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember Arry freaking out about me putting knifes near the toaster and shrug it off.

for you.” He sounds bossy, a lot like Jake in this moment and

Snails, Arry! … French people eat snails!” I pull the toast out and throw it in the trash can under the worktop to start over as it’s too black and smelly to even want to put in my mouth. I peer at the oven

can hear it and almost picture that little

one meal.” I roll my eyes and watch the toaster

frayed right now. Arry

tray in the oven and grimace, murmuring a cuss word under my breath and turn it off in a bid to limit the

Shit

hand. I open the open door and shove the oven mitt under the now stringy drips and close it again with a

that maybe he is right, and I should never fend for myself. I almost shit myself, jumping in fright when our smoke alarm goes off like a sudden slap in the head with a loud invading beep, beep, beep, at ridiculous levels. The toaster is belching smoke this time and

seconds, so technically this is not a fail in

Dammit.

the phone before I put it down and try like crazy to get the dumb alarm to shut up. Climbing on the counter to push open the window and air the room. I

cut him

Do I need to?” He’s so not sounding funny and probably one hundred percent serious. I jump down as the air starts to clear with the damp breeze from outside and try

I spot the tiny flame through the oven door appear naughtily and start filling a mug with water from the tap to throw in there. The noise he makes sort of suggests he just face planked his desk and is probably rubbing his face half to death in a bid to keep

coming home, I swear. I’m on the first flight before you burn our apartment down. How the hell am I supposed to sleep when I know you’re stubborn enough to think you can fend for yourself?” He’s pissed now, a lot alarmed and sounding majorly catatonic while semi yelling at me. Cute, yet annoying, bugging my happiness and I open the oven and

out, toaster and oven off… I promise. I think I’ll have cereal for dinner. You can cancel your panic flight home to save the kitchen… It’s only a little bit smelly and Janetta is not coming here at this time of night. Stop being such a woman!” I sigh and move to open the cupboard where we keep the cereal boxes, disinterested in his meltdown. He has them

make me feel better about being so far away? Are you sure everything’s off, the fire is out? Sophs?” He groans, mutters to himself incoherently as

love how thoughtful

the cook after all… that’s what you pay her for.” I answer pointedly, not really getting what his problem is. It’s

feel like you make me crazy. I’m calling her to get her up to check you have eliminated the danger and fumes and switched it all off properly.” He sighs again, and I can imagine him rubbing his face as he tries to not lose his shit with me. It’s a common mannerism

you need to take up yoga, or some sort of mediation. You get stressed way too easy for a dude and will end up having an early heart attack if you’re not careful.” I pour my cereal

life every three months I’m with you.” He sounds a little

flatly and head to

subsiding because knowing him he has already speed dialed help on his other

a second while he responds. I know he’s at his office, so it must be his PA Amanda. I’ve never met her, but he mentions her sometimes and I’ve heard her on

attractive. I instantly get that pang of jealousy and push it away because I know I’m my