The Chef
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 10: Something Between Us
The past two weeks had been better for Becca—at least until today. Despite the challenges, she seemed to be handling things well. I’d wrapped up my work early and thought it’d be nice to surprise her and Sophie with a homemade lunch. I’d then bring her home so we could pack, as our flight was later this afternoon. As I was heading to their office, I saw Sophie kneeling, double-locking the leg cuffs on Becca.
“What are you doing here?” Sophie asked, standing up.
“I thought we could have lunch,” I said, holding up an insulated lunch bag. “I made us Zuppa Toscana, salad, and breadsticks.”
Becca’s face brightened. “That sounds wonderful. There’s a beautiful area in the back for picnics.”
She then sighed, “But it’s way too cold today. I guess we’ll have to save that for spring. Maybe we can eat in our office instead?”
As we walked, a voice called out from behind us, “Ms. Bounds.”
We turned around to see Sheriff Collins approaching.
He took off his hat and gave a friendly nod, the same warm gesture he had used the last time we met. When his gaze landed on Sophie, his smile faltered slightly, revealing a hint of sadness behind his eyes.
He nodded to her and said, “Hey, Soph,” his voice carrying reluctance and a touch of nostalgia, as though he was glad to see her but also carried some unspoken weight.
“Steve,” Sophie replied, her expression acknowledging their past connection without the reminiscence or sadness that marked his.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’m here on official business,” he said, glancing at Becca. “We received a report that Ms. Bounds wasn’t in restraints.”
I set the lunch bag down on a bench and pointed to the elevators, drawing Sheriff Collins’s attention to the “Out of Service” signs.
Just as I was about to explain that Sophie had been recuffing Becca—likely due to her inability to climb the stairs—Sophie interrupted, looking visibly agitated.
“That’s not true,” Sophie shot back. “I took off her leg cuffs to prevent a fall on the stairs—the elevators are out again. I put them back on once she was in a safe spot.”
He nodded in acknowledgment.
“I believe you. I saw you standing up and putting keys away—presumably for those—when I walked in,” the sheriff said, his unhappiness evident despite his effort to stay composed. “But I didn’t know that when the call came in. You know how this works: there’s a complaint, and someone from the station has to investigate. It’s just part of the job.”
“And since it’s at the museum, you felt compelled to handle it yourself?” Sophie replied, her tone remaining neutral and unyielding.
“Soph, we got a call about Ms. Bounds,” he said, his tone aiming for reassurance. “I decided it’d be better if I handled this personally rather than sending one of the deputies. I understand the situation—at least as best I can—and thought it would be simpler if I dealt with it directly.”
Sophie looked up at the sheriff, her gaze steady.
“Okay, you’ve investigated. As I said, her leg cuffs were off only to prevent a fall,” she said, emphasizing her point. “But her hands were chained to her waist the entire time. She couldn’t do anything.”
“I was clear with Ms. Bounds about her wearing restraints and the consequences,” Sheriff Collins replied.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of anger betraying her otherwise calm demeanor. She took a deep breath, keeping her voice steady as she moved toward Becca, positioning herself between the sheriff and her.
“Steve, her hands have been in those hinged handcuffs, and the lockbox chained to her waist since we arrived this morning. I picked her up myself; the elevators were out,” Sophie said, her irritation barely concealed beneath her calm exterior. “It was a safety issue. I didn’t want her to fall, so I took them off long enough for us to climb the stairs.”
She locked eyes with the sheriff. “Would you rather have come here to investigate an accident?”
It was clear that Sophie and the sheriff had a history, and it was playing out in front of us. Sheriff Collins shifted uneasily, his hands moving to adjust his hat at his chest, a nervous tic that betrayed his discomfort.
“This is about the call and Ms. Bounds, not about us,” he said, trying to deflect from the tension between them. “Let’s focus on the issue at hand.”
“You’re right. It’s not about us. Because there is no us,” Sophie said, her voice steady but cutting. “So, what’s your plan? To come out every time Rebecca’s leg cuffs need to be removed temporarily because the elevators keep breaking down?”
Her annoyance mounted, and Sophie continued, “You’ll be out here a lot if that’s the case—every time someone in this town gets worked up because she’s not chained to their liking. The real danger is the way some people overreact, not Rebecca.”
Sophie then reached behind and gently pulled on the connecting chain between Becca’s restraints, guiding her closer. The gesture was deliberate, meant to underscore just how fragile Becca was and how easily she could be controlled.
“I understand there are unresolved issues regarding her being in restraints and the necessity of her wearing them,” Sophie said, her voice steady but carrying an edge of annoyance. “And I get that some people might feel threatened by a petite woman in four-inch heels. But as you can see, it doesn’t take much to maintain control over her. Assuming she would even need it, which she wouldn’t.”
Sophie’s actions and words were meant to highlight the contrast between the perceived threat and the actual reality. By drawing attention to Becca’s vulnerability and the minimal effort required to manage her, Sophie aimed to defuse the situation and clarify that the restraints were more symbolic than necessary. Her intention was to convey that any concerns about Becca were unfounded and that her current state was well within manageable limits.
The sheriff, clearly defeated and unable—perhaps even unwilling—to counter Sophie’s points, adjusted his hat and sighed. “I’ll inform the station to specifically ask about the leg cuffs. Suppose they’re just temporarily off while she’s carrying them. In that case, we won’t need to investigate unless they’re reported missing for an extended period.”
He nodded toward Becca, then turned to Sophie. “It was nice seeing you, Soph.”
With that, he walked toward the museum entrance.
Becca and I stared at Sophie in stunned silence before we headed to the office. Once inside, we settled in, and I began spreading out the food.
“Please, enjoy. Eat up,” I said, trying to break the tension.
I poured Becca a bowl and began feeding her while we awkwardly sat in silence for a few minutes.
Finally, Sophie broke the quiet with a simple statement. “We dated in high school.”
Her words hung in the air, marking a new layer in the already strained atmosphere.
“Was it serious?” Becca asked, quietly.
“Yeah,” Sophie replied, her tone subdued. “You could say that. Everyone here expected the jock and the prom queen to eventually get married; it was just a given, and it stuck.”
She turned to me with a small smile, gesturing toward Becca’s restraints.
“You’ve seen how people here can get fixated on an idea and refuse to let it go. Well, that’s Steve and me—he’s still holding onto that idea, along with many others.”
Then she added, “This was sweet of you, Ben. The soup is unbelievable. Thank you.”
“Happy to do it, and I’m glad you like it,” I said with a smile. “We’ll be doing this at least every other week. So, get used to it.”
Sophie sighed, a smile playing on her lips as she reflected.
“You’re a good person,” she said softly. “I can see why Becca loves you so much.”
Savoring another spoonful of soup, she continued, “After high school, I got a scholarship to a small private art college in Boston while Steve went to the academy. He started as a deputy, and when his father retired, he became the new sheriff, just as everyone expected. Meanwhile, I was focused on earning my degree and figuring out my sexuality.”
She paused, taking a bite of a breadstick, then sighed. “Being gay strained our relationship, and Steve getting Nancy Noland pregnant while I was coming to terms with everything didn’t help either.”
“I didn’t realize Sheriff Collins was married,” Becca said, looking surprised. “I didn’t see a ring.”
I stared at Becca, realizing that she associated having children with marriage—a connection I had never noticed until now.
It was a revelation that deepened my understanding of her views on relationships and family, highlighting the societal norms she seemed to have internalized, likely influenced by her grandmother.
This insight forced me to reconsider how she approached intimacy and commitment, revealing layers of expectation that had shaped her perspective in ways I hadn’t fully appreciated before.
“He’s not,” Sophie replied to Becca’s comment, her tone neutral. “Or rather, he was for a year or so. He and Nancy divorced, and she remarried some architect or something, then moved away with their son.”
Sophie sighed and added, “Anyway, as you saw, there’s a lot left unspoken between us. It’s complicated.”
She stared down at her soup and continued, “We said some hurtful things to each other the last time we tried to talk.”
She then mumbled, clearly reflecting on that discussion, “Like being gay is a choice ... Getting Nancy knocked up—that was a choice.”
Becca and I nodded in acknowledgment, deciding not to press the matter further. She then changed the subject.
“Thanks for talking to him about me,” Becca said, her voice sincere.
“You’re welcome,” Sophie replied. “I wasn’t going to let him touch you.”
She then added apologetically, “I’m sorry about pulling you towards me earlier. I just wanted to show how absurd it was for someone to complain about you being out of your leg cuffs. You shouldn’t even need to wear them—there’s no reason for your ankles to be cuffed all the time.”
“It’s okay,” Becca said, a playful smile on her lips, trying to lighten the mood. “I told you that you can use the chain whenever you feel it’s needed; I don’t mind at all. Especially if it helps defuse situations like today’s. If you need to pull it or even lead me away with it, you absolutely can. Really, it’s okay.”
She glanced at Sophie, her eyes softening. “I trust you.”
Sophie smiled back at Becca, thinking aloud. “I mean, what can you really do with your hands locked to your waist? That jewelry is incredibly restrictive. Having been in them myself for the last three weeks at your place, I know firsthand how confining they are. Even without the leg cuffs, the way your movements are limited—and how you’re essentially immobilized—makes it clear just how effective and demeaning they can be.”
Becca looked at Sophie with concern. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you felt demeaned by this.”
She glanced down at her restraints. “That wasn’t the intent at all. It was meant to help you understand what it was like. We won’t do it again.”
Sophie shook her head.
“No—please don’t stop,” she said, sounding somewhat panicked. “I want to wear them. It’s different with you. There’s a trust that makes the experience feel secure rather than degrading.”
Her smile grew more genuine as she spoke, emphasizing her comfort and the bond she felt.
She paused, then added thoughtfully, “What I mean is that it feels good—it’s comforting. It’s about the dynamics between us, not just the jewelry. The way we interact and the connection we share makes the experience intimate, even though it’s about control. I feel closer to you, and wearing them helps me understand what it’s like to be forced to be in them every day.”
She continued reflecting on their earlier encounter. “With Steve, all I could think about was how dependent you are on me while we’re here. You were right about me dressing and being kept in the jewelry. I—I don’t know if I’m explaining this clearly.”
Becca smiled softly.
“You are,” she said warmly. “You’re explaining it perfectly. It’s like when you pulled me to you earlier. Some might view that as demeaning—even humiliating. But I don’t feel that way. I know you could easily lead me around, and I wouldn’t have a say in the matter, but I also understand it’s necessary. There’s control, yes, but there’s also trust.”
“If you ever feel demeaned with me using the chain, you need to tell me. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sophie responded, her voice earnest. “I would feel awful if I did that. I don’t want to hurt either of you.”
She paused, taking a breath. “I’m sorry. Discussing this just feels inappropriate, but I’ve been enjoying our time together. I’m perfectly okay dressing for you—both the clothes and the jewelry.”
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