Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  My poor, frustrated, neglected heart had soared. We were finally going to have the life we’d been dreaming about for so long. I was finally going to be able to give up Hamilton for good and settle into my Durham life. I was finally going to get to be full-time with the man I loved.

  Only his plans had changed. He’d rearranged our future but didn’t tell me until after I’d said yes to marrying him. He’d decided he no longer wanted to move to Durham by then. He’d bought a little house on the outskirts of town and loved his new job.

  I knew I could never move back. No matter how quaint he promised our life would be. There wasn’t anything in that town for me. And yet still, I hadn’t been willing to give him up. Stupidly, I thought that if he loved me enough, I could change his mind. Eventually, he would realize I was worth the move.

  As our engagement dragged on and on without a wedding date to plan for or any real motivation by either of us to get married, I too-slowly realized we were over. I finally acknowledged we had been over for a very long time.

  It killed me. I had poured years into that man. I had truly believed I would spend the rest of my life with him. And I knew he felt the same way about me. Admitting that everything had been for nothing did something irreversible to my heart, added layers of paranoia and skepticism that scarred me. His lack of motivation to be with me felt like rejection in the worst way. Why wasn’t I enough for him? Why didn’t he want to be with me more than he wanted to be comfortable in that godforsaken town?

  By the end of our relationship, I felt brittle, hollowed out, and empty. I knew it wasn’t entirely Nolan’s fault. I hadn’t been willing to change. I hadn’t been open to moving. But that didn’t stop the insecurity from slipping inside like an evil ninja and setting up residence in my heart. I wasn’t the kind of girl men moved for. I wasn’t the woman that men wanted to spend their life with. I was safe and comfortable and throw away.

  I broke up with him over Christmas when I was home and staying with my parents. It hadn’t been messy. He said he’d known it was coming for a while, but he didn’t want to be the one to hurt my feelings.

  That New Year’s Eve, he went to a party with all our old high school friends and hooked up with Delaney Cooper, former head cheerleader and prom queen. I’d found out about it via social media and the walls around my heart had grown barbed wire and electric fence.

  Of all people, her? Of all parties, that one?

  I had still hoped he’d come after me, move to Durham, prove I was worth the fight. For years after, I clung to the hope that he would wake up from all of the hooking up and dating random girls and realize I was better… what we had was better than the meaningless, shallow life he lived now. But he never did. Or I wasn’t worth it after all. Face to face with his true colors, I had to acknowledge that he probably never loved me. He merely loved the idea of me.

  He’d broken my heart. And maybe I had broken his. Maybe him. He still texted every once in a while, when he’d been drinking too much and the girl he went home with didn’t do enough to help him forget how much he hated his life. But that wasn’t my fault.

  I’d spent three years having this argument with myself and it always boiled down to that toxic town. He could leave. He had a degree in high school education and experience coaching the football team. Nothing was holding him there. He had family, but it wasn’t like he had to move to the moon.

  Some nights, I would text him too. When I had been drinking too much. And when guilt and heartache and nostalgia for what we’d had all those years ago threatened to eat me alive. I would reach out to him and ask him to come visit me.

  And he would counter that I should come home to him.

  There were also the times I went home to visit my parents for holidays or birthdays or whatever…

  The problem was that Nolan was as lethal as the town. He would lure me with his all-American smile and quarterback muscles and I would get lost in the bliss of being eighteen and invincible all over again.

  The last time we’d hooked up had been eighteen months ago. I’d been in town for my parents thirtieth wedding anniversary and had had too many white wine spritzers at their country club garden party.

  My parents had the love story Nolan and I had tried to have. High school sweethearts, married at twenty-one, kids at twenty-four, retirement on the horizon. And despite my hang-ups with them, they truly loved each other.

  Calling Nolan that night had felt inevitable. I’d been drunk and lonely and he had been happy to pick me up. That night he’d been as familiar and lackluster as I remembered him to be. I woke up the next morning surrounded by Hamilton High football t-shirts and empty PBR cans and felt sick to my stomach.

  No matter how much I’d tried to convince myself differently over the years, Nolan was the same as he’d been when I’d fallen in love with him. That small-town, rudderless life was enough for him. He didn’t want anything more than that. By the time I’d put Hamilton in my rearview mirror, I had decided to be happy for him. And why not? He wasn’t going to change.

  And neither was I. The small town wasn’t for me. Not even if it meant the house and the husband and the two-point-five kids. Cooking was worth the sacrifice, worth the loss of everything else. It was worth the chaos and the long hours and the exhaustion. Even the critic reviews and the never-ending, suffocating pressure to get better and do better and become the fucking best.

  And if I got Sarita… I couldn’t even think that far ahead. I had to figure out if there was someone in-house that Ezra would handpick.

  My heart dropped to my toes at the very thought of it. Grabbing my phone, I quickly typed out a text to Dillon.

  Want to meet for coffee before work?

  The text dots started dancing immediately. I’m headed to Vera and Killian’s restaurant. I have to drop something off for E. Want to meet me there?

  My plan was to grill Dillon for every last detail she’d learned from Ezra about Sarita, but Killian and Vera would be even better. Yes! Going now?

  I’ll be there in ten.

  See you soon.

  I hauled ass to the shower and skipped shaving. I mean, I was wearing pants all day, there was no point. Scrunching my hair with enough product to encourage global warming to keep up the good work, I let my chin-length, bright pink hair air dry while I threw on minimal makeup. I was ready in record time.

  There wasn’t a whole lot to my uniform other than a clean pair of pants, the right shoes and a tight cami under my chef’s coat, which I didn’t wear until I got in the kitchen. I grabbed a gray silk duster for the cool morning air and my messenger bag and headed out the door with a banana in my hand. It wasn’t necessarily the breakfast of champions, but it would do for today.

  I’d grab coffee later. Ugh, the thought of not having a cup before I left nearly killed me. Coffee was essential to life. I wasn’t even very smart without it. Without my morning cup, I turned into this un-caffeinated, bumbling idiot that couldn’t remember words or social cues or anything beyond zombie-level hunger.

  Undoubtedly, this was the perfect time to feel out my dream job with three other stellar chefs who probably didn’t even need coffee to have coherent conversations before noon.

  I rolled my eyes at myself and hurried down the stairs of my apartment building. The sun was warm as I stepped out to the small parking lot attached to my midtown building. For a single person living in Durham, I made a decent enough living. But I was all middle of the road. Medium salary. Medium part of town. Medium apartment. Yes, I was on the nicer end of the spectrum, but it wasn’t enough.

  What scared me the most about my ambitions was that I would never have enough, be enough, do enough. That I would always want more.

  Those starving pieces buried inside terrified me. Would I ever be totally happy with what I was doing or where I was in life? Would I ever feel joyful contentment? Or even moderately good enough?

  There was a certain level of striving that I was okay with. I didn’t want to lose my drive or my standa
rds of excellence. Those qualities required fierce tenacity and ferocious hunger. My long-term goals required me to push, to keep rising and become a better chef.

  Yes. Those were good traits, but what about the darker side of those same desires—the gaping abyss inside me that wanted to consume everything in my path. Would that desire ever be filled? Satisfied? Exhausted?

  I shivered despite the warm day. Did I even want to consider those questions without a cup of coffee first?

  I yanked open the rusty door to my Land Cruiser and decided my crazy musings could wait until after caffeine. My foggy brain didn’t have the energy for serious self-examination right now.

  Thursday morning traffic was as difficult as every other day of the work week. Durham wasn’t an overly populated city by any means but driving downtown was always a special experience. Traffic made me rage-y.

  By the time I got to Killian and Vera’s restaurant, Salt, I had devolved into a furious, cursing caveman. I noticed Dillon’s Lexus in the parking lot and breathed a minute sigh of relief. It was comforting to have an ally in life in the nearby vicinity. Knowing I was meeting up with Dillon soothed some of my frazzled edges and whispered rational thought back into my haggard brain.

  Although, after wrestling my purse from the passenger’s seat and walking the short distance to the main entrance, my traffic frustration and subsequent calm had turned to buzzing nerves and a flurry of internal butterflies.

  I didn’t know Vera enough to call her a friend, but she had always been nice to me. If we ran into each other in a public space, I wouldn’t hesitate to walk over and say hello. Killian, on the other hand, was intimidating as hell. Like some kind of brutal warrior from Greek mythology that was willing to kill you over a stolen wineskin. My courage shriveled to an embarrassing shell of itself.

  He was mortal, I reminded myself. Exactly like me. Fine, four years of my life had been spent working for him, listening to him yell at me, perfecting my craft so he wouldn’t yell at me, trying to do whatever it took to avoid him yelling at me… But he was as human as me.

  I should thank Killian for those difficult years. He’d given me the tools for success that I planned to use to climb my way to the top of this city’s culinary upper echelon. He’d helped mold me into a competent, experienced chef. He’d promoted me to one of his coveted sous chef positions and demanded perfection and because of that I was confident I could produce perfection.

  Still, I’d lived over four years of my life balancing the growing pains of maturity against trying desperately to not cross his line of fire. I’d seen him at his worst, throwing dishes across the kitchen and snarling at anything that breathed near him. And I’d seen him at his best, earning awards and stars and accolades from the most important organizations and people in our industry. He was hardheaded and cocky, but also fair and talented, and pretty much a genius with food.

  He was everything I wanted to be. That said, walking into the restaurant that he’d abandoned Lilou for was like some kind of religious pilgrimage for me. A restaurant like Salt was the big goal, the destination. I was convinced this was what was at the end of the long, arduous journey I was willing to struggle my entire life to reach.

  I had no false hopes that I would be able to accomplish what Killian had in the time that he had accomplished it. Killian was kind of a freak when it came to success. I was on the right path and I needed to remember that.

  My fingers trailed reverently over the bright blue doors that opened into the main dining room of Salt. They were the only bright spot of color in an otherwise starkly white layout. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the rest of the space.

  The restaurant might as well have been glowing with an angelic hue for all the wistful and slightly jealous emotions rushing through me. It was the first time I had been inside, and the first time I realized it was so close to completion.

  Vera and Killian had both left amazing jobs—dream jobs—to pursue opening a restaurant together. Killian had abandoned a lot of his claimed awards by leaving Lilou, ones that were specific to Lilou’s kitchen. Vera had given up her food truck for this. And they had no guarantee that it would succeed.

  I was as impressed with their persistence as I was worried for them. They were both unquestionably good at what they did. But was good enough?

  For a lot of great chefs, it wasn’t. There had to be more than good food to make an acclaimed restaurant. Where the real awe in my assessment came from was the “it” factor they had nailed with the décor and ambiance. Between the big wooden rafters and the garage door walls that would open to the outside during the warmer months, I already felt comfortable in this space. I already looked forward to the food. I was already planning girls’ nights out here. I couldn’t wait to book a reservation and discover the menu.

  They’d nailed it. And I tried not to hate them for it.

  “Hello?” I called out when I realized I’d been standing frozen on the stone entryway floor for long enough. “Is anyone here?”

  Dillon popped her head through the swinging kitchen doors and waved me back. “We’re in here.”

  My eyes dropped to the mug in her hand. “Is that coffee?”

  She smiled at me, waving her cup in the air. “It’s fresh. Better get back here before Vera drinks it all.”

  My respect for Vera leveled up knowing she was as much of an addict as I was.

  The promise of caffeine took the edge off my nerves and I entered the kitchen totally unprepared for the gleaming glory that awaited me. Lilou’s kitchen was spotless. Especially after I spent hours scrubbing it last night. But it was also old enough to have lost some of the shiny sparkle that brand-new kitchens possessed. Like a cartoon with an illustrated glow, every surface, every appliance, every inch seemed to wear a halo.

  “Wow,” I heard myself say with childlike awe that I couldn’t help.

  “Welcome,” Vera greeted, as pleasant and kind as I’d always known her to be.

  I tore my eyes from the expensive machinery to focus on the chef I had come to admire and respect over the last year. “This is crazy.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “It is crazy.”

  Her embarrassment only endeared me more. “It’s nice though, yeah?”

  She laughed self-consciously. “There’s more room than the truck. That’s nice for sure.”

  I looked around at her massive kitchen space, mentally comparing its size to Lilou’s. Salt had it beat by at least five feet on every side. “This kitchen is amazing. I can’t wait for you to open.”

  Vera raised her eyebrows behind a sip of her coffee. “Why? Looking for a job perchance?”

  It was my turn to blush. It was a generous offer from her. And unsubstantiated. “I, uh, I-I like Lilou.”

  “That’s a lie.” Dillon snorted, sharing a friendly look with Vera. “She hates Lilou.”

  “I do not!” I defended quickly “I love the restaurant.”

  “Fine.” Dillon sighed. “She hates Wyatt.”

  Vera laughed again, but it sounded surprised this time. “What? Why?”

  Dillon snorted again, hopping backwards to sit on a steel counter. I inwardly cringed at her irreverence but held my tongue. Dillon didn’t have the same kind of worshipfulness I had with kitchens. Or with anything really. She was pretty much aloof when it came to social cues and expected behavior. Which were my favorite things about her. Most of the time.

  “He’s an asshole,” I blurted, feeling safer with Vera than I probably should have. They were friends. This would have been a good time to hold my tongue.

  Vera laughed again, more subdued this time though. “Every good chef is. It’s the only way they can protect their fragile egos.”

  Dillon canted her head at Vera. “You’re not an asshole.”

  Killian’s voice boomed from a doorway that led to a hallway at the back of the kitchen. “You’ve never cooked with her.”

  Vera’s eyes narrowed at her fiancé. “Poor, abused baby.”

  He gri
nned at her and I had a sympathetic pang for Vera. How could she stand him looking at her like that all the time? Killian had to be one of the most beautiful humans on the planet to begin with, but then add in that adoring look in his eyes and the way his whole body seemed to warm and lean toward her? How did she survive it?

  I would have died by now. Or gone into permanent shock.

  She was for sure a lucky woman. But she also had to be one of the strongest out there. Not because of how beautiful Killian was, but because of how difficult he could be too.

  “I am abused,” Killian agreed, closing the distance between his bride to be and the doorway in long, stretched strides. “Thank you for noticing.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked at me as he put his arms around her middle. “See what I mean?”

  “Yeah, well, Wyatt is an asshole in a totally different way than”—I waved my hand at them—“whatever you two have going on.”

  Dillon made a sound in the back of her throat and gave them a disapproving look. “It’s like this all the time, Ky. You should be around when my brother and Molly are here too. The four of them in the same room is downright disgusting.”

  “What do you mean disgusting?” Killian demanded.

  I turned my back on all three of them and went hunting for coffee. I found a French press near one of the stovetops with a saucer of creamer next to it. Yes. Please.

  While I poured, Dillon exclaimed, “Are you kidding me? Y’all are like a Hallmark Christmas movie, but all the time. I didn’t even know it was possible to get sick of love. But I am chronically grossed out these days.”

  Vera and Killian laughed, too far gone to be bothered by Dillon’s comments. “Your brother is way worse than I am,” Killian argued. “He’s like a smitten puppy.”

  I turned around just in time to watch Dillon give a pointed look at Killian’s arms still firmly encircling Vera. “And you’re not?”

  Killian only grinned at her. “Obviously I am. I’m just way cooler about it than he is.” He turned back to me. “Let’s get back to the topic. Why is Wyatt an asshole?”