So, coffee this morning sounded promising.
Still, it was hard to find a guy that understood the number of hours I had to work without questioning them. Matt understood the chef life. He lived it himself. Sure, logistically it would be difficult to spend real time together. But theoretically, we were already on common ground.
Right? At least that was what my eternally optimistic heart was trying to tell me.
Matt worked for an up and coming bakery that he swore was the place to get baked goods in Durham. Ezra used a pastry chef he’d worked with for years, so I didn’t know too much about the bakery scene, to be honest.
Pastries were outside my area of expertise—except for chocolate croissants, which were basically my favorite thing on the planet. Admittedly, I didn’t pay too much attention, other than to know if what my kitchen was putting out was good or not.
Nothing at Bianca was made in house. We cut pieces and plated them with all the pizazz to let you think we knew what we were doing. But nobody on my staff could recreate the magic Ezra’s girl managed.
I fidgeted in my seat and took a sip of my cooling latte. I shouldn’t have ordered so soon because now it was getting cold while I waited for Matt to arrive. But I preferred to pay for my own drinks, another reason I showed up early. Everything was better when I was in complete control of my beverages.
Taking in the dark browns and hunter greens of this cool spot, I couldn’t help but applaud his choice of meeting place. As far as first dates went, this was an excellent choice.
Not that I went on a lot of first dates. Or even met guys alone in public. But I was trying this whole take-charge-attitude thing at work and I was hoping I could apply some of it to the rest of my life and work out some of this heavy shit that always followed me around. If for no other reason, at least I could add a fun coffeeshop to my life.
I wanted to come back here with my laptop and work on Bianca’s fall menu. I would curl up in one of the round booths by the back windows and dream up the most delicious food Durham had ever seen. Plus, this place was more than just its décor. Their coffee was excellent.
Even lukewarm.
Dinking around on my phone while I waited for Matt to arrive, I confirmed my participation in Vera’s bachelorette party the following week and answered a few emails. Nerves swam around my stomach, jumping off high dives and executing synchronized swimming competitions.
The last few guys I’d loosely dated had been more of the same—setups by well-intentioned friends. Loosely dated might be an overstatement. Basically, we shared the most awkward, stilted meal in blind date history, and I ran away before they could ask for a second chance.
It had been years since I’d dated a guy that captured my interest. During high school, I’d been forced to run in Durham’s prep school circle thanks to my good old dad. The boys I’d met during those pretentious years were the stuff of nightmares. When they could manage to not assume you were going to sleep with them three minutes after meeting them, I found them boring and unambitious.
Sure, they wanted to make money, but there was no sacrifice there. No real drive. And why would there be when daddy had already carved a path for them. All they had to do was walk forward into the planned future their trust fund paid for.
Not that I had any room to talk when it came to trust funds.
Which led me to the next segment of dating—men after my money.
To be honest, that was partially my fault. After high school, when my dad had died and I’d inherited full access to the money he’d left me, I’d gone a little… wild. I could hardly complain about the guys attracted to the cash I was throwing around, when I was pretty much making it rain every single night.
That had been a dark, dark time. I’d been lost in grief and confusion and this world that I couldn’t navigate without my dad’s guidance. I’d started to self-medicate with drugs, alcohol, and the party scene.
It had worked for a while. I hadn’t had to think about what an asshole my dad had been and the guilt I felt for missing him anyway. And I hadn’t had to think about what I was going to do with my life or what I wanted to do with it or what was even my purpose on this planet. The crowd I’d run in had everything I needed to numb out—especially men willing to help me.
Or take what they wanted without my permission.
When the partying ended in the worst possible way, I’d spiraled into depression. There were no men there. There were no people there at all. It was just me, my regrets, and my self-hatred.
And an ample amount of fear-induced panic attacks.
Culinary school had pulled me out of the worst of those hopeless days because it taught me how to work for something. It showed me that work, especially work I loved, could be way more effective in helping me move on from the hard parts of my past than partying ever could.
I could never overcome my sadness during those wild days. Or shake loose the feeling of being isolated. Depressed. More alone than ever.
Food showed me how to feel amazing at the end of a hard night. Fulfilled. Empowered. Exhausted.
But it had also led to the next stage of dating—the one that didn’t exist because I was so freaking busy all the time.
The one I liked to call self-ordered celibacy. And I was happy here. I was happy alone. Mostly happy anyway. I was at least happy that I’d removed the fear from my life.
Most of the fear anyway.
Did I even want to settle down? That was the big question.
Full disclosure, I was a million miles away from wanting kids and the whole domestic thing. But I was starting to notice how completely alone I was. I wanted someone to text at the end of a hard day. I wanted someone to bring to Christmas dinner at my mom’s house. I wanted the flippy feeling in my stomach and the giddiness that came after answering a particular phone call. I wanted to get rid of the pang in my chest every time I thought about my happy friends or the random people holding hands while they walked around a grocery store together.
Watching my brother turn so completely upside down for Molly had been the most adorable thing ever. And Killian and Vera. Now Wyatt and Kaya.
I couldn’t help it. I wanted what they had. I just didn’t have the time to go through all the hoops to get there. Or the tenacity to survive it.
Ten minutes later, the coffee shop door opened, and Matt Brennan walked inside. At least Matt Brennan’s profile picture walked in.
I’d been doing this long enough. I couldn’t rule out a cat-phishing scenario just yet. Guess I’d hope for the best.
Standing up from behind the tiny table, I lifted a hand in hello. “Matt, hey.”
His eyes swept over my low-cut olive jumpsuit and distressed cream cardigan and lit with approval. I’d worn my hair down for the first time in weeks and it suddenly felt too hot on my back and shoulders. I struggled against the urge to tug at my top and cover myself more fully, I gave in a moment later, wishing I’d been more conservative with my outfit choice. And then I scolded myself for letting my past fears intrude on this moment. I loved my outfit. I looked amazing. Who cared what he thought? Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I reached out. “So nice to meet in person.”
He took my hand and pulled me into a hug. My thigh jostled the table as I jerked against him. “We’re closer than handshakes, aren’t we?”
No. No we were not. My entire body bristled at the surprise contact and I had to breathe slowly through my nose to keep from bolting.
God, I hoped this guy was just overly friendly with zero ability to recognize social cues. Because otherwise my knee was going to find its way to his balls uninvited.
Generally, hugs didn’t bother me. In fact, my friends would probably consider me a hugger. But this felt forced and awkward. Pressured. I would have preferred the handshake—and even that seemed generous.
Laughing awkwardly, I pulled away and took extra care not to bump the table again as I sat down. “I hope you don’t mind, I got here early, so I already grabbed a drink.”
No apology for being late? No acknowledgment that I had put some effort into making this as easy for him as possible? Laughing off his comment, I said, “It’s no big deal. Like I said, I was early.”
His eyebrows lifted, a lightbulb turning on inside his head. “You’re one of those people, huh?”
“What people?”
“Type A. You know, always on time, bossy, do things for yourself.”
Uh… I wasn’t even sure how to respond to his list of barely veiled insults. “I am a boss… if that’s what you mean.”
He sunk down into the seat across from me. “That’s right. I keep forgetting you’re the EC. That’s cool.”
My lips turned up to form a smile, apparently pleased at his compliment. “Yeah, it’s been… uh, interesting. I mean, I love the job. But it’s been a difficult transition.”
Matt was a good-looking guy. Tall and big-boned with the warmest chocolate eyes and a few days’ worth of scruff gave him an adorably disheveled look. Like a teddy bear. The last couple guys I’d dated were the kind of men totally obsessed with their looks. They spent half their day at the gym or staring in the mirror, which was fine. I just wanted someone that didn’t care so much about their appearance.
Matt seemed like a good balance.
“How so?” he asked as he looked toward the counter.
Did he want to get a cup of coffee? He could totally get something. I would wait… He looked back at me and smiled. “The staff, mostly,” I told him. “They haven’t been the most receptive kitchen in the world.” I lifted my gaze to his, my heart squeezing tightly at the memory. “I’ve already had to fire someone. It’s killed me the last couple weeks.”
His lips pressed together in a frown. “Are you serious?”
I laid my hand across my eyes. “I know. I’m horrible.”
“Hard-ass,” he chuckled. “You’re a boss bitch.”
“No, I’m not! That’s the thing. I’m a total pushover. I can’t even believe I did it.”
He gave me a look that had me flushing from the inside out. It was a look that said he didn’t believe me. “I don’t think pushovers fire people in the first week. Sounds like you’re kind of a tyrant.”
Was this his idea of flirting? This wasn’t as fun as when we’d joked over text.
Or maybe I was the only one joking when we’d texted. It was hard to say when you’d never spoken to someone in person before.
I smiled, but it was wobbly and unsure. Shaking my head, I said, “Not really. I just, uh, I want the restaurant to survive. It’s had a difficult year.”
“Which restaurant?”
“Bianca.”
His eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you told me that.” Disappointment spiraled through me that he couldn’t seem to remember the minimal information we’d exchanged texting. But it grew to a tsunami of what the hell am I doing here when he said, “I’ve heard some bad things about that place. I think it’s…” he made a swirling motion with his finger, pointing at the ground. I didn’t know exactly what he meant by it, but I interpreted it to mean circling the drain to its death. “You sure that was a good career move? Hitching your wagon to a burning building?”
I took a sip of my cooled coffee, holding it tightly so he couldn’t see my hands trembling with anger and frustration. “My brother owns it,” I snapped, hoping that would put things into perspective for him. “He asked me to step in and help him save it.”
He sat back in his chair, his legs sprawling wide. “Ah,” he laughed. “Now I get it.”
Leaning forward, I tried to stay calm. “Get what?”
He waved his hand at me again. “The job. Why you got the job.”
“You’ll need to be more specific.” Oh, how I wished my coffee was still hot. That would have been a much more satisfying sizzle when I dumped it on his lap.
“Bianca sat without a head chef for how long? Nobody wanted that place. You’re saving your brother’s ass. I think it’s admirable.”
His explanation was just generous enough for me to retract my claws.
But then he added, “It also explains why you got the job.”
My jaw dropped as everything attractive about him turned to dust. He stood up without saying another word and walked to the counter. No excuse me for a second. And no explanation why he just walked away. He just left.
Had he not totally insulted my career and family seconds ago, I would have excused his social awkwardness as quirky and tried to convince myself it was cute. Maybe even charming.
But now I just wanted to do the same thing to him and get up and leave. Without an explanation.
Unfortunately, I was raised with manners.
Instead of storming out, I gazed out the big picture window to my right and admired this artsy section of Durham. It was near the farmer’s market where Jo sold her produce. If I could wrap this up fast enough, I might make it over there before it closed.
I needed to talk to her about Bianca and I needed a few things for my apartment. Currently I was living off salted tomatoes and beef jerky scrambled eggs.
The eggs tasted better than they sounded.
Matt sat again, a plate clattering to the table. “Have you eaten?”
A peace offering of pastries sat between us. Maybe this morning could be salvaged after all.
“Is this for us to share?” I asked, eyeing a chocolate croissant that was making my mouth water.
“No, I got it for myself.” The dripping sarcasm in his voice was not attractive. He laughed at his own joke while I just stared at him and tried to get over my hurt ego. “Of course this is for us to share. I made this.” I must have made a funny face, because he explained. “This is from the bakery I manage. We sell here.”
“Oh!” That made more sense. I picked up the butter knife on the table and cut the croissant in half, not willing to reveal my true and eternal affection for these babies yet. I didn’t always trust my reason when it came to chocolate croissants. Better he didn’t know how vulnerable I was around them just in case he used them against me to grab a second date. “It looks amazing. Where do you work again?”
“The Green Patisserie,” he said. “It’s all right. The owner is a total bitch, but it’s pretty well known around town.”
I swallowed my croissant, surprised at how dry it was. Where was the chocolate? Or the butter? Unforgivable. Also, I didn’t like how many times he’d used the word bitch when it came to women in the short time we’d been sitting here. I tried to steer him back to neutral ground. “I’m still learning the food scene here. I went to CAI for school.”
“Oh, really?” he asked, a disgusted note to his voice. “That’s an interesting choice.”
Did he have a problem with where I went to school too? Geez, this guy had a lot of opinions.
I took another sip of my coffee and tried to reason away his behavior. I could give him a break. Maybe I was just being sensitive. Maybe I’d let my own insecurities get in the way. Maybe he was perfectly cool, but also nervous?
“Where did you go to school?” I asked him, determined to let go of my building resentment of this guy and give this date a chance.
“Oh, just a little place called Le Petit Paris. It’s like the best pastry school in America.”
I hadn’t heard of it. But again, I wasn’t a pastry chef. “Oh… cool.”
“Yeah, it’s a big deal. I’m kind of disappointed with where I’ve landed. But I’m looking at this like a stepping stone for where I want to go. Have to build a resume somewhere, right?” His eyes narrowed slightly, before he added. “Well, you don’t have to, but the rest of us do.” Then he laughed loudly.
I let out a patient sigh and looked around the coffee shop for some options. Maybe the espresso machine would magically catch fire and I would have a reason to run out of here, waving my hands wildly and screaming at the top of my lungs. Maybe the bathroom would
spontaneously flood, and it would turn into one of those save yourself scenarios. Maybe the apocalypse would start, and zombies would invade and I would finally get to try out all the sweet moves I’d learned from those self-defense classes and watching seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on repeat for my entire life.
But alas, everything stayed perfectly normal. No spin, flip, stake-to-the-brain moves for me.
“Not everyone can be as lucky as me,” I murmured, not feeling lucky at all. This guy had no idea how hard my job was. I’d told him I had to fire someone already, but that must not have clicked for him.
“That’s for sure,” he agreed, taking a big bite of the fruit tartlet, spitting crust as he did it.
The door opened, jingling the little bells hanging above. I glanced up, hoping for zombies. Instead, Vann Delane walked inside.
I dropped the remaining chocolate croissant on my lap.
He clocked me immediately. By his wide-eyed expression, I could tell he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
Damn.
Double damn.
Why did he always have to see me at my very worst?
Without realizing what I was doing, I leaned closer to Matt and laughed, like what he had just said was the most hilarious thing in the world. And not the worst.
Vann’s eyebrows drew down in surprise. I waved at him. Very nonchalantly. Like I should win an award for how nonchalant that wave was.
Matt turned around to check out who my attention was on. “Do you know that dude?” he asked when he went in for another bite of tart.
“I’m good friends with his sister,” I explained. Then I took a sip of coffee so I didn’t have to look at either man.
Vann got in line to order coffee and I tried to salvage the conversation with Matt. “So… what do you want to do with your career then?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said where you work now is only a stepping stone. What’s your ultimate goal?”
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 101
