The Difference Between Us

by Rachel Higginson

  “Okay.”

  He started to walk away, but paused halfway between me and the kitchen in door. “You’ll wait for me?”

  His uncertainty made something hum inside me. “I’ll wait for you,” I confirmed.

  That rare smile appeared, transforming his entire aura into relaxed happiness. It was amazing how he could switch it on and off. He went from intimidating dictator one second to blindingly beautiful in the next.

  Not that he’d been much of a dictator tonight. In fact, he’d been really kind and thoughtful and attentive. Surely that would change. When he came back we’d find something to argue about. There weren’t two people that were more different than us. It was only a matter of time before we slipped back into our old habits.

  He’d order me to do something. I would obviously refuse. He’d argue with me. I would win the argument this time. Then he’d have me escorted from the premises.

  Which would be the perfect ending to my already stellar Monday.

  But for some reason, I was looking forward to sparring with him.

  Instead of dwelling on my work day, I pulled out my phone and started discreetly googling the ingredients to the French dishes he wanted me to pick from. They weren’t any help. I thought about grabbing Sienna to see if she could help make sense of the menu, but I chickened out when she refilled my water.

  After a few minutes of waiting, Ezra returned to the table sans chef’s coat. He ran a hand through his hair several times on the way to the table as if trying to get it to obey again after it had been held captive beneath his chef’s hat. That alone should have kept my attention for the next five years seconds, but there was so much more to him than just the hair.

  He was wearing a t-shirt. A t-shirt!

  I had never seen him in a t-shirt before. And to be honest, I had never once, not one single time, thought a t-shirt could be revolutionary. But on Ezra it somehow was.

  He looked younger and more relaxed. His arms were on display for the first time ever and they did not disappoint. Muscular and defined just like I knew they would be. He instantly made me recommit to five-thirty in the morning spin class.

  His smile was big and genuine, gentle in a way that was so unexpected from him. He sat down across from me and I thought that maybe this was the moment I fell in love with him. Or okay, not love, but definitely lust.

  So much lust.

  He leaned forward, relaxing his elbows on the table. “Did you decide what you’re going to eat?”

  I cleared my throat and forced my gaze to the menu so I wouldn’t be tempted to stare at him. “It all looks so good.” Okay, moment of honesty, I had no idea what any of this was, but I was positive it would be good. So that counted, right? “I’m just not sure which one to pick. What are your, um, favorites?”

  “The coq au vin is spectacular,” he answered casually. “Also our duck confit was saved when I fired Marcel. I’m happy with how the kitchen has been preparing it lately.”

  Yes, my best friend was a chef, but that didn’t mean I’d paid attention to anything she’d ever said about cooking before. Just like she couldn’t pick up a paintbrush and do anything useful with it just because she was friends with me. To be honest, when she started talking about food, I usually tuned out the Charlie Brown teacher voice that made zero sense.

  But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and what I wouldn’t give to remember at least a few of her helpful tidbits! Like what the heck was coq au vin? Was that a meat? Or a wine? And duck might be okay, but was the confit part of it something weird? Like the intestines or something? One thing I knew about chefs was that they were willing to eat anything. And most of the time the weirder the food got, the better the acclaim. Like beef hearts and tongue, and thousand year eggs.

  I didn’t think I was up for the strange parts of a duck tonight.

  When I didn’t respond, Ezra added, “Or is there something you’d rather have that’s not on the menu? I can have them make you whatever you want. Just name what you’re hungry for.”

  My cheeks heated at his generous offer. “Actually, I just can’t decide. Sorry. Usually Vera orders for me when we go out. Everything looks amazing. I don’t know what to get.”

  “Ah.” He tugged on the menu and I easily gave it up. “Do you mind if I order for us then? Would you like to try a few things and we could share them?”

  I let out a deep breath of relief. “I would love that.”

  “How do you feel about mussels?”

  “Go for it. Whatever you think is best.” And if I didn’t like any of it, I could always stop at Taco Bell on the way home. Just sayin’.

  He motioned his wait staff over and a server popped up right away. “I’m going to put in an order, David.”

  “Yes, sir,” David replied.

  Ezra began rattling off a long list of dishes including the mussels, coq au vin and duck confit. Then he added words I recognized—cordon bleu and steak frites. He looked at me, a subtle smile hidden in his beautiful mouth. “Wine?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “And we’ll do a bottle of the Chateau-Grillet.”

  David disappeared and I realized I was alone with Ezra Baptiste. In one of his restaurants. At one of his tables.

  I didn’t even know how to feel about it. Or what to think! Just a couple months ago, I had been unbearably nervous around the man. I had hated him because that seemed like the safest emotion to feel.

  He was Vera’s famous acquaintance. He was Killian’s successful friend. He was Wyatt’s boss.

  But he was nothing to me.

  And I was nothing to him. Just a person he would recognize in a police lineup should I rob a liquor store while he happened to be in it.

  Except lately it didn’t feel like we were such strangers. And hating him didn’t feel safe anymore either. In fact none of the emotions I felt for Ezra felt safe.

  But they didn’t necessarily feel wrong either.

  Dangerous for sure. But not wrong or safe or comfortable.

  “So, be honest, am I asking too much with the mural?”

  I tipped my head back and laughed at his question. Was he asking too much? He was always asking too much. “Are you serious?”

  He scrunched his guilty face. “I was inspired by that painting you did at Killian’s. I might have come on a little strong.”

  Shaking my head at him, I ran my finger through the condensation on my water glass. “You came on strong for the engagement party. Then you came on really strong when you hired me at STS. By the time we got to the mural, I would have been more surprised if you’d have said please and let me say no.”

  It was his turn to chuckle. “I’m not used to hearing no.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Well, to be honest, that doesn’t paint the whole picture. I have heard no. I’ve heard it so many times that I‘m tired of hearing it. Now I do whatever it takes to get a yes.”

  His eyes were sincere, lost in memories I could only guess at. Some of his enigmatic energy had settled, gentled. My icy walls continued to melt. The harsh words that always sat on the tip of my tongue when he was around dissolved. I wanted to hear more about him. I wanted to know more. See more.

  I want to know all of you.

  Maybe he wasn’t alone in that pursuit.

  “With your restaurants?” I asked, probing.

  He tilted his head back and forth. “Yes, absolutely. Lilou was a massive learning experience for me. Even after my first venture.” He paused and then added, “My ex-wife and I own a restaurant together. Quince. Have you heard of it?”

  Ezra seemed calm, but I was suddenly buzzing with nervous energy. I had always remembered that he owned a fourth restaurant, but it was harder for me to remember that he had an ex-wife.

  “Yes,” I told him. “I’ve heard of it. Although I haven’t ever been.”

  He made a face. “It’s fine. It suits Elena and stays profitable. Nothing I would consider groundbreaking.”

  “Elena is you
r ex-wife?”

  He nodded once, but didn’t elaborate. So I should have let it drop and moved onto something else. With anybody else, I would have been too meek to ask direct questions. But with Ezra it was almost like I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to know everything, not just about his marriage, but about his entire life. I wanted to pry and poke and pester until he confessed it all.

  Until I knew everything.

  Until I knew him.

  “But you still own the restaurant with her?” There, that was nosey as hell subtle.

  His expression hardened, thunderclouds rolling in, lightning flashing, tornado sirens wailing. “When I met Elena she was in the process of developing the idea. She was passionate and fiery. She wanted to bring good Mexican food to Durham, but she wanted to do it with old world style. I fell in love with the idea immediately and almost just as quickly with her. We were married six months after we met and once she’d secured my last name and my money, we opened the restaurant together. A year after Quince opened, we divorced.”

  The deep sadness in his eyes stabbed at my heart, breaking my chest open for this man and his past so it had room to hemorrhage for him. “It was too hard to run a business together?”

  He looked up at me, hitting me with the entire force of his past grief. My breath caught in my throat when he said, “She had an affair with our head chef. They’re married now.” He looked away, thoughtful, subdued. “They have three kids together.”

  “Oh my god, Ezra.”

  His chin jerked to the side. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m just as much to blame. I’m hard to put up with. Especially back then. I… I can be closed off, hyper focused on work and you know, all those things that send women running to other men. She… we… I am better because of what happened. Thanks to Elena, I found my love for restaurants. I found a life I am passionate about and a pursuit that I am happy to spend my time chasing. I was angry for a while, but out of that dark time Lilou was born. I asked Killian to take the helm and the rest is history. That was ten years ago. Since then I’ve moved on and now with the three independent restaurants doing so well, it’s hard to be bitter at a time that pressed out so much good.”

  “So, Elena still runs Quince?”

  “She’s part owner, but she has little to do with the business side of things. She manages the restaurant and I’ve let her keep her menu choices and style. But I’m the reason it makes money.”

  There was no arrogance to his tone. It was simple truth.

  Our food appeared, carried over by an army of waiters. We moved apart, straightening in our seats and moving cutlery and glasses out of the way to accommodate all the food.

  David, the same waiter that had taken our order, explained all of the dishes for my benefit and poured wine. We spent the next ten minutes tasting food, and sipping wine, and having our minds basically blown.

  Or at least mine was blown. The food was just as good as when I’d shared that incredible meal with Vera at Lilou, or the extensive menu Wyatt had prepared for the engagement party, or any of the meals Vera had made for me to taste.

  “This is incredible,” I moaned with a bite of medium rare steak and thin French fry doused in delicious sauce at the end of my fork. “I know you’re having chef problems, but I’m very sure your kitchen is not suffering.”

  He smiled at his plate. When he looked up at me, his eyes were darkened and secretive again. “These are old recipes,” he explained. “The kitchen can serve these with one hand tied behind their back. But I haven’t had a menu change in months. I need someone to step in and take the reins. I need leadership. I need inspiration. I can only do so much.”

  Now I understood. “What are you going to do?”

  He held my gaze, his confidence never wavering. “I’m going to update my website, develop a kickass social media strategy and paint a fucking gorgeous mural on that wall.” He pointed at said wall. “I’m going to make Bianca irresistible.”

  A piece of duck got lodged in my throat and for a second I was positive I was going to need the Heimlich. Which of course would have been too humiliating in front of Ezra and his dining room full of posh customers. The only alternative to having Ezra beat a hunk of poultry out of my windpipe was to just die.

  So that’s how my life was going currently.

  I reached for my water glass and made a total fool out of myself did what I could to save the situation from complete mortification.

  It didn’t totally work. “Are you okay?”

  I held up a finger to let him know I needed a minute and continued to gulp the life-saving liquid. It wasn’t my most graceful moment and I might have needed to wipe my mouth with a napkin as soon as it was over, but I survived.

  I was a survivor.

  “Fine,” I squeaked. “I just didn’t realize… that… I didn’t know that was what I was doing for you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “If you’d known would that have changed anything?”

  Did he mean, would I have still demanded that he get out of my way? Obviously. I could only handle so many micromanaging men in my life. Instead, I decided sarcasm was the best policy. “Well, I probably would have tried harder.”

  Half his mouth lifted, amused. “Is that so?”

  “It is so. Oh, well, I guess we’ll just have to make do with what we have. Which is a not that great to be honest.”

  “You’re so full of shit, Maverick.”

  Good thing my mouth was empty. His cavalier teasing would have for sure made me choke again. “Yeah, but you like it, Baptiste. You need someone to give you hell lest you continue thinking you’re so special.”

  He leaned forward again, his arm reaching to the center of the table. “Oh, so that’s what you’re doing? Driving me crazy to keep me humble?”

  I found myself leaning forward too. “Obviously. Is it working?”

  “Well, you’re definitely driving me crazy. I’ll get back to you on the humble part.”

  “Maybe I need to try harder.”

  His expression darkened, his voice dropped, and he became all things irresistible man. “Yes, please.”

  Oh my god. Please. One simple, commonplace word, but oh, the power it had over my quivering libido. I might have accidentally orgasmed.

  I pulled back, afraid I would start drooling all over the coq au vin. “You’re trouble, Ezra. So much trouble.”

  He sat back too, diving his fork into the pot of mussels. “You’re one to talk, Molly the Maverick. You’ve been a hell-raiser since the moment I met you. I’m just trying to keep up.”

  His accusation made me pause. That couldn’t be true. I mean, yes we’d fought the first time we met and most of the times we’d been forced to interact since then. But nobody had ever called me a hell-raiser before. Ever.

  My senior class had voted me Most Likely to be a Kindergarten Teacher. In college, one of the guys I’d dated had broken up with me because we didn’t fight enough. He’d said I was boring.

  I wasn’t a hell-raiser or trouble or difficult in any way. I was nice and easy to get along with. I was shy. I was a pushover.

  I was the definition of the friend zone.

  “Should we do dessert?” Ezra asked even though we hadn’t made it through half of the food he’d ordered.

  “I want to,” I told him honestly. “But I have a ton of work to get to tonight.”

  He glanced away and I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or just thoughtful. “Me too actually.”

  “Thanks for dinner,” I told him sincerely. “This was so much better than the Hot Pocket I had been planning on.”

  He laughed because he thought I had told a joke.

  I hadn’t.

  “Well, anytime, Molly. I’m happy to save you from Hot Pockets anytime.”

  My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “I’ll be back here Saturday morning to start. Does nine work?”

  “Of course. I’ll be here to let you in. Email me anything you need in the meantim
e.”

  For someone that never spoke her mind, I’m not exactly sure what came over me. But I found myself reaching out for his hand and saying. “She’s an idiot.” His gaze snapped to mine, a question bright in his eyes. “Elena,” I clarified. “I know you’re in this way better place and your experience with her opened up all of your restaurant opportunities. But honestly, she’s an idiot. You’re difficult, but not impossible. And you’re definitely a workaholic, but you’re also thoughtful, and caring, and one of the most respectable people I have ever met. You didn’t send her to another man’s arms, Ezra. She settled for a cheaper version because she wasn’t strong enough to see the amazing man standing right in front of her.”

  He was quiet for so long that I worried I’d offended him. Abruptly, he stood up and held out his hand to me. I took it.

  Of course I took it.

  “I’m going to walk you to your car.”

  “O-okay.”

  We left the table with our discarded meal and cluttered plates and empty wine glasses and he led me outside. I wasn’t sure he knew what kind of car I drove, but it turned out he wasn’t really interested in my safety or sending me home.

  We stepped outside Bianca and he pulled me into the empty patio area that was still closed down from winter. The ivy didn’t have leaves yet. The brick beneath our feet was uneven. There was still a chill in the air. None of it mattered.

  He stepped into me, bringing his body heat with him. The night sky framed his outline, stars twinkling overhead. A nervous tingle spread through my body, starting at my toes and working its way upward until I was nothing but nerves and anticipation and hope.

  “I tried to save you from this, Molly.” Ezra’s voice was gentle, roughened. “I’m tired of failing.”

  Before I could ask any questions, his lips were on mine. His touch jolted through me, surprising me with the feel of his mouth, the press of his body, the realization that Ezra Baptiste was kissing me. I probably should have been expecting this, but honestly there was not any way to prepare for this kiss.