by Scott, S. L.
Am I ready to forgive her for listening to me? For doing what I told her to do—don’t come back?
If she knew that I did everything for her, would she forgive me? Does my sacrifice even matter now?
Nah. She’s doing what she always wanted. Her dreams have come true, but in a weird twist of fate, so have mine. I just wish I could stop thinking of how she felt in my arms—comfort of a long-forgotten home, a good memory that makes you smile, love that never left a heart you thought was vacant. A rush of reminders told me I should have been holding her all along.
Saving her from falling had her gripping my arms that were tight around her waist. She didn’t fight against me to leave. She leaned into the embrace, taking advantage of the moment like I did, her sweet scent taunting me to kiss her.
One more time.
One last time.
Until I can get my head straight, I don’t return the late-night texts from others, and I leave the calls unanswered when they ring. I know it’s the right thing to do, but my ego still has me playing into Todd’s hand. “It’s not for lack of options.” I’m hoping it will get him off my back.
“The answer is no then. You are not getting laid.”
Well, that didn’t work. “How about less talking and more cooking?”
His laughter has me turning back to see what’s so funny. “You used to say that back at the diner.” He’s bent over, arranging the Hasselback potatoes with meticulous attention to detail before sending two plates my way to finish. “A lot has happened since then. I think we’ve aged two decades in the past six years.”
I still dream about the mundane things—walking around campus, mowing the lawn, hanging out at the lake. “It was another life.”
“Have you thought about going back for a visit?”
“I go back.”
“You go straight to your mom’s place or the diner.” As if he can read my mind, he says, “I’m talking about spending time there, drinking beer with Bryant, or maybe go visit the property?”
We’re obviously spending too much time together for him to read my inner thoughts so clearly. But the lake never felt right after I got out of jail. Standing on the shore, all I saw was the way the moon danced across the droplets clinging to Chloe’s skin. I felt the heat of her body against mine and missed kissing her in the moonlight. Being free, young, and careless.
I saw the whole world in her eyes and the same reflected back to me. I remember how my heart beat so fast around her that I thought I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. Only she did.
“Josh, plate the mushrooms.”
Looking up, I realize my mind went for a drive down memory lane and shift into overdrive. Admiring the delectable masterpiece and hoping to get focused, I step back, crossing my arms, and examine the dishes properly. “Now that is a thing of beauty.”
Todd calls out, “Order twenty-four is out the door.”
When Tyler pushes into the kitchen with the same fish dish, I ask, “What?”
“He said it’s too salty, and he’d like the New York strip instead. Cooked well done.”
My eyes bulge. “Well done? Not in my fucking kitchen.”
Stepping back like he’s afraid to be attacked, he delivers the final blow. “Lola had me ring it in already.”
Lola knows how to work around my bad mood. Sometimes, she ignores it altogether, making me more dissatisfied with the arrangement of her not knowing who I am behind this restaurant as time goes on. “Did she taste it?”
“She did,” he replies, nervously.
“And?”
“She said it was perfect, but the customer’s always right.”
“Bullshit.” I stand in my own pomposity for a good few seconds. “Fuck it. This is not the battle I want to fight. Make the steak,” I call out. Seeing Tyler loitering is pissing me off. “Stop hanging around my kitchen.”
He grabs the plates and hurries back out. With my mood overpowering the good smells of the food cooking, everyone is smart enough to leave me alone. Except Todd. “Let me ask you something, Josh. What battle are you wanting to fight? Because it’s clear you’re looking for one if you don’t already have one in mind?”
My team of cooks, dishwashers, and chefs are one in a million. They don’t deserve for me to go Gordan Ramsey on them. I knock the chip off my shoulder and hope confessing gets this burning irritation off my chest. “I saw Chloe.”
The oven door slams closed behind me, getting everyone’s attention. When the others get back to work, Todd stands there silently with oven mitts on and stares at me. I say, “Chloe Fox.” You know, just in case he’s not sure who I’m talking about.
His eyes pinch at the corners, and the disappointment isn’t hard to decipher. Leaning against the counter, he looks down, shaking his head. “Chloe Fox from New Haven?”
“Technically, she’s from Newport, but yes, the Chloe Fox I went to school with—”
“The same Chloe who put you in jail?”
“Again, technically—”
“Fuck the technical shit!” Tossing the mitts on the counter, he takes an angry breath, and then turns back to me. “She’s just as responsible when she didn’t show up to defend you.”
We still have jobs to do, but I pull the pan off the heat so we can deal with this mess. “How was she supposed to defend me if she couldn’t remember?”
“That was real fucking convenient, wasn’t it?” A humorless laugh follows the sarcastic remark, causing me to keep my eyes on the grill.
There’s no room to let him explore the anger he feels when I’m not open to listening. “Don’t do that.”
“It’s your life, Evans, so what-the fuck-ever.”
With my back to him, I take a breath that has me lowering the temperature of my mood. My voice lower, I say, “She’s an ER doc like she always said she would be.” Turning back, I lean against the butcher block. “Sewed my finger right up.”
“Do you have to say it with such pride? Have you forgotten what the Fox family did to you?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ll never forget, as you know, but she’s not to blame for my sentence. I made the mistake of trusting her father.”
“You’re really going to stand in front of me and say shit like that, like it didn’t matter?”
“It was my life. But fuck, Todd, I told you I saw her. I’m not dating her.”
“Then why do I get the feeling your intentions toward her have changed?”
“You don’t know anything about my intentions.” I grab a plate just to keep my hands busy.
“That right there says it all, now doesn’t it?” He comes over with another potato, and this time he doesn’t give a shit about anything he filters onto the plate. So, I clean up the mess.
Tyler comes to take the dish, but I raise the plate. “I got this one. What table?”
He steps aside. “Eight.”
I shove the kitchen door open with an ax to grind. Holding the plate in front of me, I weave through the dining room, and then stop, almost tripping over my own feet. My heart rate spikes, but then the opportunity I’ve been given sinks in and a smirk creases my left cheek. “Well, what do we have here?” I’m suddenly feeling a lot less pissed off, that is, until I realize I had blocked out the other side of the table.
Irritated, a growl rumbles through me as I make my way over.
Friend? Co-worker? Client? Boss? A thousand guesses cross my mind to who he is, and I plead to a higher power that it’s not her boyfriend. Just in case, I steal myself for the worst and deliver the dish. “Your steak.”
Don’t look at her. Not even for a second.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three. I give myself permission and instantly regret it as my chest tightens and my stomach clenches. Why does she have to be so goddamn breathtaking?
With her eyes fixed on mine, I let my gaze take a vacation over the beauty of her landscape. Her body rising and falling with the rolling hills of her chest. As if she can feel me l
ike I feel her without a single touch shared between us, a shiver runs up the river of her spine. Goose bumps pebble across the tops of her arms, the delicate hair standing on end as she shifts in her seat.
I drag my hand back to my side when I find it lifting to touch that spot near her ear—a high-pitched scrape of the blade against the plate ends the peace I’d found with her in my head.
Turning to her date, I recognize him the minute I see him, but I can’t say he recognizes me. Why would he? I was nothing to him. “It’s good,” he says, with meat stabbed on the tines of the fork.
“Good?” I know I’m supposed to hold my tongue, but I also know that’s the best goddamn steak he’s ever tasted, even if it is cooked by a townie.
He nods. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Trevor,” Chloe cautions.
Trevor. That’s right. The name alone makes me want to punch him in the face. Some feelings never die. I’ve done my best to keep from touching Chloe, but I can’t promise he won’t meet my fist. What the fuck is she doing here with him?
Holding his water glass up to me, he says, “More water.” Not a question. A demand.
Years later, he’s still treating people like they’re beneath him. It’s no skin off my back. Doesn’t even ruffle a feather. The only thing that bothers me is that Chloe’s with him. Panic rises in her eyes and meets her tone. “You’re being rude to the chef.”
I’d like to reassure her, but that’s not my role to play. To him, I say, “I don’t have a problem getting anyone water, bussing tables, or cooking a meal to someone’s satisfaction. What I do have a problem with is disrespect.”
“Is there a problem?” Lola presses to my side, resting her hand on my shoulder as she looks back and forth between Trevor and me.
Trevor says, “Your cook seems to have an attitude problem. What happened to the customer is always right?”
Lola scans the table, and then says, “You’ll eat on the house, and we’ll get you more wine to go with your meal.”
When she turns to flag down Tyler, Chloe tosses her napkin on the plate and stands. “I don’t need more wine. I’m done here.”
Looking around as if he’s embarrassed, Trevor then leans forward. “Sit down, Chloe.”
The harsh words smack her in the face, and she jolts. She leans forward, her hand gripping her purse, and says, “Don’t you ever tell me what to do, and lose my number forever.”
Standing, he says, “Your dad said you’d be a handful.” The mention of her father has me bristling, and her stopping altogether, her head lowering. He continues, “Keep her happy, he said, but break her spirit. That was his advice to me.”
My hands fist at my sides, rage in her defense getting the best of me. The instinct to fight her battle rages inside me.
She takes an evident breath and then starts walking again. As if he hadn’t hurt her enough, with his arms wide like he’s a fucking catch, he adds, “You walk away, Chloe, and that’s it. This is your last chance.”
Her pace never falters. That’s my girl.
Trevor tosses the napkin on top of the steak, and then looks at me. “That steak sucked. You’re a lousy cook.”
My fist flies up, but then I manage to restrain myself as the coward ducks in fear. “For fuck’s sake. I’m a chef. Get it straight.”
Lola shoves me toward the entrance. “Go,” she says as if she had to tell me. “I’ll handle this mess.”
The door Chloe ran out of is still open, and I take off, weaving to reach her.
I’ll run this city if it means I get two more minutes with her again. Just outside, my eyes narrow on the brunette. “Chloe?” When I catch up, my heart is thudding—not from the short run to the corner, but from her and the close proximity.
If she only realized how I feel her in my bones, her words whispering I love you through my veins. How the memory of holding the world in my arms for such a short time has haunted me for so long. I flex my fingers, unable to control the need to grab onto her like a lifeline once again.
“What is it, Joshua?” I expected to see tears from Trevor’s spiteful words, but that’s not what I get. Her arms being crossed over her chest make me want to untangle them and hold her hands. Sorrow shifts through her eyes and it pains me to witness.
I’ve been lying to myself. And I can’t continue to live in this deception.
“We were real.” Running my hand through my hair, I pace with anxiety coursing through me. I’m never going to be able to express what she meant, what she still means to me, so I continue confessing my darkest secret, “And I can’t stop thinking about you. I never could.”
“No.” She steps away. “You can’t say that!” Shaking her head, she continues to back away from me. “Not now. Not ever.” When I move closer, unable to stop myself any longer, her eyes turn glassy, and she pleads, “Why are you doing this to me?”
I hate the tremble to her voice that jumps from her throat to mine. “Because I should have told years ago. I should have checked in on you. I should have—”
“You have a girlfriend,” she yells, her temper flaring as she points at the restaurant. “Who probably eats grilled cheeses with you and never gains an ounce. So why are you out here telling me you can’t stop thinking about me when you’re not available?”
I stop and look back at the restaurant like that might give me a clue about what she’s referring to. It doesn’t. I’m still confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Her!” She stabs her finger in the air while tears wobble on the edge of her lower lids. “Lola’s in there hanging all over you—”
“Lola?” My head jerks in response. “I’m not dating Lola.”
That seems to stun her. Her arm finally lowers, and her brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not dating Lola.” I scoff from the thought. Not because she wouldn’t be great for someone, but she’s just not the someone for me. She’s not Chloe. “She’s the manager. Why would you think we’re dating?”
She looks away, the pain, the confusion, the anger dissipating. A light laugh escapes under her breath as she dabs the inner corners of her eyes. “Because the other night she came out . . . huh.” A harsh breath is sucked in, and her eyes go wide. She comes to me and taps the embroidered logo on my chef’s coat. “She works here? At Salvation?”
“Yes.”
Her smile blooms like I’m sunshine after a storm. “And you work here, too?”
“I do.” I find myself much closer to her without realizing I’ve moved. It’s impossible to keep even the smallest of distances from her when my body yearns to feel her heat.
“But you weren’t wearing this jacket the last time I saw you?”
“I took it off for my break. I don’t like bringing the outside into my restaurant.”
“But you’re wearing it outside now?”
If I could touch her, feel the beat of her heart, I bet it would match mine. “Because I had to catch you.”
The invisible bars that have long divided us even after serving my sentence disappear. She asks, “Had to?”
“I had no choice. I never have with you.”
“You work here,” she says, now smiling as if it’s finally sinking in.
Shrugging, I feel the final belt of tension release into the air. “I’m the executive chef here.”
“That’s amazing.” Her voice is softer, her features gentler, as the rest of the world starts to invade our space once more. “Congratulations.” She fights against the infiltration, reaching for me. Her hand rests on my chest and I cover it, welcoming the connection, the tethers, the risk, the lust, and the red-hot desire to kiss her.
What am I doing?
So caught up in my head, I’m beginning to lose sight of what’s right in front of me. My mind spins through a million scenarios of how this will end badly, but for me, I’ve known all along that there can only be one outcome. I move in cupping her face. “I want to kiss you again, but I know it’s wrong—”
This could never be wrong. “We will always be right.”
43
Chloe
With hands caressing my face that would never let me fall, Joshua Evans kisses me like time, miles, and tragedy never separated us.
I kiss him again just to savor the feeling. My lips against his. To feed the craving and indulge in something that used to mean the world to me. Arms around his neck with my middle pressed to his, I lift up to relish the roughness of his chin scraping mine again, loving how we come together so easily.
We share a bond that has weathered emotional hurricanes. My fraying ends find his and we kiss. The pressure intensifying as my world is tilted on its axis, righted, after years of being off kilter. Our lips part, and our tongues embrace.
It’s been too long, so long, since I’ve been kissed like I’m someone’s everything. Since him. The universe whirls around us, stirring up the past but laying the first brick in the foundation of a possible future. We pull apart, lost for breath, and I open my eyes to find his already on me.
Staring at the man in front of me, my heart beating for the first time in years, I start to believe we might have a second chance. A tear slips down my cheek, and when he catches it on his fingertip, I start to cry in laughter. The rattle of my shoulders set free to shake as I delight in the feel of having emotions again.
He asks, “Are you all right?”
I nod like a fool because three things just made this the best night ever:
1. Joshua Evans is single.
2. Joshua Evans still makes me weak in the knees when he kisses me.
3. And I’ve never felt a kiss travel from my lips down to my toes except when I’m kissing Joshua Evans.
“I’m better than all right.” Throwing my arms around him, I kiss him again because of those three things. I feel the heavy warmth of what we were—what we are—in my veins. Because I feel alive in his kisses. Because I can. Maybe one kiss doesn’t mean anything, but one kiss with him always meant it all. And that just makes me feel a little less crazy.
