In the Fire

by Eileen Griffin

  A few tables had diners at them, but the restaurant was surprisingly empty. A quick glance at my cell phone told me I had about twenty minutes before the dinner rush would no doubt begin. Any chef worth their salt would be going ninety miles a minute just trying to make sure everything was ready before they got swamped. This was a bad idea. Confronting Ethan and our past could wait. Hell, it had waited eight years. What were a few more days?

  As I turned to leave, a voice over my shoulder called out. “Jamie? Jamie Lassiter? I swear to god if you leave without giving me a hug after all these years, I will kick your famous, bony ass.”

  A smile spread across my face as I turned around. Five foot three and still beautiful and feisty as ever, Claire Martin narrowed her eyes at me from across the restaurant. I walked forward and met her in the middle of the dining room, laughing when she threw herself into my open arms and hugged me tightly. It felt good to be in familiar arms again. I smiled and pulled her in for a tighter hug. “Hey, Claire. It’s good to see you. It’s been way too long.”

  She pulled back to look up at me, her expression one of concern and confusion. There was wariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before I left for Paris. “It’s good to see you, too, but what in the hell dragged your ass back home after all these years?”

  That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Before I had a chance to answer, another voice called out from the back of the dining area. “Claire, do you mind if we run those numbers now? Ethan’s got his hands full with tonight’s prep and I don’t want to pull him away.”

  A smile spread across my face as I leaned around Claire’s petite frame and nodded to the elderly man behind us. “Evening, Cal. Beautiful place you have here.”

  Cal’s laughed boomed through the restaurant and he walked forward with a huge smile on his face. “James Lassiter. It’s good to see you again. I’ve been following your career. Very nice, young man. Very nice.”

  The blush I’d felt earlier grew as I reached out to shake his hand, and found myself in a bear hug that put Claire’s bony, but insanely strong ones to shame. Part of me wanted to recoil from all the attention, but a bigger part luxuriated in the feeling of being home and being accepted. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the feeling until this very moment.

  “Thanks, Cal. I do have you to thank for helping me get started.”

  “Yeah, pretty sure I did the easy part. What brings you back to Seattle?” He motioned to a table near the bar and sat down.

  I tried to force a smile on my face. “I came back to help in a charity event, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the place again. It looks really good.”

  “We remodeled about two years ago. It took some time to get through the nightmare of learning the difference between wine and burgundy, but I think it came out all right in the end.”

  A waiter came over to place glasses of water on the table. “Can I get you and your company anything, Mr. Sharpe?”

  Cal rattled off a list of drinks and appetizers to the young man, while I turned to face Claire. Although she was smiling, she couldn’t completely mask the sorrow in her eyes. Guilt stabbed through me as I leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at keeping in touch. It was just...”

  Claire’s eyes softened as she rested her other hand on top of our linked ones. “Hard. I know, J. It was hard here too. It still is some days.”

  I closed my eyes and wondered for the hundredth time if what I was doing was right. Maybe it was right for me, but completely wrong for Ethan. Maybe the best thing would be for me to simply call it quits and deal with the unresolved questions I had on my own.

  “Hey. I’m glad you’re here. Just...just promise me you won’t hurt him again. ’Kay? He’s an asshole, but he’s still my big brother.”

  When I finally opened my eyes to look at her, Claire’s face showed none of the recrimination I thought she’d feel. Instead, all I saw was a sister who truly loved her brother and wanted to protect him.

  As the waiter walked away and Cal turned his attention back to us, I nodded and whispered, “Promise.”

  She leaned forward to hug me again. Over her shoulder I saw the subject of our private conversation standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at me angrily. Without a word, Ethan turned his back on us, the doors flapping closed behind him.

  “I hope you have some time to kill, James, because tonight you’re my guest for dinner. I know you’re going to love the plates Ethan creates.”

  Forcing a smile on my face, I squeezed Claire’s hand one last time, and settled back in my chair. I didn’t know whether tonight was going to bite me in the ass or be the best decision I had made in years. “I’ve got all night, Cal. Thanks.”

  * * *

  Cal’s low voice continued on as he told me a story about the day newbie Ethan had almost set himself and the kitchen on fire. Cal was a natural storyteller and I’d missed him after I’d left. Only he could spin a story of my ex’s potential immolation into an amusing comedy of errors. I drummed the table with my fingers as he spoke, wondering what Ethan would do. He was always the more creative of the two of us, while I was the more practical and methodical. I missed seeing the way his face lit up when he created something both beautiful and delicious.

  “Your deconstructed roasted beet, blue cheese and pear salad with walnuts and balsamic glaze.”

  The server gave me a smile as she set down the plate and a glass of white wine in front of me. The presentation was stunning. Slivers of caramelized beets stacked artfully with a drizzle of balsamic glaze, a sprinkle of walnuts and blue cheese with cubes of sautéed pears were very modern on the stark white plate.

  There was just one problem. I hated beets.

  I made sure to smile at the server, who watched me expectantly. I took a tiny bite, thankful for the appetizer-sized course in front of me, and tried to keep the grimace off my face. Even when prepared properly, beets tasted like dirt. Fancy, seasoned, disgusting dirt.

  “Delicious.” I blotted my mouth with the napkin and took a deep drink of water.

  She beamed at me and removed my plate. “Chef Martin will be pleased to hear you’re enjoying your meal.”

  When she left I let out a deep breath. Chef Martin was no doubt cursing me in the kitchen right now. Cal just smiled and continued with another story, this one involving Ethan chasing a live chicken around the kitchen.

  A second course along with a glass of red wine appeared twenty minutes—and a creative new recipe for eggs Benedict from Cal—later. “Applewood smoked pork loin with sautéed Brussels sprouts and pancetta. Enjoy.”

  This time she smiled and left my table promptly. The pork chop would be delicious. It had been one of Ethan’s favorite things to make when I’d lived with him and Claire. The Brussels sprouts, on the other hand? Ugh. They were perfectly prepared, but even with the bacon on them, they tasted worse than the beets. I’d thought they looked like tiny brains when I was younger and could never get the image out of my head no matter how many times I worked with them as a professional chef. Ethan knew I hated beets and Brussels sprouts. This was a message, I’m trying to impress you while simultaneously preparing the foods you hate. Vintage E.

  I was saved from having to taste the mini brains by Cal’s next comment. “We’ve missed you around here, James. More than you know.” Cal stared at me across the table, his eyes kind but knowing.

  My stomach sank as if I’d already eaten the Brussels sprouts. “I’ve missed you too. I wish I’d kept in better touch, but New York was hectic even in the slowest of times. The place looks like it’s doing well, though.” He beamed at my compliment, which steered him into a conversation about the growth of the restaurant.

  I quickly ate the pork chop, savoring the flavors and composition and managed to choke down a few of the green bits of nastiness
before the server returned.

  “Anything else, Chef?” She stared at me expectantly. “Another glass of wine, perhaps?”

  “No, but thank you very much, and send my regards to the chef for the incredible meal.”

  “Very well, Chef. I will bring out your next course.”

  Even though the food was delicious, I dreaded what was coming next. Sea urchin foam? Cow eyeball jelly? The texture alone was enough to make me want to heave. But if this was Ethan’s test and I had to pass it to talk to him, I’d ace this, dammit.

  I must have scowled. Cal looked at me with concern.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just trying to figure out the spice rub Ethan used on the pork.”

  He laughed. “You figure it out and you’ll have the secret of life to tackle next. Ethan is so protective of his spice mixtures even I don’t know what’s in them.”

  When the server brought out our dessert course and coffees I felt all the delicious food I’d eaten settle like a lead weight in my stomach.

  “Your warm mocha brownie with house made vanilla bean ice cream, lavender scotch caramel and smoked chocolate sea salt. Hope you enjoy it.”

  Brownies.

  I loved them, and Ethan had always made sure there was an endless supply in the apartment. One of my favorite memories of our life together involved us both sitting on the kitchen counter after a long day, our feet dangling as we ate our brownies with ice cream, talking about nothing and everything. The night had been simple and perfect.

  Choked up, I took a drink of water as Cal wolfed down his own dessert. I caught Claire’s eye as she stood near the doors of the kitchen. The sad smile I saw on her face before she turned and went through the doors told me she remembered those nights in their kitchen just as much as I did.

  Cal’s voice dragged my attention away from the memories that seemed a lifetime ago and back to our table. “I love it when they make these brownies. They’re perfect. There’s always something in there I can’t pick out but it makes them taste so damn good.”

  I took a few bites and the way the chocolate and salted caramel blended together with the ice cream was delicious. But the nostalgic feeling made the dessert bittersweet.

  “Espresso powder. The coffee is subtle but it enhances the chocolate.”

  He smiled at me. “I think you might be right.” He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got to get going but if you hang around for a little bit, after they finish service might be a good time to catch up with Ethan.”

  “Thanks, Cal. I really enjoyed this meal.” He stuck his hand out and shook mine, his smile kind, reminding me of everything I’d left behind when I left for Paris.

  I needed to talk to Ethan, and this time I wasn’t going to let him run.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ethan

  It had been a dirty move to serve my ex two of the foods he detested the most, but the satisfaction of sending them out there in perfect form had made it worth it. Once the initial desire to stick it to him passed, though, I’d relented and made a dessert I knew he’d love. After I’d handed off the plates to the servers, I’d immediately regretted it. A sentimental brownie wasn’t the best choice when I was trying to keep distance between us, but I refused to be that much of a dick. Even to Lassiter.

  It was ten-thirty. Time to get my shit done now when the restaurant was closed. It had been a slow night and most of the staff had already gone home, the others working in the office while they counted their tills and tips. Lassiter had screwed up our work flow by showing up unannounced and distracting Claire, who’d come back to the kitchen much later than she should have. They might have had time to stand around shooting the shit, but I didn’t.

  I stripped off my chef’s jacket and apron, tossed it at the laundry bin and grabbed the cleaning shit. This late, I didn’t have to worry about having to look presentable. I cranked up AC/DC on the stereo in my office, hoping to get the nightly cleaning done before anyone wandered into the kitchen. We had a cleaning crew for the weekly deep clean but right now with all the shady shit going on I was even more wary of strangers in my kitchen.

  I moved on autopilot while the music snarled in the background. It wasn’t glamorous, but a clean kitchen made clean food, and after all the inspections lately I wasn’t willing to delegate these chores and take a chance on anyone getting sick. If we got shut down by the health department the restaurant would be toast. Thirty people would be out of a job and I’d be looking at a reputation down the toilet.

  I wire brushed the grill, covered all the food in the walk-ins and finished all the items on my cleaning list. An hour later I was soaked with sweat and craving my end-of-the-night beer. I was just wiping down the last of the prep tables when the kitchen door swung open and thumped closed. When no one said a word, I chucked my sponge at the bucket of bleach solution and washed my hands in the sink. “Almost done, Cal, then we can lock up.”

  I tugged up the bottom of my undershirt, wiping off my face, then turned around to find none other than Jamie Lassiter standing in my kitchen. Surprise and dread settled low in my gut, warring with the physical awareness I’d always felt where he was concerned. It pissed me off on a basic level, knowing he could still affect me like he had years ago.

  He stared at my sweaty face and arms. I stunk and looked like shit after the long day but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I just didn’t have it in me to pretend to be something I wasn’t. And I wouldn’t, not for him or anyone else.

  When he finally made eye contact, the heat and fire I’d seen in New York burned again. The difference between then and now was I knew what a mistake it’d be to wander down memory lane again. I had convinced myself when I left New York that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, do anything that led to more pain. But maybe if we fucked again, I’d finally get him out of my system and I could move on. No more lingering bullshit. Just sex. I could tell Jamie still wanted me. Just like I wanted him, even if I was loathe to admit it. One last time couldn’t hurt, right?

  If I played this right, we could both put the past in the past and move on from this fucked-up situation. When I forced a smirk on my face, Jamie’s face settled into the emotionless mask he’d apparently perfected over the years.

  “Back for more, Golden Boy? If you want to hop in the sack again for old times’ sake, don’t let me stop you. I’d be more than happy to oblige.” I pasted on a fake grin. It turned into a real one when his eyes widened as I moved closer. Jamie had always been easy to read when he was turned on. I wasn’t the only one who still felt the same pull.

  When he didn’t say a word and shifted uncomfortably, I realized he was on my turf now and not in the relative anonymity of a hotel ballroom full of rich people. He was here, breathing and warm and looking too good in my kitchen again.

  He took a step back and crossed his arms protectively.

  “I didn’t come here for sex, Ethan. I came here to talk. Just talk.”

  For eight years this kitchen had been the one thing to keep me sane when we’d crumbled. But having him standing here before me in the flesh after I’d lain awake nights wondering what had happened set me on edge. Talking didn’t work for us. Obviously.

  “What do you want?” I snapped.

  “I want many things, Ethan. For one? I want to know why you couldn’t wait for me to finish my interview back in New York. Was there somewhere more pressing you had to be you forgot to tell me about?”

  I gritted my teeth and threw back, “Yeah, hanging around with your smug douchebag of a manager while everyone fawned all over you wasn’t exactly high on my To-Do list, Lassiter. I’m pretty sure you had more than enough people to talk to.”

  “This is what you want? Eight more years of ignoring each other?”

  This time I gave an exasperated sigh. “No one ever asked me what I want
ed. Like, do I want you in my goddamn kitchen? Unless you want to get naked again for old times’ sake you can leave and go back to your pretend life where everything is perfect.”

  He glared at me. “So I should be like you? Always running? Just talk to me, Ethan. Help me understand what the hell happened.”

  His words hit hard, and I felt the anger flare that I’d tried to keep in check since he’d shown up again. I didn’t need this Oprah bullshit from him or Claire.

  “Screw you, Lassiter.”

  “That’s it? For someone who doesn’t give a shit you sure seemed to have a lot to say to me the night of the awards. If you didn’t care you wouldn’t still be angry with me.”

  His knowing look sent electricity down my spine as images of stroking his cock as he was pressed against me came rushing back. I tamped my libido down and stood my ground.

  “How many times do I need to hear from your boyfriend I have no business even talking to you? Do you know how many times he’s reminded me just how far out of my league you are?” I laughed, mirthlessly. “Do you think I don’t know it? I was seriously delusional thinking we had anything in common. I mean, come on. Look at you.”

  This older version of Jamie looked perfectly pressed and tailored, class and privilege. Even the giant, shiny chrome watch on his wrist shouted expensive. “You’re the poster boy for our industry. Every inch of you screams perfection. The perfect life with the perfect job in the perfect culinary city. It’s everything anyone could want. It’s certainly everything Trevor wants, since he’s made it abundantly clear how perfectly situated you are there with him.”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to talk about Trevor. I want to talk about us. For god’s sake I was only supposed to be gone six months. Six months should have been nothing for us to handle. But after I went to Paris everything changed. Your calls came less and less. Your emails were few and far between. And the times we did talk? All we did was fight. Then nothing. Your passive-aggressiveness was at an all-time high then, don’t you remember? I all but begged you to talk to me. So what was I supposed to do, Ethan? Come home for graduation so we could fight? Or take advantage of an incredible opportunity to help build my career? You know, you’re not the only one who was broke and had bills to pay. Did you ever think of that? You were working your ass off to pay for the rest of your school, rent and everything else. I didn’t even have a job. Who was I supposed to ask? My parents?” He snorted. “Yeah, that would have gone over well. I had a paid internship in a five-star restaurant. Why couldn’t you have been happy for me instead of holding it against me? And don’t give me shit about Trevor. You gave up on us because you couldn’t handle it anymore.”