In the Distance

by Eileen Griffin

  At first I thought he’d thrust the card back at me, telling me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in anything. Instead he slid it in his back pocket and murmured, “Thanks.”

  He walked away without another word or backward glance. I sat there, letting the car idle until he disappeared into his building. As I pulled away from the curb and headed back to my hotel, I hoped Tyler would actually use the card he stuffed in his back pocket. For the first time in ages, I’d had a good time with a guy that hadn’t included a crowded club, copious amounts of alcohol or sex. Surprisingly, it had felt good.

  At the next stoplight, I picked up my phone and scrolled through the most recent contact I’d added. The line rang a few times, then a husky feminine voice answered, “Turner here.”

  “Natalie, it’s Trevor Pratt. Jamie Lassiter gave me your number.”

  “Trevor. Good to hear from you. Jamie can’t say enough about how wonderful you are.”

  I sighed and continued driving once the light turned green. “Well, Jamie’s a little bit biased, but it’s good to know he hasn’t written me off completely. Hey, I’m in Seattle for the next few days and was wondering what your plans were for lunch this weekend.”

  As Natalie and I hammered out the details of our meeting tomorrow, I finally let go of the night’s events and focused on my potential new client. As much as I wanted Tyler to call, it was probably much safer—for both of us—if he didn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  Tyler

  First Week of December

  “Set your haricots verts to simmer while you prepare the lemon thyme glaze. I’ll be walking around to check your dishes and answer any questions. And Thomas, I can smell your almonds burning from here. Please throw them in the trash and begin toasting a new batch if you want to have any chance at getting a passing mark on today’s lesson.”

  Fifteen heads turned to Thomas’s station as he dumped his skillet full of sliced almonds into the trash bin. He avoided eye contact with everyone, keeping his focus on the range in front of him, but the deep-red tinge of his cheeks and neck gave away how much Chef Allen’s comments had gotten to him. I knew exactly how he felt. And if I was Thomas, I’d want everyone to go back to their business instead of inspecting my station for my next screwup, so I turned my attention back to my own station. As I lined up the ingredients for my glaze, I sent up a silent thank-you to the culinary gods that I’d had Ethan Martin as my first culinary instructor. Ethan had taught me more about the basics of cooking than I’d learned during this first semester of school. And even though he was fair to all his employees, he had also taught me about the necessity of growing a thick skin when working in a restaurant. After being in Ethan’s kitchen for two years, I knew if I could survive working for him, I could survive anything my culinary professors threw at me.

  A few minutes later, the aroma from the lemon juice, thyme, vermouth and honey Dijon mustard was finally beginning to open up. I added a dash of white balsamic vinegar to further enhance the flavor when Sam, my station partner for the day, muttered a curse under his breath.

  “Shit. When did Chef Allen tell us to add the vinegar? I don’t see it anywhere on the ingredients list. And why doesn’t my sauce look like yours? Mine still has lumps in it.” He peered over at my sauce again. “Why does mine still have lumps in it? Why is this shit so hard?”

  He scanned the ingredients list again, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the horrified expression on his face.

  “Don’t worry. The vinegar’s not on the list. It’s a trick one of the chefs I work for taught me. Too much will overpower a dish, but just a dash will open up the flavors and help them blend together. Here, hand me your whisk.”

  I scooted over and tilted the bowl containing his sauce to the side, whisking the ingredients until the mixture melded together. Sam still looked wary—probably nervous I would add something else to his sauce. I smiled, thinking about how green I must have been when I first entered a real kitchen, when the thought of deviating from a recipe would have sent me into full-blown hysterics.

  “Is there a problem I should know about, Mr. Vargas?”

  Sam cringed, his expression morphing from incredulousness to mortification. “No, Chef. I was just...”

  I pushed the bowl back in front of him and turned to face our professor. “Sorry, Chef. It was my fault. I added something off the list to my sauce and was just explaining what I’d done to Sam. I should have asked permission before changing the approved recipe. It won’t happen again.”

  Sam withered under Chef Allen’s intense gaze, then let out a sigh of relief when Chef turned to my side of the workstation and dipped a spoon into my sauce. I held my breath as he brought the spoon to his lips. Chef withdrew the spoon and smiled, nodding at the bottle of vinegar on the work table.

  “Nice addition of the vinegar, Mr. Mitchell. I wouldn’t have expected that from a first-year student.”

  “It’s a trick we use at Bistro 30, but I can start over and create the sauce without it.”

  “It’s perfect just the way it is, Tyler. Give my thanks to your chefs for helping to make my job here easier.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at the compliment as Chef Allen moved on to the next station. For years, all I’d wanted was some kind of acceptance from my parents for who I was—really was—behind the facade of being the perfect Christian son. Ironically, I’d gotten that acceptance from two men my parents would never approve of, and a whole host of classmates and teachers who worried more about whether I could cook without burning down a kitchen than who I wanted to date.

  The rest of the class flew by. My green beans ended up a little overcooked, so that was something to work on. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed out of the classroom. I had about two hours until my shift at the restaurant started and the buses were great on my budget but hell on my tight schedule.

  “Tyler!”

  I turned to see Sam hurrying to catch up with me.

  “Thanks for helping me out today. I don’t know why all this is so hard. I’ve always loved cooking for my family and friends, but it’s so different being here, knowing I’ll be judged on every little mistake I make.”

  “Tell me about it. But you’re not alone. I felt that way when I finally made it on the line at the restaurant where I work. Heck, I still feel that way. It gets better, though. You just need more practice.”

  And a thicker skin. Ethan would have said it a little more colorfully, but the sentiment would be the same. Sam and I hadn’t talked much outside of class, but I could tell he was a good guy. He was slightly shorter than I was, with black hair and dark eyes, and hands down one of the best-looking guys in our rotation. He was funny and hardworking, and I wondered if he played for my team.

  “Well, thanks again, Tyler. For everything. Maybe we can get together sometime. You know, to go over our techniques.”

  I hadn’t seen that one coming. When in doubt, deflect.

  “I’m pretty busy between school and work, but maybe we can get together once things slow down.”

  Smooth, Mitchell. Really smooth.

  “That would be awesome. We both saw how this last lesson worked out for me. I gotta jet, but thanks again for the help today, Tyler.” Sam slipped his messenger bag over his shoulder and flashed a timid smile before joining the other students in the hall on their mass exodus out of the building. I watched him walk away. Meeting someone my own age who shared the same interests would be nice.

  Just like Ethan and Jamie.

  But then a different face popped into my head. I hadn’t talked to Trevor since the night he’d driven me home, but that hadn’t stopped my brain from dredging up the memory of how good he’d looked that night. The rational part of my brain knew it had been nothing, a random act of kindness for a poor college student who, based on both his and Ethan’s commen
ts, looked like he needed a meal. But I still couldn’t help remembering how nice it had been to talk with someone who didn’t treat me with kid gloves. Someone who was interested in what I had to say rather than assuming he knew what I wanted.

  I looked back down the hall where Sam had disappeared. My gaydar was shaky at best, but I’d definitely gotten the gay vibe from Sam just now. For a brief moment, I wondered how I’d feel if he asked me out, not to study, but on a date. He was funny and nice, and a helluva lot more attainable than Trevor. While it had been fun hanging out with Trevor for an evening, it was better to focus on what was right in front of me. Trevor was so far out of my league, we weren’t even in the same ballpark.

  * * *

  Sharpe’s on Fifth had always been packed around the holidays, but there had been some uncertainty about what this time of year would hold for Bistro 30 since we were the new kid on the block. A brief glance at the waiting tickets at my station had proved the restaurant’s popularity was rising.

  I almost knocked the tray of artichokes off my prep station when a firm hand landed on my shoulder. “Whoa. Sorry, Tyler. Ethan keeps saying I should wear a bell around my neck to tell people when I’m coming up behind them. Personally, I think he doesn’t want me to catch him sneaking in tastes of our new praline pumpkin mousse, but I don’t think even my wearing a bell will stop him from trying to sneak some.”

  I snorted at the image of Jamie wearing a bell. “It definitely seems to be a hit around here.”

  Jamie shook his head, glancing briefly at Ethan and then back at me. “Well, if it becomes any more of a hit around here, I know someone who will be getting a gym membership rather than the new Shun Kaji knife block I’ve already wrapped and put under the tree. Speaking of Christmas trees, Ethan and I wanted to know what your plans were for Christmas day.”

  “Um, my plans for Christmas?”

  My embarrassment must have shown on my face because Jamie’s eyes softened along with his smile. “Yeah. It’s our first Christmas together so we wanted to keep it low-key. It won’t be anything big, just me, Ethan and Claire, but we’d love for you to join us for dinner.”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I racked my brain for any way to get out of it, but I only managed to get out, “Oh. Wow. Thanks, but I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

  “Jamie! Can you go grab some more broccoli rabe from the back? I’m up to my ass in pork chops over here while you distract our sous-chef from finishing those sautéed apples.”

  Jamie muttered to himself, “Wait until you’re home to kick his ass.” Then, in a much louder voice, he called out, “On it, E.”

  Ethan’s only response was to turn up the music. Ray Davies crooned about Father Christmas at a decibel level I could feel in my chest. Jamie shook his head and left my station to grab the broccoli, leaving me rattled and confused.

  Christmas was a holiday I’d dreaded even when I lived at home. The hypocrisy of pretending to be the perfect son in a perfect Christian family was always magnified at Christmas and Easter. It wasn’t enough I heard about all the sinful abominations who were going straight to hell for their lustful and heathen ways at home, I had to endure our pastor’s fire-and-brimstone rants about how the very fabric of our godly society was under attack from the philistines who were pressuring the government to legalize the sodomy and loveless orgies they selfishly wanted to force on the God-fearing Christians around them.

  After my parents kicked me out, I spent every major holiday at the shelter. The problem with being on the streets during the Christmas season was that holidays, actually any holiday, usually led to parties and drinking; drinking usually led to gutless assholes who drunkenly thought it was open season on the homeless people they came across; which all ultimately led to a lot of homeless people getting their asses kicked for no reason whatsoever. From day one, I learned to hit the shelters early on the day of a holiday to ensure a bed for the night. It wasn’t the same as being with family who loved and accepted me, but it was a hot meal in a safe, clean place where no one told me I was going to hell for simply being who I was born to be. The past two years, I’d spent my Christmases at the shelter, not because I needed a place to stay, but because I didn’t really have any other place to go. This year, it looked like I did.

  I sucked in a breath as Jamie made his way back over to my station. The words were already slipping out of my mouth before he’d made it halfway. “Thanks, Chef. I’d love to.”

  Chapter Eight

  Trevor

  Mid-December

  “Today was great, Natalie. Once I get your head shots back from the photographer, I’ll send them out with the promo pack we went over today, but from everything we discussed this morning, I’m confident we’re both on the same page for what we want for your career.”

  Natalie’s voice echoed through my Bluetooth. “I won’t lie, Trevor. All of this is overwhelming, but I trust your judgment. I’ve heard nothing but glowing reports from Jamie about you and look where he’s gone. Take me to the top, Pratt.”

  “I plan on it, Natalie. You’re going to be the next culinary sensation.”

  “You sweet talker, you. But enough flirting, I gotta jet. My staff is going to rebel against me if I ignore them for one more minute. Give me a call on Monday and we’ll go over the itinerary you want to set up.”

  “Sounds perfect, Nat. Talk to you then.”

  I disconnected the call and made a reservation at a local restaurant Jamie had been raving about since he’d moved here. After the morning I’d just had, there was no way in hell I was celebrating on my own tonight. When the restaurant came into view, I crowed out loud when I found a parking spot right in front of Bistro 30. Starting a new business partnership and finding rock star parking all in the same day. Maybe things were looking up for me.

  I winked at the pretty hostess and dodged runners and waitstaff as I pushed through the kitchen’s heavy swinging doors. Stoves blazed and the cooks barked orders to each other. To an untrained eye, it would have been chaos, but I’d been around Jamie enough during his time at Cielo to know it was the workings of a well-oiled machine. I leaned against the wall and watched my oldest and best friend. He gave me a smile when he noticed me watching, and for the first time I realized I didn’t feel a flutter in my stomach at seeing him. Jamie had moved on, and somewhere along the way, so had I. Now if I could only make progress with Ethan, things would be a whole lot easier.

  Jamie untied his messy blue-and-white pin-striped apron and tossed it on the counter. “I didn’t expect you back in Seattle until tomorrow, but I have a few minutes before we get slammed again. Wanna tell me about the meeting with Natalie?”

  I couldn’t help it; the words started pouring out of my mouth about the morning’s meeting. I hadn’t felt this spark of excitement in years. Jamie and I had met during our last year in college when we’d both studied abroad in Paris. Jamie had been in the culinary arts program, while I enjoyed sampling all of the liberal arts programs Paris had to offer. Once we’d gotten back to the States, Jamie had gone straight into working as a sous-chef at Cielo, one of the top restaurants in New York, and I finally got serious about what I wanted to do with my life and went to work for one of my dad’s friends who owned an entertainment management agency. Three years later, I went out on my own and focused all my attention on helping Jamie achieve the attention he’d always deserved as a talented head chef with good looks and a winning personality. Now, almost ten years later, celebrity chef James Lassiter was a household name and I couldn’t have been prouder of him. Getting Jamie to the top of the media circuit had felt incredible, but once he’d decided to leave it all, I’d felt like a part of me left with him. Talking over Natalie’s vision for her career had brought back the reason I’d gone into this business in the first place.

  “So, we’ve decided to meet up again after the holidays. I should have enough ti
me to set up some local interviews and TV guest spots for her, then we’ll branch out from there.”

  His smile was radiant as he pulled me in for a tight hug. “Awesome, Trev. I’m really happy for both you and Natalie.”

  When Jamie pulled away, I tilted my head toward the back of the kitchen. “Let’s blow this joint and go celebrate. I haven’t seen you outside this restaurant in months and I’ll die if I don’t have someone with me to share all this with. Die, Jamie. Literally, die.”

  “I’d hate for my best friend to die, literally, but I can’t leave the restaurant, Trev.”

  “Jamie, come on, it’s—”

  “Saturday, I know.” Jamie finished my sentence for me. I opened my mouth again, but closed it when he shook his head. “I’d love to go. You know I want to celebrate with you, but I can’t leave right now. After living in New York all these years, I’d expect you to understand that.”

  My stomach felt like I’d been sucker punched, but I stubbornly lifted my chin and nodded in Ethan’s direction. “Ethan’s here. At Cielo, you always worked solo. Here, you not only have a whole crew to help but another fully trained chef to handle the major stuff. I’m sure Ethan can handle a night without you.”

  “Look, Trev, I really want to go celebrate your good news with you, and we will. But the fact is Bistro 30 comes first.”

  He held his hand up when I opened my mouth, and continued talking. “It’s not about how many of us are here or not. It’s not about Ethan being able to handle the rush or how many sous-chefs we have. It’s about me, Trev. I want to be here. I worked my ass off for years putting my name and face out there, all the time losing a little bit more of myself with each interview and TV show. For the first time in years, I’m happy, here, in this kitchen, doing what I love. I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that.”