by Maya Cross
We came together, a wordless eruption, each of us clawing at the other's backs and crying each other's names. The connection I felt in that moment was devastatingly intense. It almost brought tears to my eyes.
Logan didn't speak for a long time after. He just stared up at the ceiling with a strange expression playing across his face.
"What's going on up there?" I asked.
He blinked, as though coming back from somewhere far away. "Nothing. I just...Thank you for this," he said. "You have no idea what it means to me. And I'm not just talking about the sex, I mean the picnic, everything. It's been a long time since anyone went out of their way like this for me. This has been one of the best nights of my life."
"Me too," I replied. "I kind of don't want it to end."
He grinned. "I guess you'll just have to make feasts for me more often then, won't you?"
"Only if you promise to follow it up like this every time."
"You have yourself a deal."
He continued to stare at me, the smile gradually dropping from his face. It was a searching look, his eyes scanning mine as though he was trying to see below the surface, to uncover whatever secrets still lay hidden.
"I was thinking about you," he said.
"What?"
"Before, you asked what was going on up here. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how you're the most amazing person I've ever met. You don't judge me, you don't recoil, or run, or patronize. I feel normal around you, and that's something I never thought I'd have again. A few months ago, this TPW shit would have left me on the floor — hell, it might even have left me reaching for a bottle — but you were right about what you said the other day. Fighting isn't the only thing I've got any more. Now I've got you too, and that makes me the luckiest guy on the planet." He paused with his lips drawn tight. I could feel the weight of whatever he was going to say next hanging in the air. My skin tingled with it. "I'm falling in love with you, Grace. It may be too early to say that, and it fucking scares the hell out of me, but it's true."
I closed my eyes, pushing back the heat that was rising behind them. I hadn't thought of it in those terms, but the moment the words left his mouth, I knew I felt the same way. Logan made me happier than I could ever remember being. He got me in a way that nobody else did, in a way that made me forget all my pain and guilt and just let me focus on what was good in my life. When I thought of the future, I couldn't picture one without him.
"You're not the only who's afraid. I've never felt anything like this before. I feel awful for saying that, but it's true. I love you too." Four words had never tasted so bittersweet.
Our lips met, and it felt like magic. Pure fairytale bliss. I didn't understand how we'd navigated the pitfalls of our past without tumbling into the abyss, but somehow we'd made it. It no longer felt like a betrayal. It felt like a new beginning, and for that I couldn't have been more thankful.
Chapter Nineteen
Logan
Three days before I was due to fight again, the confirmation came through. Task had poached my new opponent — a young guy named Trevor who I'd never faced before. Charlie had taken his time finding a replacement for Johnny, hoping to give Task as little warning as possible, but apparently it did no good. The man was watching us like a hawk.
When I heard the news, any hopes that maybe this was just a short term thing were shattered. Task was going to keep fucking with me. My fighting career was effectively on hold unless I did something.
I spent a few days flitting between rage and depression. Occasionally, I even found myself eyeing the bottles shelved behind the bar at Charlie's. On the outside, it tends to look like I've got my shit together, but the truth is it's a constant struggle. Alcoholism isn't cured, it's just held at bay. It had been over a year since my last drink, but there were plenty of moments in there where the desire for a few fingers of scotch was almost overpowering.
I think this might have been the thing to knock me off the wagon, if not for Grace. She was right; fighting wasn't all I had anymore. I still wanted it, still craved that adrenaline, but I wasn't empty without it, either. Grace was filling the void inside me, giving me something to live for besides the next punch.
I still couldn't believe I'd said those words to her. I'd never expected to say them to anyone again. But it was true, I loved her, and for whatever bizarre reason, she loved me too. Whenever I felt like reaching for a bottle, I thought back to that picnic out in the desert, and I couldn't help but smile. She'd given me one of the best nights of my life, and that was just the beginning. I could see a whole future ahead of us, a future of nights just like that one. I couldn't ruin that by breaking down again. I owed it to her. Besides, as long as I had Grace, things were far from hopeless.
Preparing all that food seemed to trigger something inside her. She was spending more and more of her free time in the kitchen. Almost every day, when she arrived at the gym, she had some new delicacy for me. Tony's frown grew a little bigger each day, but I wasn't going to tell her to stop. I loved seeing her so happy and full of life. It was becoming increasingly clear that she didn't belong behind a bar. I hoped she'd follow through on trying to get back into the restaurant game.
That way, at least one of us would be doing what they loved.
Chapter Twenty
Grace
Two days after our desert meal, Logan greeted me at the gym looking extra pleased with himself.
"What's that look for?" I asked, dumping my bag in the corner.
"What look?" he asked innocently.
"That stupid little smile on your face, the one that makes you look like a twelve year old that has just stolen all the cookies."
It was kind of an adorable look, to tell you the truth.
"Now why would I need to steal the cookies when I've got you to bake them for me?"
"Are you sure you still do?"
He pouted, which somehow managed to make him look even cuter. "That's a low blow. Okay, how about a compromise. You promise to keep up the supply of sugar and, after your workout, I'll tell you what your surprise is."
"You, sir, have a deal."
I began my circuit. After several months of constant exercise, I was finally seeing some reward for my effort. No longer did my body complain after ten minutes of strain. My muscles now slipped seamlessly into rhythm, driving me forward, reveling in the exertion. My lungs still burned, but it was a pleasant ache rather than the agony of those first few weeks. I was even starting to develop a little definition in my arms and back, something I never thought would happen.
That said, my mad guns were still nothing compared to Logan's. The way he threw his entire body into every activity was a sight to behold. If he was running, it was at a dead sprint. If he was boxing, he left only the tiniest pause between combos. Everything he did was designed to push his body to its absolute limit, and the more I understood how hard he was working, the sexier I found it. This was a man with a purity of purpose unlike any other. Of course it helped that that purpose left him a taut, ripped, broad-shouldered god.
I finished my final exercise and wandered over casually, trying not to seem too eager to claim my prize. Logan was practicing strikes with Tony; landing short, sharp combos of fists and elbows against pads that were strapped to the older man's hands. Tony shot me a warning look as I approached. He'd actually warmed a little to me lately — which meant I warranted a nod hello instead of just a grunt — but he was still incredibly protective of Logan's training time. He hated anyone interrupting a set.
After another thirty seconds or so, Tony dropped his hands and Logan stepped back.
"You're getting fit," he said, glancing over at me. "You don't even look winded."
I shrugged. "I had a good trainer. Now, I believe you mentioned something about a surprise."
"I did, didn't I?" He paused dramatically. "I got you a job interview."
"I've already got a job."
"Not like this one."
I realized what
he was saying. "Holy crap. You mean in a restaurant?"
He nodded. "It's got a kitchen and everything."
"Oh my god. How? Where?"
"Charlie's been in this town a long time. He knows people. I had him ask if any kitchens were hiring, and this morning someone got back to him."
God, my debt to Charlie just kept growing. For a man who barely knew me, he'd done an awful lot to help me in times of need.
"The restaurant is called The Apollo," he continued. "It's a little Greek place just off the Strip. They're looking for a new junior chef and they agreed to speak with you, see if you're a good fit."
"But they haven't even looked at my resume."
He shrugged. "They'll want to, but the owner trusts Charlie. That said, it's not a guarantee. His word gets you in the door, but you have to do the rest."
"Wow, okay." It was a lot to digest. I'd told Logan I was ready, that I was going to start looking, but I hadn't expected things to move so fast. I figured I had a little time to adjust to the idea while I got my resume in order and started hunting. Instead, he'd just thrown something into my lap.
"You alright?" he asked.
I pushed my fears aside. This was a fantastic opportunity. I hadn't had a drink in months, things with Logan were going great — this was the next step to getting my life back on track.
"Yeah," I said, beaming up at him. "I'm great." I slipped in close and embraced him. "Thank you so much, Logan."
"You're welcome. And all I ask for in payment is free meals whenever I want."
I laughed. "I'm not sure that's how it works."
"Fine, I'll settle for seeing you smile, then."
"Now that I can do."
*****
The Apollo was a super cute little place tucked in the back of an old strip mall. It had the kind of homey decor that made you feel like you were just eating in someone else's living room; colorful table cloths, mismatched furniture, paintings on the walls. I liked it immediately.
My interview was set for three o'clock — right between the lunch and dinner rushes — but, despite the hour, more than half the tables were occupied when I arrived. I imagined that during peak times the place absolutely packed out. As I was led out back to meet the chef, I found my mind already analyzing everything I saw, dissecting dishes, studying the wait staff, trying to get a picture of how the place was run. Restaurants come in many flavors: cheap and hurried, lavish and exorbitant, dim and quiet and romantic. The Apollo had a good vibe, relaxed and competent. Smiling staff, simple plating, generous serving sizes — it was exactly the sort of place I enjoyed.
The maître d stopped outside the door. "He's expecting you."
"Thanks," I replied.
As I passed the threshold to the kitchen, I felt a flutter of nerves. Logan was right, I was ready for this, and God knows I wanted it, but that didn't make me immune to a little old-fashioned apprehension. Job interviews are intense at the best of times, and I still wasn't sure how I'd handle the pressure. There was also the small matter of my ungracious exit from my last position. I had no idea how much my new potential boss knew, but the last year of my life wasn't exactly employee of the month material.
The chef was standing in the middle of the kitchen armed with an iPad and a frown. Checking stock, most likely. People don't understand how difficult it is to run a commercial kitchen. There's so much more to it than just cooking. Every day requires precise planning. Buy too little of an ingredient and you run out halfway through the night, but buy too much and it can wind up spoiling, taking a huge chunk out of your profits. You need to get the balance just right. Multiply that calculation by the number of dishes on the menu, and you have a ridiculous number of balls in the air.
"I'll be with you in just a sec," said the chef, not even glancing up. He was a portly man of about fifty, with graying curls and olive skin.
After thirty seconds, he let out a long sigh then set the tablet down. "Grace, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
He let out a wry laugh. "No need for that. Name's Milo." He extended a hand.
I shook it, feeling some of the tension bleed from my muscles. It was a friendlier welcome than I'd been expecting. Chefs are notorious for being surly, basically around the clock. It comes with the territory.
"Good to meet you," I replied.
He nodded toward a door at the back of the room. "I need to get off my feet for a few minutes. Let's sit."
I followed him into a cramped little office. "Now," he continued, "Charlie tells me you're looking for work."
"Yep."
"Okay, so why don't you tell me a little about yourself."
And so I passed over my resume and then gave him the CliffsNotes on my training and experience. He sat and listened, occasionally glancing down at my qualifications, not giving away anything.
"I know Le Pelican" he said, when I finished telling him about my last job in Vegas. "Is Jason still in the kitchen there?"
"As far as I know," I said cautiously. Jason was the sous chef during my time there. He was also the guy that fired me.
"So why did you leave?"
I felt a surge of panic. If he knew people from Le Pelican, any story I made up would be pointless. All Milo had to do was pick up the phone and the truth would come out. Jason had seemed sorry about firing me, and I doubt he held a vendetta, but that didn't mean he'd lie for me, either. I had no choice but to put my cards on the table.
"Honestly, I was let go. I lost my fiancé shortly before it happened and I wasn't dealing with it very well. I don't blame them; I wasn't fit to work at the time."
His expression turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
"And I appreciate your honesty."
I nodded, waiting for the "but" that seemed sure to follow.
He licked his lips. "What about now? Do you think you're fit to work?"
"I do. I'm in a much better place. I've been working at Charlie's for a few months, just getting back on my feet. It's been great, but I'm ready to jump back into doing what I really love." I neglected to mention that I had been moments away from losing that job, too. I assumed Charlie wouldn't ask around on my behalf only to go telling everyone about my drinking, but I couldn't know for sure.
Milo studied me for several seconds. He had shrewd eyes. I didn't know if that was good or bad for me.
Eventually he clapped his hands. "Well, Le Pelican wouldn't have hired you unless you knew your way around a kitchen, which makes me inclined to give you a chance. I'll put you on a one week trial. Can you start tomorrow?"
I found myself grinning like an idiot. "I'm not sure. I'll have to check with Charlie."
Milo got to his feet. "Okay, do that and let me know. And hopefully I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll do that. Thank you. Thank you so much."
I walked back out onto the street in a daze. I couldn't believe it had been that easy. I had a job!
For the first time in forever, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.
*****
The Apollo felt like a dream come true. I was a little shaky at the beginning, but after a few hours I found my rhythm and everything started coming back to me. It was so good to be back where I belonged. The sounds, the smells, the hustle and bustle — it all felt like home. The work was hard, but I'd been expecting that, and the other staff were all super friendly, which made it much more tolerable.
"You better not forget about little old me, slaving away back here at the bar," said Joy, when I was filling her in on my first day.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She shrugged. "You're with your people now. Soon you'll be off having soufflé parties and dipping oysters in fois gras while laughing about micro herbs, or whatever it is you foodies do."
"Okay — first, if I ever do any of that, you have my permission to hit me."
"Noted."
"And second, you're being an idiot. Of course I'm not going to forget about
you! We broke ice cream together, remember? We're basically blood-sisters."
She grinned. "That's true."
The smile slid from my face. "Seriously, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your friendship, Joy. I don't know if I'd have gotten through all of this without you. We'll hang out just as much as we did before, I promise."
That seemed to mollify her, and before long we were discussing the finer points of The Bachelor and gorging on cooking chocolate. It felt good to know things weren't going to change too much. I liked the life I'd built.
I didn't get home most days until after eleven, but Logan made some adjustments to his training schedule, and true to his word, we still found a few hours for one another here and there. I think it might have been more difficult if he'd had any upcoming fights, but that asshole from TPW still hadn't let up. Logan was effectively locked out. He did his best to stay in high spirits, but I could see that it was weighing on him. I hated how powerless I was to help. He'd done so much for me, but now he was in trouble and all I could do was sit there and twiddle my thumbs. I resolved to talk to Charlie and try to come up with a plan.
When I'd been at The Apollo for a week, I decided that it was time to explore a little. There were a ton of cute little shops in the neighboring area, and it had been a long time since my wardrobe had received any sort of love. During my lunch break, I scoffed down a quick bowl of pasta and then headed outside. It was a warm afternoon, and the streets around me were thick with cars. I plugged in my headphones, cranked up some Rihanna and headed for the crosswalk.
There was a text from Logan waiting for me on my phone.
Movie at my place later? I have ice cream.
I smiled. He knew the way to my heart.
