by Melody Grace
And even worse, he’d never been hers to lose.
21
Declan hadn’t stuck around for poker night after that, not with Paige’s stricken expression still burned into his mind. He headed home, tense with self-loathing, but it wasn’t another ten minutes before Cal was banging on his door.
“What?” Declan demanded, opening up to find his buddy there with a pizza box and a case of beer.
“Gee, great welcome. Is it any wonder you’re home, sulking, alone?”
Declan glared and reached for the pizza, but Cal batted his hand away. “This is mine, to make up for missing poker night.”
“That’s your choice.” Declan grabbed the beer instead and headed back inside.
“Yeah, well, I chose you as my friend, too, and look how that’s working out.”
Cal followed him to the living room and collapsed onto the couch. He grabbed a beer and a slice of pizza, and chewed in companionable silence, but Declan was just waiting.
“Go on, get it over with,” he said.
Cal raised an eyebrow.
“Your ‘I told you so.’ ” Declan kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “You’ve been dying to say it for weeks now.”
Cal snorted. “It’s fine, I’m good.”
“I mean it.” Declan scowled. “Get it out of your system so we can move on.”
“Oh, is that what’s going to help you get over her?” Cal looked too damn amused. “Then sure, I told you so. Will that wipe the scowl off your face?”
“No,” Declan admitted. “But a slice of that pizza might.”
Cal chuckled and nudged the box over. Declan took a slice, but even the special deep-dish pepperoni couldn’t make up for the anvil-sized hunk of guilt weighing down on him.
“Paige looked good,” Cal remarked. “She’s doing something new with her hair?”
Declan didn’t answer. But he was right, of course. Paige was beautiful, even in casual jeans and a loose summer button-down. He hadn’t been expecting to see her there, and clearly, the surprise was mutual. She’d stood there in the doorway, frozen and blinking, and in an instant, he knew without a doubt.
He’d made the worst mistake of his life.
He’d been avoiding running into her again, sticking close to the restaurant and away from Sweetbriar Cove. He’d told himself it would get easier. That he’d done the right thing and they both would move on. But seeing her there, it had all come crashing back in a tidal wave of guilt and regret.
Every instinct in his body had screamed to reach for her. Touch her. Capture that sweet mouth in a kiss and put the past two weeks behind them for good.
But there was no going back; the way she’d bolted away from him made that clear.
“I heard her business is going great,” Cal continued, as if he was oblivious to Declan’s mood. “Eliza says she has a ton of commissions, and is expanding to some other stores in Boston, too.”
“Great,” Declan muttered, even though he was happy to hear it. Paige deserved to be a success, but even picturing her in that studio, stitching away with the windows open . . .
Something inside Declan ached, craving the one thing he could never have again.
“Eliza was talking about hosting a barbecue at the beach house over the weekend. There’s a guy she wants to introduce to Paige, a documentary film-maker she met a while back.”
The words sliced through him. Declan slammed his beer down so hard, liquid sloshed out of the top. “Are you trying to start a fight?” he demanded.
Cal smirked. “What? I didn’t think you’d mind hearing all the news. After all, you said it was just a little fling.”
Declan clenched his jaw. “I know what I said.”
“So it shouldn’t bother you at all if Paige dates someone else,” Cal continued with a shrug. “You’re going to have to get used to it. It’s a small town, you have the same friends. I’m sure you’ll be OK with it eventually, seeing her with somebody else.”
Declan didn’t think he’d ever be OK with that, not if he cut his heart right out of his chest.
“So, will you make it to the barbecue?” Cal asked, still acting like there was nothing wrong. “Should be a fun weekend.”
“No, I won’t be in town,” Declan said, deciding in an instant. “I’m going to Vegas to talk things through with Rich.”
Cal looked surprised, but he just shrugged. “Have fun, and remember, don’t sign anything until my lawyers take a look.”
“I’m not stupid,” Declan replied, annoyed, and Cal burst out laughing.
“Sure, buddy. You keep telling yourself that.”
* * *
Two days later, he was stepping off a plane in Sin City, hoping that a couple thousand miles would be the distance he needed to leave his regrets about Paige behind. Declan knew the city well, he’d spent a couple years here and there working in high-end restaurants, but this time, it felt different. Rich had a car waiting at the airport for him, whisking him to the air-conditioned luxury of the latest five-star hotel on the Strip.
“Welcome to the Diamond,” a woman greeted him at the doors, “Mr. Crawford is waiting for you. We can take your bags straight to your room.”
“Sure.” Declan handed over his duffel bag. “Thanks.”
He followed yet another employee through the lobby. It was sleek and modern, a cool expanse of marble in the summer heat, but Declan barely noticed the luxury as he made his way down the endless casino hallways to one of the restaurant spaces he had earmarked in the back. Here, the construction was half-abandoned, with scaffolding and plastic sheets left standing, but Rich had a vision, and he was soon talking a mile a minute about their plans.
“All of this build-out will change,” Rich announced, his voice booming. “We’ll do the kitchen there, floor-to-ceiling windows . . . Boom. Best view in town.”
“And there’ll be video screens, here and here,” Alvin piped up, trailing them. He was the blogger Declan had barely registered before, but apparently Rich had roped him into this whole project, too. “Livestreaming you in the kitchen.”
“Well, not live,” Rich corrected him with a chuckle. “We’ll film and edit ahead of time, you’ll be too busy traveling to run things every day.”
Declan frowned, trying to keep up. He felt jet-lagged, even though there was barely a time difference. “So, wait, people will think I’m cooking their dishes even when I’m out of town? Isn’t that lying?”
“People will be coming for the Declan Nash experience,” Rich insisted. “If you go to Momofuku, are you expecting David Chang to be on the grill every night? Do you drop by Mesa at Caesar’s Palace and think Bobby Flay is going to personally hand-cut those fries?”
“No, but—” Declan tried to argue, but Rich talked over him.
“Those videos will be up online, and people can vote for what dishes they want you to put on the menu next. Interactive. That’s what people are looking for now, right Alvin?”
“Our data says yes.” He nodded, tapping at his phone. “And shareable experiences. We’re going to optimize the restaurant design for maximum photographic impact. Match serveware to the dishes, so they’ll pop on Instagram.”
Declan needed a drink.
He’d been up all night, and then flown another six hours. He was sweaty, and irritable, and on the edge of saying something he’d probably regret.
“So if you’re taking care of the design and the menu, then what do you need me for again?” he asked, joking.
Rich let out a booming laugh and slapped him on the back. “That sense of humor, for one thing! Look, I can see this is overwhelming. I get it, it’s a dream come true. Why don’t you settle in, get comfortable, look over these concepts, and we’ll regroup tonight for dinner?”
“Sounds good,” Declan said, relieved. He took the thick binders Alvin thrust at him and headed out. He got lost twice before making it up to his room, and when he opened the door, he was so busy making a beeline for the bar, he almost didn’t register
the room.
Then he stopped, looked around and let out a whistle. It was the penthouse suite, high above the Strip, with two bedrooms, a private dining room, and was that . . . ? Yup. A plunge pool actually in the middle of the room.
Rich was certainly sparing no expense.
Declan paused with a mini-bottle of scotch in his hand. Somehow, it felt like this might wind up being the most expensive free drink of his life. He placed it back in the bar, took a quick shower, and then headed downstairs again, taking a closer look around this time. It was a gorgeous space, for sure: brand new, high-end, and filled with wealthy tourists who wouldn’t think twice about dropping $500 on a dinner tab at one of the celebrity chef restaurants that populated the space.
Where he would soon be joining them.
Declan found a bar and settled in with a glass of bourbon, turning his attention to the binders Alvin had been so proud of. Each of them contained a restaurant concept: from the sample menus to the décor, all the way down to the wait staff uniforms. Declan had been kidding before, but looking at the designs, he could see he hadn’t been far off the mark.
He would be a figurehead. A name on a jar on a supermarket shelf, a face on TV, the celebrity judge on some cooking show running every Sunday night.
Wasn’t that what he had wanted? The fame, the buzz, the notoriety. Few chefs managed to get their name above the door in a location like this, and even fewer scaled to those dizzying heights Rich was promising. It was something he hadn’t even thought to dream about when he started all those years ago, just a kid with a passion, no matter what his father said.
Well, his dad would have to eat his words this time around. And a hundred-dollar hunk of aged rib-eye steak.
Or, more likely, he’d hit Declan up for another loan as soon as he clocked the lobby in this place.
Either way, Declan would show him, once and for all.
That they were the same.
He shook off the thought and gestured for another drink. He wasn’t like his father; he didn’t get people’s hopes up like that. He tried his best not to hurt the people he loved.
And failed, all the same.
Paige’s words came back to him suddenly, the way she’d spoken that night at the festival. “Maybe the answer is, you just keep your promise.”
She made it sound so easy, but could it really be that way for them?
What if he’d tried, and failed, and still let her down?
What if she’d wasted years on believing in him, only to wind up heartbroken in the end?
“Is this seat taken?”
Declan turned and found a woman standing beside him, dressed in a tight black dress, with careful makeup and a flirty smile. “Sorry,” she added, smiling. “But the bachelorette party is getting out of hand already, and I need a break if I’m going to make it through the weekend.”
“You’re getting married?” Declan asked politely.
She laughed. “Not me, a friend from college.” She pointed across the bar, to where a group of women had just arrived. They were crammed into the corner, laughing loudly, all decked out in sashes and fake plastic tiaras.
“Where’s your costume?” Declan asked.
“I lost it,” the woman said with a wink. “Isn’t that a shame? So, how about a drink, to celebrate. I’m buying.”
He took another gulp of bourbon. It shouldn’t even be a question. This was Vegas, and he was a single man, wasn’t he? And they both knew where a couple of drinks would lead—straight up to that penthouse room of his, so he could show her the view.
But every time Declan tried to picture it, he saw Paige’s face instead.
“No thanks,” he said, giving her a reluctant smile. “I have plans. But you ladies enjoy your night.”
“You too.” The woman leaned closer. “If you change your mind, we’re hitting Thunder From Down Under later,” she added with a suggestive grin. “You’d fit right in.”
He laughed. “Have fun.”
She returned to her friends, and he heard the chorus of disappointment that she’d struck out. In another lifetime, he’d be over there, buying shots for the group and living it up.
But that was before he’d met Paige.
Now, he knew a one-night fling could never come close to the passion they’d shared.
Declan swallowed hard. Would the regret ever get easier, or was he going to be struck with this bitter taste in his mouth forever?
He deserved it, after all, and Cal had been right, there would be no avoiding her back on the Cape. Could he really live like that, wondering if he was going to turn down the street and see her there, with another man on her arm. A ring on her finger. Hell, one day, even a little blue-eyed kid in her arms, smiling at the happy life she’d built. Without him.
Declan couldn’t breathe.
He drained his drink and grabbed the next concept file. Rich may be full of crazy ideas, but at least Vegas was a long way from Sweetbriar Cove. Maybe this was the universe telling him it was time to move the hell on—and what better way than packing up and heading on to the next adventure?
* * *
But by the time he met Rich and his team for dinner at one of the fancy steakhouses on site, Declan wasn’t feeling excited about this new chapter to come.
“So, what do you think?” Rich demanded jovially. “Are we doing Australian beach cuisine, or pan-Asian fusion East Coast?”
Declan cleared his throat. “My cooking doesn’t really follow a rule,” he said, trying to be tactful. “I’m less about putting a label on things, I prefer to just cook what I’m feeling, what’s in season.”
“Good for you,” Rich snorted. “But we can’t build a brand around what happens to inspire you in the shower tomorrow morning.”
“Diners like to plan ahead.” Alvin looked up from his phone. “A full forty percent of their meal satisfaction is linked to anticipation of the dishes.”
“Which means we’ll only be rotating the menu monthly,” Rich agreed, tearing into his steak.
“Based on the focus groups and social media votes,” Alvin reminded them.
Great. So Declan would be painting by numbers from somebody else’s design.
“I like the Australian thing,” Rich decided. “It plays up that rugged charm thing you’ve got going on. Like those actors, my baby girl Savannah just loves them.”
“The Hemsworths,” Alvin piped up. “Their social media is very strong.”
Declan slowly exhaled. This was going from bad to worse. Every new idea out of their mouths made him want to hail a cab and hightail it back to the airport, but he’d have to be crazy to walk away from a shot like this.
Right?
“Mmm, these are great,” Rich said, munching on some fried oysters. “Let’s do something like this at the bar.”
“With dips,” Alvin agreed. “Dips are big this year.”
“And what was that dish I loved at Gordon Ramsay’s?”
“The cod?”
“Yeah, let’s twist that up. Low unit price, great markups.”
Declan sat back and let them talk about the menu and the design and the promotional schedule they’d roll out in the fall. He drank his whiskey and picked at his food and wondered who he’d pissed off in a previous life to be stuck in the middle of this farce.
Paige would be laughing her ass off right about now. No, he corrected himself, she’d be polite about it, and wait until they were back in the elevator before bursting into hysterics.
He felt another pang slice through him. He was the one who’d told her to follow her instincts, and there he was, trying to ignore all of his.
Their dishes were cleared, and the server came to present their desserts. “Tonight, we have a molten chocolate cake. Compliments of the chef.”
Declan took one look at the gooey, decadent plate, and burst out in rueful laughter.
Chocolate. Sure. The universe was pretty much flipping him the middle finger, sending him these constant reminders of the woman he n
eeded to forget.
The other men looked at him.
“Sorry,” he said, feeling hollow. “Private joke.”
Rich looked blank. “Anyway, we were just saying, the schedule’s coming together nicely. We’ll need you here in Vegas for a couple of weeks, then New York.”
“LA for a stretch,” Alvin added. “We’ll try and get you shooting TV back to back. Guy, Giada, Eve Bloom, maybe a Master Chef guest spot?”
Rich nodded. “Gordy owes me a favor.”
“Then we go international with your documentary film crew.” Alvin checked his list. “That should be another couple of months, get some great footage of you down under.”
“In other words, it’s time to pack your bags.” Rich grinned and raised his glass. “You don’t have any loose ends hanging around, do you: pets, girlfriends, houseplants? What am I saying,” he answered himself with a chortle. “You’re not a guy to be tied down. It’s why we picked you for this.”
“Plus, our models of likely diners scored you high on brand potential and likeability,” Alvin added, still serious.
Declan didn’t know what the hell any of that meant, but he did know he should have been happy with the hectic schedule. The more time he was on the road, the less he’d be thinking about Paige. With any luck, by the time he’d crossed a couple of oceans, he’d have forgotten her name for good.
Except Declan already knew there was no chance of that.
All this time he’d prided himself on having nothing to tie him down, but now he realized there was a dark side to that, too.
He didn’t have anything to hold onto, either.
Declan paused. That wasn’t true, not anymore. He had his restaurant and friends on the Cape. And sure, Sage was small-fry compared to the plans they were throwing around, but there was one thing it had that Rich Crawford could never match.
It was all Declan’s.
His food, his vision, his ass in the kitchen every night. His inspiration pulling the dishes together, and his sweat putting people in those seats, night after night. He’d built that place from nothing but Cal’s investment and his own hard work.
