by Kelsie Rae
Dammit.
“Hey,” she says on a soft smile.
“Hey,” I return as I close the distance between us, one step at a time.
Wrapping my arms around her slender waist, I lean forward and gently kiss her. She sighs, melting against me.
“How was your day?” I ask.
The question seems to act like a wet blanket, and she pulls away from me slightly. “Kind of rough, actually. I was going to make dinner, though. Usually, I steal what I’ve made with Chef Thomas, but today was kind of different. Do you want to help me cook something?”
Her invitation brings back her warmth, and I’m grateful for it. “Yeah. That sounds great. Put me to work.”
She grins before playfully pinching my butt. “That, I can definitely do.”
And with that, we spend the next hour chopping, stirring, and measuring, while laughing, kissing, and connecting on a deeper level than either of us could’ve ever anticipated.
We’re sitting at the table as Natalie wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Mmm…this was exactly what I needed today.”
I smile, twirling my fork in the long spaghetti noodles and bringing it to my mouth. “Agreed. Those lessons with Chef Thomas are paying off.”
She laughs lightly as she watches me chew. “Why, thank you. You didn’t do too bad yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “If you count almost cutting my finger off while chopping the onion as not too bad, then sure. I’m a real chef.”
“Hey! It could’ve been worse. You could’ve actually cut off your finger, and then the sauce would’ve been ruined,” she teases.
Leaning back in my chair, I pat my stomach. “And that would’ve been a damn shame. Thank you for inviting me to cook with you, though.”
She quirks her brow as she asks, “What do you mean?”
“I dunno. I just feel like the kitchen is slowly becoming your safe space, and you invited me into it. So, thank you.”
She softens right before my eyes. Cautiously, I lean forward and place my elbows on the table. Licking her lips, she opens her mouth to say something. At the last second, she releases a shaky sigh. “I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nod as she stands and disappears down the hallway.
My phone vibrates six inches away from my hand and I pick it up to read the message.
Chef: You will tell him tonight, oui? Time is running out.
Shit. Not my phone.
My brows furrow as I read the message again, curiosity getting the best of me. All I can focus on are the words on the screen and the foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, the pasta from a few minutes before isn’t sitting well. My vision is blurry, and there’s a buzz in my ears as my mind tries to piece together the cryptic message. I’m so distracted that I don’t hear Natalie approach.
Instead of the comfortable ambiance I’ve grown accustomed to anytime I’m around Natalie, I feel a strong sense of…something. I don’t know what it is, but my heart starts pounding as tingles shoot up my spine, and goose bumps spread across my arms.
“Is that my phone?”
Mechanically, I nod. “Yeah. Sorry. I thought it was mine.”
She shifts awkwardly on her feet. “I guess that’s what happens when we both have iPhones and black cases, eh?”
I can tell she’s trying to lighten the mood with a lame joke, but it doesn’t work. “Chef texted you.” I’m blunt. To the point. I’m done walking on eggshells.
The room is tense as she reaches for it. “Yeah,” she hedges. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
“I kind of figured that part out…. You know you can tell me anything, babe.”
She digs her teeth into her lower lip before whispering, “I know but…I don’t know how.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down, but it isn’t easy. “Well, apparently, you’re running out of time, so you might want to try.”
With a nod, tears gather in her eyes as she looks up at me, searching for the strength to tell me something that I know will hurt like hell.
Gritting my teeth, I restrain myself from reaching for her, even though the sight in front of me burns like a vat of acid. I pin her with my stare, refuting any hope still remaining in her innocent gaze that she can get out of telling me whatever the hell she needs to.
Because this? This not knowing is killing me. I’ve always felt like she was holding back, and I just received confirmation. The question is...what is it? And can we move past it?
Cautiously, she kneels down and rests her hand on my knee. With her lower lip quivering, she takes a deep breath to center herself. Then she starts. “I’ve been invited to attend a culinary school in Paris. I um…I leave in a week.” Her eyes shine up at me as she waits for my reaction.
What?
I feel like the world has stopped spinning as I try to register what she just said.
I don’t know what to say.
“What?”
Licking her lips, she repeats herself. “I’m moving to Paris. I leave in a week.”
“That’s what I thought you said,” I murmur to myself as I try to digest her words. She doesn’t move an inch as she waits for my reaction. Something. Anything.
I can feel her anxiousness radiating off her in waves, but it doesn’t stop the words from tumbling out of me. “You can’t go.” My tone brooks no argument.
“I’m sorry, what?”
My hands clench at my sides as she hesitantly stands and takes a step away from me. “You can’t go,” I repeat. “Natalie, I’ve waited years to be with you, and now that we’re finally giving this a shot, I can’t handle you going. I can’t do it. How the hell am I supposed to take care of you when you’re thousands of miles away? I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go.”
Her face turns pale as she begins reaching for our plates, pretending we’re not in the middle of a fight. One that could be the end of us if she decides to leave me.
I’ve always felt protective of her. Like it’s my job to take care of her. To keep her safe. To make sure she’s happy. And this? This is a whole new brand of torture. One I’m not sure I can handle.
She cleans the entire kitchen as I watch from my seated position. I don’t move a muscle, because I feel like if I do, then I’ll be obligated to say something else. To tell her how excited I am that she’s been given this opportunity, and that she should grab hold of it with both hands. Which would mean she should let go of us to do it.
And that’s when the anger hits.
“You’re really going?” I hang on to the one last shred of hope that maybe she’ll turn it down, and she’ll decide to stay. Maybe.
Her back is to me as I voice my question, and instead of turning around, I watch as her hands hesitate for a brief second before she continues her cleaning. “Umm…yeah. Yeah. I’m going.” Her voice is shaky.
The finality hurts.
“No. I’m sorry, Nat, but I can’t let you go. There are culinary classes here. Stay here.” I shake my head from side to side, denying the possibility of her leaving. She can’t leave me. Not now. Not when I’ve wanted her for so long.
Her chin drops to her chest in defeat before she whispers, “Marcus, I’m going to say this one time. I know you’re hurting right now, and I know you don’t want me to go, but you don’t own me. You need to put the big brother voice away right now, or you’re going to end up saying something you don’t mean.”
She’s right. I know she’s right, but I can’t stop myself.
“I’m not your big brother, Natalie. I’m your freaking boyfriend, so excuse me for being a little upset you’re leaving now that we have our shot at forever.” The bitterness is clear in my tone, and I hate myself for it. “You know what? Fine. Go. Do whatever the hell you want. But I have to ask, were you going to ever tell me if Chef Thomas hadn’t twisted your arm?”
The sound of dishes clanking together in the sink ceases. “What?”
“Were you going to tell m
e? Or were you going to just disappear into the sunset and let me figure it out by myself?” I scoff. “Or maybe you were finally checking me off your bucket list. Was that it?”
She’s still facing the sink, so I can’t see her gorgeous dark eyes as I throw down my verbal assault, but I can read her body language loud and clear. Her shoulders are hunched, her hands are trembling above the soapy water, and she flinches with the vile accusation I toss her way.
Her silence only seems to fuel my frustration. Haven’t we had enough silence in this relationship? Or maybe it was never a relationship at all from her perspective. Maybe I was just…some guy who was stupid enough to fall for her when I knew it was a bad idea.
Shoving away from the table, I stalk toward her. “I couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t let me say, ‘I love you,’ you know that? It was driving me insane. Making me wonder if I was enough for you, and if you could possibly love me back. But I guess it makes sense now. You didn’t want to make things messy for you, huh? You didn’t want to catch a bad case of feelings, right? Fucking me is one thing, but falling in love? Yeah, that was out of the question.” I grab her arm and turn her toward me, only to find tears streaming down her face. The man from ten minutes ago would’ve broken under them. But me? All I feel is more rage that I cared in the first place.
Breathing deep, I shake my head before taking a step back. “You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything. Forget I ever moved in. Forget that I ever slept with you, or even considered telling you I love you. Just…forget me in general, okay? Because I’m pretty sure that was your plan all along.”
And with that, I release her arm and turn on my heel. Marching out the door, I make sure to close it quietly behind me, because she doesn’t deserve to see any more of my anger. Only my indifference.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Natalie
Fumbling for my cell on my nightstand, I squint my eyes open to see Sophie’s name flashing across the screen.
I slept like shit, which isn’t exactly surprising. After I told Marcus about Paris, he left. And he didn’t come back.
“Hello?” My voice is scratchy and sounds like I gargled with broken glass. It’s probably because I spent my night sobbing into my pillow, but what do I know?
“Hey,” Sophie says softly into the speaker. “Marcus is here.”
His name feels like a freaking knife stabbing my soul. The things he said? The things he assumed? It’s enough to gut me.
“I guess that makes sense.”
An awkward silence hangs in the air because…what the hell do I say? There’s nothing to say.
“He’s a mess, Noogie.”
I rub my hand across my face before rolling on my back and staring up at the off-white ceiling.
“He’s been ranting all night about you,” she continues.
“That’s not exactly surprising. He was ranting all night about me while he was here too,” I admit with a dry laugh, as the tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. I’m surprised I have any left.
“I’m so sorry, Natalie. You know him. This isn’t like him at all. He doesn’t do this. You know that,” Sophie argues as she tries to defend her brother.
“I know,” I whisper, wiping the salty moisture from under my eyes.
“Listen. Just give him some time, okay? I’m sure you two will be fine. He just needs to wrap his head around it, that’s all. I had to do the same thing after you left. We just…we love you so much, ya know? You guys are going to figure this out. I know it.”
“Sophie.”
“Yeah?” she murmurs. A hint of desperation slips into her tone.
This. This is why I didn’t want to tell her about Marcus and me. I didn’t want to hurt her. To have us hurt her.
“I don’t think Marcus and I are going to work out. He said some things last night that made it clear he’s not interested in pursuing this with—”
“That’s not true!” she interrupts.
“It is, though, Tink. He doesn’t understand why I would need to go. Why I would need to put myself first instead of others.”
“He knows—”
“No, Tink. He really doesn’t. I’ve always been your best friend. We’ve always been two peas in a pod. And now? Now, you’ve got your own life. And I’ve had to figure out mine. I’ve had to learn how to stand on my own two feet, instead of living in your shadow, and it’s been rough, okay? I don’t resent you for it at all, and I love that you and Nathan found your happily-ever-after, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t felt like a floundering fish trying to get a handle on who I am when I’m not tagging along on your adventures. So this? Paris? It’s my own little adventure, and since dating Marcus, I’ve questioned whether I should go more times than I can count. It sucks, Sophie. It sucks so damn bad.”
Releasing a deep breath, I pull my cell away from my ear to see if our call is still connected. I’m not usually one for rambling, so I don’t know what to do with the silence that ensues.
After a brief moment, Sophie’s voice greets me. “Hey, Nat?”
I lick my lips. “Yeah?”
“I’m so proud of you.”
My brows furrow before I ask, “What? Why? Because I broke your brother’s heart and screwed everything up?”
She laughs, though I have no doubt tears are streaming down her face just like they’re streaming down mine. “No. Because you’re choosing the hard route. You’re doing something I never could’ve done. You might see yourself as the sidekick, but I’ve always known it’s the opposite. Without you? I never would’ve done any of those crazy things, either. And you’re right. Now I have Nathan to rely on. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you too. And Marcus? He’s never had another pea in his pod. He’s never let himself have one. Until you. And I think he’s floundering the same way you were when I moved in with Nathan. But instead of quietly letting it simmer until he figures his shit out, he’s exploding on anyone and everyone, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He loves you, Noogie. And you’re pursuing your own dreams instead of the potential of his.”
I flinch at her words, feeling like my brain is short-circuiting. “I’m sorry, what? Are you blaming me for going to Paris?”
“No,” she rushes. “I’m explaining to you why Marcus is freaking out. By you leaving, he feels like you’re choosing your dreams instead of his.”
“And what’s his dream, exactly?”
She sighs, and I can almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “You, Noogie. You’re his dream. And he feels like you just woke him up with an icy bucket of water before he got to the good part.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. Rolling onto my side, I consider my options. “What do you think I should do, Sophie? Do I honestly give up my dream of becoming a chef because of a guy?”
As soon as I say the words, guilt pulses through my veins. Because he’s not just some guy. He’s Marcus. My Marc. The guy I’ve been dreaming about since I was five years old, when he placed a Band-Aid over my scraped knee. The guy who picked me up from Homecoming early, because my date ditched me for a cheerleader. The guy who was always a text away, willing to come save the day if I ever needed him.
And yesterday? Yesterday, I needed him. I needed him to tell me he was happy for me. That he was excited. That I’d rock culinary school, when I’m terrified of falling on my face and failing miserably.
But instead? Instead, he accused me of using him to cross something off my bucket list. Insisting that I was using him to pass the time. It stung. It still stings.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Noogie. I’m just trying to give you his perspective. That’s all. You’re doing the right thing. And if I know Marcus, which I do, then I know he’ll wait for you. You guys just need to patch things up before you go. That’s all I’m saying.”
Frustrated, I sit up and turn on the lamp next to my bed. “I can’t ask him to wait for me, Soph. That’s not fair to him,” I argue, even though the thought of him moving on makes
me feel nauseated.
“Yeah, but not asking him to wait for you makes him feel like you don’t care about him as much as he cares about you. And I think that’s even worse,” she admits.
I tuck my legs to my chest before resting my head on my knees. Again, I don’t know what to say. “So, what do I do?”
“Give him some time, Noogie. But before you leave, I suggest you talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Tell him you love him, but you’re scared. And then? Then you see what happens….”
Taking a deep breath, I let the oxygen fill my lungs, hoping it can cleanse my soul and help me think clearly.
“Thanks, Sophie. Give him a hug, okay?”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
And with that, the call disconnects.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Marcus
The past few days? They’ve been rough. Thankfully, I know Natalie’s schedule inside and out, so it hasn’t been a problem sneaking into the apartment and grabbing my stuff here and there. I’ve been staying at Sophie’s house in the spare bedroom at night, but I know it’s not going to last long. For my, as well as my sister’s, sanity.
She’s been freaking out ever since I showed up on her doorstep, and I don’t blame her. She loves Natalie as much as I do, and I know she’s hurting, because I’m hurting. And I think Natalie might be hurting too, especially from the shit I spewed at her in anger, which only puts more stress on Sophie.
I shake my head before grabbing the door handle and walking into the lobby of Get Baked. Sophie assured me that Natalie wasn’t working, and she needed me to drop off some Tylenol. Her back was starting to ache from being on her feet all day.
Don’t worry. I got a lengthy text describing how difficult carrying two babies is before she pulled the pregnancy card, insisting I deliver the pills immediately, even though Get Baked is closing in fifteen minutes.
