Chapter Sixteen
Holy shit! I caught sight of my reflection in the small mirror above the hand-washing sink and held back a laugh.
My short hair shot out from behind my damp bandana every which way, frizzy loose curls, frizzier and curlier now that I’d been working almost fifteen hours. My mascara had smudged beneath my lower lashes and my cheeks were rosy from running around like a chicken with its head cut off for the last several hours.
I undid the top three buttons of my jacket, hoping to cool down a little. The kitchen was extra hot tonight. And we were extra busy.
There were rumors that Lilou, and by default Wyatt, was up for another James Beard award. There was talk that Ezra had entered the two of them into several categories, like he always did in October. The results would be announced soon, like they always were in May, which meant judging was well underway.
Of course, there was no way to know if that rumor was true or what awards we had to strive our best to receive because Ezra wasn’t here to ask. Besides, he wouldn’t tell us anyway. We had gone through this every year while Killian was in charge. I thought Ezra would give us a couple years to calibrate to new leadership, but apparently, he didn’t want to waste time making Wyatt a chef to contend with.
I had expected the rumors to wind Wyatt up, make kitchen life intolerable. Instead, he was in rare form. Completely unaffected by the pressure and operating as efficiently and effectively as possible. At a speed that I quite frankly didn’t even know existed.
There was something oddly more relaxed about him, but at the same time his perfectionism had reached a whole new level of demand. I’d gotten through tonight with only one redo, but I’d been stressed out the whole evening making sure every single element of my dishes were without reproach.
I should hate him all over again for what he’d put me through tonight. But these were the aspects about his personality I respected. These were the things I appreciated about him. I had only known head chefs to be totally, intolerably obsessive about their kitchens.
From cleanliness, to the quality of ingredients they cooked with, to the level of finesse at which their dishes left the kitchen, most chefs at this level were control freaks times one thousand. And I gave every single one of them grace.
Their name was on the line. Their reputation at risk. They weren’t selling food to hungry diners, they were creating an evening that was memorialized by smells and touch and taste. They were developing moments of excellence that would follow these people to the end of their lives. They were facilitating experiences that would change and mark people.
Think back to your favorite meal. It wasn’t only the food. The memory encapuslated the people you were with, the ambiance, the aesthetic of the food, the drinks you ordered, the smile on your server’s face, the temperature of the restaurant, the smell, the lighting… every single aspect played a part in creating the most perfect dining experience of your life.
And while the back of house might not have a say in décor and dimness, we controlled the main event of the evening. Wyatt, like Killian before him, wanted every single customer to leave tonight declaring that they had eaten the best meal of their entire lives—the meal every other piece of food would be compared to for all of eternity.
I could get on board with that.
One day, I would run my own kitchen and the same would be true about me. My staff would mumble, “That persnickety bitch,” under their breath and I would smile and pat them on the head, because a meticulous shrew was exactly what I would have to be.
Dillon sidled up to me, wrapping her arm around my waist in a quick side hug. She’d already stripped off her chef’s coat and we’d only been closed for five minutes.
“Hey, I’m taking off,” she said, clearly rushed to get out the door.
“Already?”
“Molly and Ezra asked me to pick them up from the airport,” she explained.
I glanced at a nearby clock. It was just after eleven. My heart sank for two reasons. One, that Ezra was back. And two, that Dillon was abandoning me to close without her.
Still, I was a good friend, so I asked, “Do you need me to shut down your station?”
She grinned at me, backing up toward the side entrance. “Wyatt already volunteered you. I think his exact words were, ‘Kaya will do it for you. She loves to clean up your shit.’”
My eyes bugged. “That asshole.”
Winking at me, she put her hand on the door.
“Can’t they get an Uber?” I called after her, but she was already racing to her car.
“They’re engaged!” she shouted over her shoulder. “He asked her while they were on the beach!”
My shoulders deflated as the heavy steel door slammed shut. Okay, so that was a no?
Smiling at how loyal my friend was to her family, I turned around and got back to work. If I wanted any shot at six hours of sleep tonight, I needed to get my ass in gear. My parents were coming tomorrow night and I could not, in any way, be running on fumes while they were here. It would get my big mouth into more trouble and I seriously didn’t want to fight with them their entire stay.
“Swift,” Wyatt called from across the kitchen. “You good with sauté?” He was referring to Dillon’s station where she sautéed veggies and made the sauces for dinner service.
“It’s my favorite,” I told him. It was my least favorite. And Dillon had been especially messy tonight. Probably because of the extra layer of mayhem and her excitement over her brother’s engagement. But dang, no wonder she was in a hurry to get out of here.
I would be too if my station looked like she left hers.
Wyatt made a noise that from across the kitchen almost sounded like a laugh. It couldn’t have been though, because Wyatt didn’t laugh in his kitchen.
Benny shot me a funny look, roughly rubbing his closely shaved head. “Was that a joke, Kaya?”
“Shut it,” I growled at him.
He grinned at me. Benny was a gigantic man that seemed too large for a kitchen setting. And even though his fingers were as big as sausages, he did amazing things with meat. As the butcher, he carved the proteins and made them look fabulous. Besides me, he was Wyatt’s most trusted chef on staff.
“I wasn’t prepared for you to be funny. You should warn me next time.”
“I’ve always been funny,” I shot back. “You just haven’t had a sense of humor until tonight.”
“I don’t think it’s me that needed to find their sense of humor.” His gaze darted back to Wyatt and I fought the urge to slap my palm over my eyes and curse.
“Maybe he’s finally settling into the role.” I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal.
“Maybe,” Benny agreed.
We separated, getting back to our work. He finished way before me and disappeared to find Wyatt.
I was left alone in the now empty kitchen space since I had double the workload. Benny and Endo had offered to help me finish, but I’d declined their help. It was late enough. They didn’t need to stick around for me. We all wanted to get to bed.
Benny and Wyatt had left twenty minutes ago to drop the nightly deposit off at the bank. I’d watched them walk out the door and breathed a sigh of relief when they’d gone.
It wasn’t that they were bothering me, it was that I loved being alone in this place.
As sous chef, I had the rare privilege of closing by myself. I had my own set of keys—I could open by myself too. Wyatt and Ezra had entrusted me with a lot when Killian had left, and I was only now feeling gratitude to them.
Dropping my cleaning towel on the counter behind me, I turned around and admired the gleaming kitchen I busted my ass in day and night.
I had been so angry at Wyatt for waltzing into the head chef position unchallenged, so frustrated that the job had been handed to him on a silver platter, that I hadn’t considered how hard he’d worked for it before Killian had left.
This had been Wyatt’s job during Killian’s regime. He’d been second in command. He’d worked these insane hours. He’d never gotten days or nights or holidays off. He’d been here from open till close every single day. There were days he worked harder and longer and more ferociously than Killian did.
I knew, because that was what I was doing now.
And on top of that, he’d had a relationship with Killian, a friendship that existed long before Lilou and James Beard Awards.
The executive chef job at Lilou was never mine. It was never mine to claim or fight for or want.
In the still quiet of the kitchen at the end of a long, hard day, I could finally admit that to myself. I could finally rest in the truth that this job was, is, and will always be Wyatt’s.
And that was okay. Because there were other kitchens out there for me. I would take every second of experience and training I could get from this place. I would take the long hours and turn them into an indomitable work ethic. I would take the grueling demands and insane expectations and turn them into my version of perfection. I would take my difficult coworkers, my impossible boss, and the demanding, never-satisfied customers and create my own style of leadership. And I would take my success here, my steady climb up the hierarchy, my stellar reputation, and turn it into more success, more of a meteoric rise, more of an industry-wide reputation that came with accolades and household name recognition.
My rise wouldn’t happen overnight or even in the next several years, but I was in it for the long game. This was a marathon not a sprint, and I planned to finish this race as strong and solid as I started.
My fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter, the steel edge biting into my tender palms, but I couldn’t help but smile. There was something different about tonight, about being alone in such a renowned kitchen. I could feel success skittering up my spine. I could taste victory dancing on my tongue. I could practically see the future and it included everything I’d hoped for… my very own dreams coming true.
I didn’t know if that was Sarita or not. Ezra’s arrival back in Durham meant shit just got real. No more practicing. No more pretending. I would have to face him and his judgment. Was I up to that challenge? I might have only gotten practice at Sarita doing front of house tasks, but I had a career in the kitchen gleaned from my efforts at Lilou. I knew how to run a kitchen. But would I be enough for Sarita?
Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I swallowed a scream and swiveled to face the intruder. My hands patted the counter blindly, searching for a knife or sauté pan or something I could use to defend myself.
“It’s me,” Wyatt soothed, his voice a calming rumble.
“God, you scared me,” I accused him. My heartbeat slowly began to calm down and my breathing returned to normal. “I thought you went home for the night.”
“I forgot something,” he said.
I ignored the thoughtful way he was looking at me, the way his eyes had darkened and heated, laser focusing on me.
How long had he been standing there? I’d only noticed him a few seconds ago, but he looked so… fixated.
My body knew the answer, but my brain forced my mouth to ask the question anyway. “What did you forget?”
He crossed the kitchen in six long strides, reaching me on the seventh. One hand slid around my waist, bringing my body flush with his. The other glided over my jawline, tipping my head back so he could steal a kiss from my mouth.
His mouth was so hungry, so completely desperate for mine that I couldn’t do anything else but submit. I was helpless against his tsunami of desire. He swept me off my feet and into the devastation that was Wyatt wanting something.
And that something was me.
I kissed him back—that was the only logical response, the only reaction my body was capable of making.
It was this man. No matter how much I talked myself out of a physical reaction with him, I had to admit to myself that I wanted him. And who wouldn’t?
Yes, he was inhumanly gorgeous to look at. And his tattoos perfectly tempting. But it was more than that.
It was the way he looked at me across our busy kitchen, the way his eyes burned hotter than the flames we cooked with. It was his tragic story he shared with me on Tuesday morning and the way he pulled on my heartstrings because of the little boy he was, the same little boy I sometimes still saw in him.
He’d snared me with his rare smiles and even rarer laughter and the way he commanded the kitchen so fiercely. He’d captured me with the flawless way he cooked and his relentless expectations of perfection. It was the way he respected and trusted me and didn’t think he could handle this kitchen without me. It was this thing that had been simmering between us for years and years. This thing that I was only willing now to admit existed. This thing that was threatening to consume me entirely, drown me in the sheer force of it.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on as the storm between us grew more electric. Our mouths fought, and our tongues warred. We were comfortable with this now, we knew each other’s curves and angles. He preferred having my top lip and I wanted to nibble his bottom. We’d developed this greedy synchronicity between us, our constant push and pull, bringing the desire between us to a boil.
His mouth moved to pay attention to my jawline, my ear, my neck. His hand reached up and flicked open the remaining buttons of my coat that were still clasped. I started to shake off the coat and he helped by tearing it from my arms.
He’d lost his hours ago and stood pressed against me in only a thin t-shirt and pants. But they were too much. I couldn’t stand anything separating us. Now that I’d given into this, I wanted him stripped bare. I wanted all of him.
Every part of him.
My fingers gripped the edges of his shirt and tugged. “Are we alone?” I asked as I tasted his earlobe for the first time. God, he was decadent, rich, like the best meal I’d ever had. I wanted more. And more. And more.
“Totally,” he confirmed. “The doors are locked.”
Together we ripped his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere… else. He crashed against me, his skin unbelievably hot. He pressed his chest to mine and a breathy moan escaped the back of my throat.
“This is crazy,” I murmured, trailing kisses along his hairline as he dipped his head to kiss the tops of my breasts.
As if the taste wasn’t enough, he cupped my breast with his large hand and squeeze, his thumb brushing over my nipple, teasing, tantalizing, tearing down whatever remained of the walls I’d built to keep him out.
He pulled his head back, so he could meet my eyes. His were so dark, so perfectly deep and warm. “Not crazy,” he said firmly. “It’s a long time coming.”
I smiled because what else was I supposed to do? I wanted to ask him only a hundred questions to get to the bottom of that infuriating and cryptic response, but I couldn’t seem to form the words.
He stepped closer to me, letting me feel his body against the most intimate part of mine. I hadn’t thought we could get closer.
I was wrong.
His thumb brushed over my nipple again. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he ordered. “And I will.”
“Don’t stop,” I begged, sounding more desperate than I had intended to. “Please, don’t stop.”
Half his mouth lifted in that smile I was officially addicted to. “Tell me if you want me to. At any time. Tell me, okay?”
I nodded.
“When’s the last time you were tested?”
His question shook me awake from the lustful coma I’d slipped into. Tested. Tested for what? Oh, god, that.
“The last time I was with someone,” I told him honestly. “It’s been a really long time.” A really, really long time.
His question effectively doused cold water on my hormones and I was able to cock an eyebrow, demanding an answer to the same question from him. “You?”
“Same,” he answered on a mumble. His hands grabbed the back of my thighs and hitched them around his waist. I let out a yelp and clutched his shoulders as he settled me on the counter. “I’m clean.”
“Me too,” I whispered as his body moved into my core, making my eyelids flutter closed.
His hand wrapped around the back of my neck and then his fingertips dipped into my hair, pulling my head back to look at him. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Kaya. A very long time. But if you need me to stop. If you’re not ready… tell me. I can wait.”
There was this defiant witch inside of me that had to know more. I wanted this too. And maybe, if I was honest with myself, I could admit that I’d wanted it for way longer. But I couldn’t let him get away with… getting his way. I was too used to fighting him to give him what he wanted without at least a small argument. “But how long will you wait?”
He didn’t seem amused by my question. He leaned forward, forcing me to tip back on my elbows. His chest brushed mine. His tattoos winked at me, inviting me to touch them, taste them… suck on them until I’d left my mark. “A lot longer than you’ll make me.”
My mouth dropped open. “What does that mean?”
He grinned. No half smile or wicked smirk. This was a full on, blinding, both-sides-of-his mouth smile. “It means, we can play this game till the end of time and two things will remain true. One, you want me. You’ve wanted me for a long time. You want this to happen. And I’m very willing to oblige you. And two? I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time. I’ve wanted you for so long, you’re the only thing I can remember wanting. I want you and I’m willing to wait as long as it takes to have you. You get me? We can do this cat and mouse thing for however long you need to do it, but I know both of us are ready to play a different kind of game.”
His head dropped so he could kiss and suck his way over my collarbone. I closed my eyes and tried to catch the spinning thoughts in my head, to make sense of them.
“Kaya,” Wyatt taunted, his voice low and growly. “Yes or no?”
“Yes,” I whispered without thinking. No more fighting. He was right. We both wanted this.
We both couldn’t stand not having it for another second.
His mouth found mine again, followed by a desperate collision of our bodies, both of us needing to taste each other more than we needed air. He wasn’t gentle this time and I wasn’t either.
We consumed each other, grabbing, clawing, demanding more and more and more. He tore my tank off, exposing me in a way I hadn’t been for so long. I had a second’s hesitation, of fear and insecurity, while he pulled back to stare at my nearly naked torso.
“Goddamn,” he whispered reverently, erasing whatever self-esteem issue I was wrestling with. “I knew they would be beautiful, but fuck, Kaya. They’re magnificent.”
I let out a giddy laugh at his assessment of my breasts. “You’re ridiculous.”
His mouth descended on my left nipple as if he couldn’t stand waiting for another second. “You’re delicious,” he countered, his tongue flicking over the right spot.
He pulled my bra cup down, so he could taste my bare flesh. We moaned together. My fingers fumbled to unclasp the damn thing as quickly as possible. As soon as it went slack in his hands, he tore the thing from my body, covering my breasts with his gigantic hands almost immediately.
I looked down at his tan skin against the milky white of mine, tattoos snaking over his hands, wrapping around his fingers and I nearly orgasmed on the spot. Wyatt’s body was a work of art. From the gauges in his ears to the colored ink covering all his exposed skin, he wore his self-expression as skin, daring anyone that could see him to know him.
But did anybody know him?
Jo thought he was fragile. Dillon and Vera thought he was invincible. Killian treated him like a little brother.
All of these titles and perceptions were wrong. All of them.
He wasn’t fragile; he was stupidly arrogant, open, and ready to face whatever this world threw at him.
He wasn’t invincible. He was vulnerable when the moment called for it. Gentle when I needed him to be. Willing to admit his mistakes and ask for help.
And he wasn’t little anywhere. Or in anything. He was imposing and dominating and… overwhelming.
They didn’t know him. I wasn’t even sure I knew him.
Not completely anyway. And even though the ghosts of my past whispered that now was the time to run, before I got too invested, before he saw too much of me, I couldn’t.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Wyatt had sunk beneath my skin and made a bed in the secret places of me that I’d desperately tried to hide from him. He hadn’t been willing to wait or sit back. He hadn’t even asked for permission. He’d… taken. And now I was afraid he’d never give back.
While he paid my breasts special attention, I became greedy to explore him. I reached for his belt, bringing his pelvis to my core again. He pressed against me and for a moment my attention was derailed. My eyelids slammed shut at his sharp intake of air.
“Fuck,” he murmured.
“More,” I gasped at the same time.
My fingers fumbled, desperate to unbuckle his belt, to get rid of these pants that were so irritatingly in the way.
I felt him smile against my skin. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, his lips hot and soft against my skin. “Let’s go a little slower, yeah? I’ve been waiting long enough, I think I deserve to enjoy this.”
Enjoy this?
Enjoy me?
Oh God.
Still, I couldn’t help myself. There had always been a push and pull between us, a constant tug of war that neither of us could let go of. “You deserve to enjoy this? That seems a little entitled.”
He pushed my body back on the counter, pressing down fully on top of me, pressing our most intimate parts closer together. His fingers entwined with mine, spreading my arms wide so I felt completely exposed to him.
“I’ve earned it, chef.” His head dipped so he could nip at the curve of my jaw. “I want you slow, Kaya. I want to savor this. Make it last as long as possible. Make you last as long as possible. And I’m going to savor every single second.”
Before I could argue, he started trailing kisses down my throat, over my breasts, down my bare stomach until my pants barred him from going further.
He raised his torso enough to flick open the button fly of my linen pants. His fingers hooked inside the waistband of my panties and with one firm tug, he removed both items of clothing.
My legs kicked out at his surprise attack, but he caught my ankles before I flailed too wildly. With complete confidence—the same way he did everything—he rested my feet on the cool counter, my knees bent, my sex exposed to him in a way that made my breath hitch with nerves.
I self-consciously covered my breasts with my arms, desperate for some modicum of control. Very suddenly I felt upended, turned inside out. Wyatt had managed to take the lead somehow and I was left struggling to catch my breath trailing after his reckless need.
My heart hammered against my breastbone and my skin prickled with both anticipation and anxieties. I should be thinking about what would happen after tonight, about how we would ever come back from this moment, how we could ever work together again… or look at each other again… or—
His mouth touched the most intimate part of me and my train of thought fizzled beneath a blazing sizzle of desire. He kissed me there like he kissed my mouth, like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of me, the taste of me.
He used his tongue, his teeth, and his fingers the way I had watched him cook for all these years, with absolute certainty and graceful deftness. My back arched off the cold counter as my hands searched for something to grasp onto.
The sensation was too much—too sharp, too real, too… intense. “Wyatt,” I panted, not knowing if I wanted him to stop or keep going. “Oh God, Wyatt.”
He lifted his head to meet my eyes. His were dark pools of desire. His finger slid into me, sending me closer to oblivion. “Don’t fight me on this, Kaya,” he demanded. Another finger joined the first. “Not on this.” His mouth closed around me once more, sending me over the edge into an abyss of light and tensed muscles and the most delicious feeling of my life.
My body contracted around him, trapping his hand within me as my thighs squeezed his head unwilling to let him go until I absolutely had to.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine, his expression was lazy satisfaction that nearly sent me over the edge once again. Slowly, reluctantly, he slid his fingers out of me and I shivered, still so sensitive.
I stared up at him, expecting him to move on to the next course. I waited for him to undo his belt or rip his pants off superman style or something. But instead, he leaned over me, his hands resting on either side of my head. He made a contented sound in the back of his throat and belatedly I realized that was all he planned to do tonight.
Huh?
Didn’t he want to…?
Taking things into my own hands, I locked my legs around his waist and invited him forward. My cheeks were already flushed. Otherwise, they would have blushed tomato red at the demand I forced out. “We can’t be finished yet. We’re just getting started.”
Half his mouth lifted in that crooked grin I was starting to love. “I don’t have a condom,” he explained.
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him incredulously. “What? Did you check your wallet?”
He dropped his head, laughing at my question. When he looked at me again, it was from underneath his lashes. His eyes still hadn’t lost their electricity or their need. A tremor rocked through me again. I could feel him still, his hard length pressed against me, begging for attention, demanding we finish what we started.
“Yeah, you know I’ve never really carried those around with me. I figure if I want something that bad, I can wait until we’ve made it back to my place.” The planes of his cheeks turned a pale pink. “And I can honestly say until tonight, I have always been fine with waiting.”
“Now what are we going to do?” I growled. Clearly this was his fault. And fine, I’d already had a lovely orgasm, but I wanted another one, damn it!
He dropped his head, kissing the hollow of my throat, using his tongue and teeth and seductive witchcraft. “We’re going to go out on a date.”
That sobered my sex-drunk brain. “What?”
Lifting his head again, he smiled and said, “A date, Kaya. You are familiar with the activity?” And because he was Wyatt, he said, “It’s that thing you do when two people really like each other. The guy picks the girl up. You go to a mutually enjoyable public place. There are beverages involved. Sometimes food. Sometimes dancing. Am I ringing any bells?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s cute, smartass. But we can’t do that.”
“We can’t do what?”
“Go on a date.”
“Why not?”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I sat up fully, forcing him to step back. I needed clothes on if he was going to challenge me. “Because you’re my boss. And we work together.” Seeing the stern set of his jaw, I knew I hadn’t picked an argument that bothered him yet. “Also, I’m your sous chef. You can take the night off. Or I can take the night off. But we cannot take the night off together. Who would run the kitchen?”
The bottom half of his jaw slid back and forth as I finally hit a note that rung problematic. “Huh…”
Finishing clasping my bra, I hid my victorious smile behind my chef coat as I slid it on. “It doesn’t work, Wyatt.”
“Lunch.”
I blinked up at him. “What?”
“We already knew this relationship would be unconventional… our dates are going to have to be too.”
Wait, did he say… relationship?
“You’re not serious.”
He blinked at me. “About what?”
Son of a bitch. Where the hell were my panties?
“Don’t you think we’re going a little fast? I mean, yesterday we hated each other and—”
“I’ve never hated you.”
“And we’re going in separate directions and we work all the time. A relationship seems extreme in light of everything.”
He studied me for a few long moments, seeming to take my measure, deciding something about me that felt like it needed my permission. “What direction are you going in, Kaya, that’s different than mine?”
Oh, no. Abort! Abort! This wasn’t a conversation Wyatt and I could have in the middle of the night after he’d feasted on my body. I needed cold space before I admitted my plans to him. I needed distance and a clear head and for my body not to feel like it had just been worshiped.
Panties?! Hello, panties??? Where for art thou, panties?
Seeing my obvious distress, he reached down and handed me a bundle of pants and underwear and one of my discarded shoes. I slid off the counter and started yanking everything on.
“It’s late,” I observed in an even voice. Braving his gaze when all I wanted to do was slink away into the dead of night and never resurface again, I said, “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
I stretched up on my tiptoes and kissed the feather tattoo on his neck. “When I get in tomorrow morning? We can figure out the details.” Panic had started welling up inside me like an overboiling pot. I needed space to figure out what happened. I needed air to catch my breath.
I needed… sleep.
“Details?” He kept repeating my words as if they didn’t make sense to him. “Is this the kind of relationship that has details?”
My eyes squinted shut and I turned away from him, so he couldn’t see my regretful expression. I was afraid he would misread it. Or maybe I was misreading it.
What did I regret? What we did?
No… not really. Not yet.
Pulling away from him and treating him like this?
Maybe.
“There are logistics, Wyatt. We can’t… we can’t… We work together. This could get messy.”
If I let it go on. If I didn’t figure out how to stop it.
His fingers reached out and gently wrapped around mine. He barely applied any pressure, but he didn’t need to. The feel of him was enough to pull me back into the sanctuary of his body.
His other hand wrapped around my waist and he dropped his face to the curve of my neck, my back pressed to his chest. I flinched when he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay, Swift. Go home. I’ll clean up here.”
He wasn’t fragile, I reminded myself. Jo was wrong about him.
I knew him.
He was the strongest person I knew.
“Thanks, Wyatt,” I told him, my voice shaking with emotion, fear, and regret.
“See you tomorrow?”
I nodded, unable to say the words. I was the fragile one. It was me that was breakable.
He let me go. I fled the building, too much of a chicken to look back at him.
How had something that amazing caused me to run away again? I had never experienced anything like that before. Nolan didn’t even have the ability to make a woman feel like that. I was positive ninety-nine percent of the male population couldn’t make a girl feel that way.
So why was I still running?
Why was I still trying to avoid this thing that could be so good?
The question plagued me all the way home. It continued to haunt me all the way through my hot shower, stripping the joy of my shower beer and the satisfied feeling of having kicked major culinary ass today. It stayed with me as I climbed into bed, tossing and turning with no chance of falling asleep. And the doubt sat on my left shoulder the next morning, whispering lies and insecurities and all those things I’d thought I’d left behind in Hamilton all those years ago as I tapped out a cowardly text to Wyatt an hour before I was supposed to be at work.
I feel like crap. I think I’m getting the flu. Sorry, I won’t make it in today.
He’d sent back a thumb’s up emoji, making me feel even more like crap.
See you Monday sat on my phone for the remainder of the day, but I never found the courage to send it. It was official, the same reasons that had sent me running from Hamilton, had now possessed my feet again.
Wyatt isn’t Nolan, I told myself.
He’s still trouble, my brittle heart whispered back.
He’s still going to hurt you, my brain agreed. You won’t be enough for him either.
I was too tired to argue with my head or my heart. Besides, I didn’t know what the point was. They were both right.