Chapter Seventeen
“Kay-bug,” my dad exclaimed as he pulled me into a hug. “I’m so glad you were able to get tonight off.” My dad, Eric Swift, was the soon to be retired CEO of Haymill Chicken. He was ridiculously smart, ambitious, and ruthless at work. At home, he let my mom run the show and enjoyed being shuffled back and forth wherever she told him to go.
My mom, Dana, our household CEO, spent her days as a part-time recruiter for the local business bureau. She liked her job because it was flexible and a gateway to all the town drama she could stomach.
“I wanted to spend time with you guys,” I told him. “I never get to see you.”
“That’s because you’re trying to work yourself to death,” he grumbled, reluctantly handing me off to my mother.
“Hi, Mama.” I smiled at her.
She took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead. “More beautiful than ever.”
Her words soothed an open wound in my chest and I relaxed a little, truly happy to see them. She pulled me into a firm hug, further calming the gaping chasm that had bothered me all day.
“Let me take your things,” I offered, leading them deeper into my apartment. My parents had always been good-looking people and old age had done nothing to change that. Sure, they were softer now than in their youth. Their attractive faces still got wrinkles, no matter how many skincare products my mother forced on them. And they weren’t toned-and-svelte-could-pass-as-fitness-model-body-doubles anymore. But their beauty had evolved into a dignified kind of handsomeness. They were like a living, breathing ad for AARP. So perfectly small-town America, you wanted to crown them both and slap a “Mr. and Mrs. Successful American Citizen” on them.
I was the opposite—wild. With pink hair to their perfectly cropped, perfectly muted gray. I was lip rings and cartilage piercings to my Mother’s habitual pearls. I was boho hipster to their upper middle-class cardigan sets. It was hard to believe I was their offspring. But not so hard to believe why I’d eventually fled Hamilton like my tail was on fire. They had Claire and Cameron to show off at home. They didn’t need the black sheep tainting their golf outings and church potlucks.
Setting their small suitcases down in the second bedroom I had spent the morning cleaning and organizing, I was surprised to see my parents had followed me into the room.
Dad checked his TAG Heuer watch. “We don’t have much time, do we? We got here later than I had hoped. Cameron’s car broke down outside of town—I had to help her before we could take off.”
Concern for my baby sister flickered to life. We were six years apart, so we’d never been super close, but I had always felt protective of her. “Oh no. Is Cam okay?”
Mom scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic, Eric. She ran out of gas.”
He folded his arms over his chest and huffed. “She still needed my help.”
“I swear that child would forget her hair if it weren’t attached to her body.”
I smiled because it was true. “Glad it was only a minor mishap.”
Mom turned to me, assessing my yoga pants and white tank top. “What time do we need to leave? How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Ready for what?”
She mimicked my exact expression. There weren’t many times where outsiders would say I looked like my mother, but this was one of those moments where I knew we were spitting images of each other. Nobody was better at looking completely dumbfounded than the two of us—usually because of other people’s idiocy. “For supper.”
I looked down at my clothes, realizing they wouldn’t pass my mother’s standards for leaving the house. “Oh, did you want to go out?”
Dad laughed as though I’d made a joke. “Did we want to go out,” he stated, not as a question. “You’re always so funny.”
I gave my mother a helpless look. “What am I missing?”
“The reservation.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and shook it in front of me like that would jog my memory. “They called earlier today,” she explained. “They wanted to confirm a table for three at seven?”
“They?” I asked, suspicion leaking through me, like my heart was a faulty balloon.
“The restaurant,” my mother said slowly. I was currently the complete idiot receiving her befuddled glare.
“What restaurant?” I snapped, full-blown panic taking control of my tongue.
“The one you work at, bug,” my dad explained in that patient tone I remembered him always having. He was never rushed, never sharp, never frazzled—emotions left for my mother and me. “The one that’s so hard to walk right in.” He smirked. “Believe me, we’ve tried. It was thoughtful of you to book us a table. And how fun that we get to eat there with you. You’ll know what to order.” He smiled at my mom. “And what to avoid.”
This whole damn debacle waiting to happen, that’s what I wanted to avoid.
I glanced at the ceiling and grappled for my patience. Clearly, this was Wyatt’s doing. Right? I mean, this was his idea to begin with. And I’d called in sick… He thought he could force me to face him? While simultaneously doing the sweetest thing for my parents? He’d underestimated my expert ability to run and hide.
Except that this was Lilou… and truly a fantastic opportunity for them. Not only would they finally have that meal of a lifetime I’d been dangling in front of their faces since I started working there, but they’d also finally understand why I loved my job so completely.
But what was Wyatt after? What would he say in front of my parents? Nothing. He wouldn’t bring up last night. That would be insane. He wasn’t a totally evil person. Dear God, at least I hoped he wasn’t. I frowned at the bedpost, because after a quick thought, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Shaking my head, I tried to talk myself off the ledge. He wouldn’t bother us. Not tonight. I didn’t take Wyatt for the kind of guy that wanted to meet any parents. Besides, the kitchen would keep him super busy while we ate. I already knew Lilou was completely booked tonight.
And that begged an interesting question: how had Wyatt squeezed a table for three into the already crowded reservation list?
Refocusing on my parents, I realized Wyatt had already won. I wasn’t going to take this opportunity away from them. They’d wanted to eat at Lilou for a long time—ever since I started working there. I had even tried to put their name on this list once or twice, but that never worked out. Either they couldn’t make it to town when there was an opening or there hadn’t been an open spot when they’d been in town.
“We’ll finally know what the big deal is.” My mom smiled, her words sounded sugary despite the backhanded compliment.
“You’re going to love it,” I told her through gritted teeth. “The food will change your life.” I leaned over to read my dad’s wristwatch. “Did you say seven? We should leave in about forty-five minutes then.”
My mom glanced over me again, her eyebrows furrowing over her straight nose. “Does that give you enough time to get ready?”
Weirdly enough, I felt more at home than I had in a long time. My mother’s passive aggressive barbs pertaining to my appearance so familiar to me, I felt nostalgic for my childhood. Tucking a pink curl behind my ear, I said, “I’m quick.”
She wrinkled her nose at the reminder of my hair choices but moved out of the way so I could hurry to my room.
As soon as the door shut behind me, I started stripping, yanking off the comfy clothes I’d worn all day while I’d cleaned my entire apartment. Throwing myself in the shower with a toothbrush in my hand, I got to work arming myself for Lilou.
It wasn’t a random dinner and extended weekend with my parents. It wasn’t just eating a meal at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. It wasn’t one of our usual visits either; I’d settle myself in, excited to eat takeout pizza while I was forced to listen to gossip from back home until my parents passed out from too much wine.
My curiosity was sparked by Wyatt making the next move in our long game. He’d laid down another challenge and I had to do something that would match him. He thought he could outmaneuver me? Also, it was concerning how he got my mother’s cell phone number—I would ask him about that later.
But this was so much more than supper and showing off my place of employment to my parents. This was about putting Wyatt in his place, reminding him who he was messing with. I didn’t play to tie. I played to win. And Wyatt was going to realize just how much I savored victory.
Thirty-five minutes later, I emerged from my bedroom with springy pink curls pinned artfully to my head and a little black dress that clung to my curves and showed off my ample chest in a tasteful way—since he seemed so obsessed with it.
My heels were sky high and reserved for revenge. Honestly, they were reserved for nights I knew I wouldn’t do much standing. I finished my look for the evening with vibrant lipstick the same shade as my hair, and smoky eyes that felt way over the top compared to my usual waterproof mascara and colored Chapstick.
I nibbled my lip ring as I led my parents downstairs to their Range Rover. Compared to my mother’s demure silk blouse and high-waisted black trousers, I could have been mistaken for a hired escort, but my confidence refused to dampen.
I looked pretty tonight. Maybe even hot.
If Wyatt wanted to play with fire, I hoped he was prepared to get burned.
It was only a fifteen-minute drive to Lilou, even with the Friday night traffic. We pulled into the parking lot before I’d fully mentally prepared.
Thankfully, my parents paused for a few minutes inside the Rover to take in the outside of Lilou. She was spectacular beneath the dark night sky, all white brick and twining ivy. The landscape lights highlighted the best parts of her, warming the building in their soft glow. She was surrounded by iron and towering red brick on every side, making her standout as a beacon of culture and class.
My mom turned around in her seat and smiled at me. She genuinely meant it when she said, “It’s charming, Kaya.”
Smiling with pride, I said, “One of the prettiest in the city, I think.”
This plaza was one of three main thoroughfares for nightlife, but in my opinion the best of the three. Lilou was obviously the crowning jewel of the square, but we also had two of the best nightclubs in town—Greenlight and Verve. There was Vera’s brother’s bike shop, Cycle Life. Plus a few designer boutiques that brought in a lot of business.
Yes, our plaza was the best, but we were better when Vera’s old food truck had taken up residence in the middle. Foodie had offered a low key, urban vibe that was missing in her absence. And it had been super nice to grab a late-night meal after work. Especially now that I was second in command and left work so late. There was nowhere good open at that hour except Taco Bell, and a girl could only take so much fast food, even if it was tacos.
This was why Dillon and I were such breakfast connoisseurs. We were constantly surrounded by five-star food, but rarely had access to it or the stomach to eat it after we’d been cooking every night.
My parents got out of the car and I followed them. I probably should have led the way, but I rarely used the front door at Lilou and I couldn’t help but savor the opportunity.
Unlike the kitchen door that dumped you into stainless steel and abrasive busyness, the front French doors had a kind of magic that was rare and precious. Small square panes of mottled glass outlined in black paint were like the amuse-bouche, teasing and endearing all at once.
Once inside, you were immediately transported to a different world where waiters silently bustled back and forth in all black, contrasting vividly with the stark white linens and the softer white interior brick. Accents of green wrapped around the windows and dotted the tables in the small centerpieces. The lighting was rich and warm, continuing to appeal to the diner’s softer sense.
The hostess greeted us from behind a large podium she could barely see over. “Hey, Kaya.” She smiled.
“Hey, Erin.” She was a nice college-aged girl, studying to be a sports broadcaster. I only barely knew her, but she was a hard worker and didn’t start drama—hard to come by in the restaurant industry. I stepped up to her stand and wrapped my fingers around the edge of it. I dropped my voice some so my parents couldn’t hear me ask, “Someone called my mom to confirm reservations earlier?”
She scanned her reservations list. “What name would it be under?”
“Swift, I think? Or Dana.”
“Oh, here you are. Yep, it looks like Chef Shaw added you at the last minute.” She met my gaze. “Lucky. I’ve been trying to get my parents a res here for months.”
I smiled at her, but it wobbled. “This is the first time they’ve been in and I’ve been working here for years. Keep trying. You’ll get a reservation eventually.”
Like when you sleep with Wyatt. Or almost sleep with him—he’s super accommodating after some third base action.
She sighed, and I could already tell this was only a temporary gig for her. She wasn’t going to wait around years to squeeze in a reservation. We’d be lucky if she lasted the summer. “How many are in your party? All the reservation says is give you the best table. But I don’t know how many to set it for.”
If she didn’t know the particulars of our reservation then who had confirmed it earlier with my mom? Wyatt? Leaning forward, I scanned her paper from an upside-down angle, which meant I couldn’t read it at all. “It says that?”
She turned the list around for me and sure enough, in Wyatt’s slender, scratchy handwriting, it said, “Swift— best table.”
My stomach did a teeny somersault. I read it three more times to be sure I wasn’t somehow hallucinating, or my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, forcing me to see what I wanted to see.
Wait. Did I want to see that?
I closed my eyes and I was back on the cold steel counter in the kitchen, Wyatt’s head between my legs, my sense of reality and common sense exploding into a million particles of light and fire.
God, what the hell, Wyatt? What were you doing to me?
“I can seat you when you’re ready,” Erin said softly, her eyes narrowed with concern.
Shifting my shoulders, I forced my brain to focus and stepped toward her. My parents followed as we made our way past blissed-out diners on the verge of food comas. I soaked in every second of this rare vantage point.
I didn’t hear from customers or reviewers or critics. As the mere sous chef, my name wasn’t attached to anything in the restaurant. Blogs didn’t rave about my talents with protein or sauce expertise. Yelp reviews didn’t recommend this restaurant because of what I could do with risotto or the genius way I served Brussel sprouts. All the accolades went to Wyatt. And Killian before him.
Still, I knew the plates on these tables were a team effort. And not thanks to me. There was an entire staff hanging out back of house, working, sweating, slaving away to create the most perfect dining experience possible.
These separate elements came together to create a full menu that was nothing short of a work of art. Each recipe was carefully crafted and endlessly finessed. And everything was a living, breathing organism that was constantly changed and tweaked and studied to make sure it was always the best version of itself. That the diners were always getting our most perfect end-result.
Those rabbit legs? They had to be braised for two hours prior to service to make the meat fall-off-the-bone tender and then pan-seared in duck fat at exactly four hundred degrees to lock in the juices. They had to be flipped exactly halfway through the sear to ensure a nice crispy texture on the entire outside.
That filet could only be flipped once, right near the end to make sure the grill marks were uniform on both sides. Flipping it too early would overcook it. Flipping it too late wouldn’t give both sides a chance to finish. And I made sure all my beef rested before I ever plated it.
We had only recently decided to add soft-boiled quail eggs to the asparagus. And the microgreens to add a fresh, springy taste to a tried and true favorite. Wyatt had perfected those two elements when he took over for Killian. The additions had blown the previous dish out of the water. The yolky eggs added richness to something familiar, and the microgreens added brightness and a burst of flavor to a dish that had been done and redone for years. The asparagus felt completely new now and so much better than before. Our diners flipped out over it.
Erin led us to a table in the center of the dining room, with a perfect view of the kitchen and the rest of the restaurant. It was the best table and I wondered how many other reservations she had to fight off to save it for us.
She handed out our menus and assured us that Kim would be over shortly to take our orders.
My dad leaned across the table and mouthed, “Wow!” It was all I needed to relax in my seat and finally let go of my fear. I didn’t even know what I was afraid of. Only that I was afraid. Wyatt and I had once been friends. And we’d once been enemies. I didn’t know what we were now.
Us.
Our.
We.
Him and I.
Together.
These words bounced around in my head, waiting for a solid definition. My brain wanted to give them boundaries and boxes and take away the fluttering in my chest that felt like so much more than a crush, lust, or anything I was ready for.
Our waitress, Kim, appeared. She was one of the pillars of Lilou. She’d worked here as long as any of us and could handle whatever the restaurant threw at her. She smiled at me, and I introduced her to my parents before ordering drinks for the table.
Darius, the bartender, and I were good enough friends that I knew his specialties and the favorites that Ezra had made him remove recently to fit in with the prohibition-era trend sweeping the country. Ezra wanted a list filled with new takes on gin fizzes and Old Fashioneds, Moscow Mules and French 75s. Darius was working on infusing jalapeno into tequila. He’d dip the glass in a cinnamon-cayenne-salt blend to make a spicy, sweet, delicious paloma that would blow minds and start beverage revolutions.
I ordered one for my dad, and a lemon, rhubarb gin thing for my mom.
For myself? Dirty martini. Also gin—preferably Irish Gunpowder if he had it. Extra dirty. Extra blue cheese stuffed green olives—like the good Lord intended.
What can I say? I liked a cold beer as much as the next girl, but in heels like these? I needed a drink James Bond would be proud of.
As soon as the drinks were dropped off at the table, I ordered appetizers from memory. I wanted my parents to get the most well-rounded experience possible. I also wanted them to have the meal of their life. I wanted them to see what I did and be impressed by it.
Knowing their taste, I ordered the smoked trout toast with avocado cream, the asparagus I’d just finished mentally raving about and the hand-rolled pistachio and saffron crème gnocchi.
I felt like standing up and mic dropping, but we hadn’t even gotten to second plates yet. I decided to hold back until they asked me to roll them out of the restaurant.
Kim smiled at the order and disappeared to put it into the computer.
“That’s so much food,” my mom complained. “Was that all just appetizers?”
“You don’t have to eat everything,” I assured her. “I want you to try as much as possible. It will be worth it, I promise.” I shrugged, feeling like I needed to add, “Besides, it’s my treat.”
My dad’s brow furrowed immediately. “Oh, we can’t let you pay for—”
I waved him off. “It’s not a big deal. I want you to have the full Lilou experience.”
My mom’s shrewd eyes scanned over the menu again. “Maybe we can split something for the big meal.”
“Mom,” I groaned. “Please accept that I’m a big deal here. I’m not living paycheck to paycheck anymore.”
My parents stared at me, trying to pull hard facts from my ambiguous statement. Dad’s curiosity won out. “You’re really top of the food chain here?”
I smiled. I was. It wasn’t first place, but it was a damn good place to start. “I am. The one and only sous chef. I’m second in command in the kitchen.”
“Is it stressful, honey?”
They already knew my title and position, but until this moment, I didn’t think they understood exactly what that meant. It was a word without a definition until they’d seen it in a real-life setting. And they knew that I worked a lot and they probably could have assumed that my job was stressful. But I had never verbally admitted that part to them. I wanted them to get the message of how much I loved this career, this position. If you’d have asked them before tonight what my life was like? They would have come back with some version of rainbows and butterflies.
“So stressful,” I agreed. “But worth it. This is what I love. And I’m lucky I get to do it in one of the best kitchens on the planet. I don’t take that for granted.” Or I wouldn’t any longer. Starting now.
Thinking back to my ungrateful attitude over the past ten months, I wanted to hide my face in shame. I had taken my success for granted. I’d disregarded Wyatt’s trust in me and let my entitled attitude nearly ruin one of the best experiences in my life.
Dad looked at my mom. “We asked her to leave this for the diner.”
My mom sniffed the air, untouched by guilt or remorse. “I want her close to home. I’m not trying to take her dreams away from her.”
But that was exactly what she was asking me to give up. My dreams. My aspirations. My future. “There’s nothing for me in Hamilton, Mom. I belong here.”
Kim approached with two waiters from the kitchen carrying our appetizers, forcing us to drop the conversation until the first plates were set before us. My dad’s eyes widened in awe at the intricacy of each dish while my mom glared at each component as if it were personally responsible for keeping me away from her.
I started plating for them, letting the argument hang in the air for a few minutes. My parents were cultured, but they weren’t foodies. Besides, this food was fussy and took some explanation for even well-versed fanatics.
“Is this what you make?” my dad asked after he’d devoured his trout toast.
“Um, sometimes. It depends on the night and who else is working. I’m mainly responsible for proteins, by choice. But I’m the one that suggested pistachio for the gnocchi.”
“How’d you come up with that?” my dad asked, scraping his fork against the plate for any straggling crumbs.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s one of those things. I knew it would fit with the flavor profile and I felt the dish was missing an important crunch component.”
“It is impressive,” my mom conceded.
Kim came back to check on us and I put in the rest of our order. Our crispy pork belly served over creamy polenta with glazed carrots for my mom. The steak and frites for my dad—Kobe filet served with hand cut duck fat fries and charred broccoli. And I ordered the sweet pea tortellini for me. The tortellini was my favorite dish on the whole menu and one Wyatt made himself. I quickly added the swordfish curry—at least Wyatt’s take on curry—over lentils and root vegetables to share.
“Kaya, that’s too much,” my mom chastised for the second time after Kim had walked way again.
I smiled patiently at her. “You don’t have to eat it all. But I promise you’ll thank me later.”
Her eyes dropped to my midsection. “I thought maybe you’d given up yoga, but now I understand.”
Used to her passive aggressive cruelty, I changed the subject without acknowledging her dig. “How’s Claire? Is she excited for summer?”
My mom’s entire face lit up at the mention of my younger sister. “She loves her class this year, but she’s looking forward to the break. She works so hard, you know? Those kids give her a run for her money.”
I restrained an eyeroll. My poor sister that had to work normal hours every week and got summers and major holidays off. Not to mention all those paid teacher work days.
Guilt immediately kicked me low in the gut. That wasn’t fair to teachers. I knew they worked hard—harder than most. And my sister loved her students, pouring every bit of herself into their little lives.
But the scales were skewed at my house. Claire was revered for how hard she worked, while I was pitied because I had no social life. Maybe it was that Claire had achieved better life balance and I was jealous of her summer breaks. I mean who wouldn’t be? Or maybe it was my parents’ refusal to pay attention to what I did while Claire was worshiped, but either way, I knew my resentment for Claire was unhealthy. Borderline insane. Claire was wonderful. And we genuinely got along. I had a frustrating amount of misplaced resentment for my parents.
“She’s planning to visit you for a few weeks,” my dad added.
“Huh?”
“Claire,” he said slower. “She misses you. She told us she’s going to spend a few weeks with you this summer.”
“She hasn’t said anything to me,” I told them.
They shrugged. They didn’t care what I thought. If Claire wanted to spend time with me she would. I didn’t get a say.
“Our air conditioner needed new filters last week,” my mom said, changing the subject in a weird direction.
I didn’t know what to say to that or why she was telling me about her air conditioner, so I nodded and mumbled, “Oh yeah?”
“I had to run into town to buy them. Your father wrote down what I needed, but you know what his handwriting is like. I got to the store and couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he’d asked for. I got him to send me a picture of it though.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, demonstrating her exasperation. “Although I still couldn’t find what he needed.”
At her pause, I tried to sound sympathetic. “That must have been frustrating for you, Mom.”
She looked at me and reached out to squeeze my hand as if my sympathy meant the world to her. I nibbled on my lip ring to hide my smile. I pictured her harping on my dad all week about his negligence while he ignored her to watch golf.
“It was,” she said. “Thank you for acknowledging my feelings, Kaya.”
I smiled at her again.
“Anyway, while I was wandering around the hardware store, you’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Oh, man, I had a guess and I wanted to keep it to myself but—
She lifted her hands in excitement and exclaimed, “Nolan! Can you believe it, Kaya? He was right there. Right when I needed him the most.”
Swallowing back the sarcastic way I wanted to ask her why air conditioning filters were the things she needed most in the world, I said, “It’s not that hard to believe. I mean, he does live a block away from the hardware store.”
My mother’s smile pinched. “He was so kind,” she added. “He found me exactly what I was looking for.”
“Oh, thank God. I was so worried about the air conditioner.”
“Kaya…” my dad warned.
My mom ignored me, her tone turning smug with juicy news. “He asked about you, Kaya Camille.”
It was my turn to glare at the overhead lighting. “Of course, he did. I’m the only thing you two have in common. He was grasping for straws trying to make conversation with you.”
“That’s what I said,” my dad grunted. He took an angry sip of his cocktail and I appreciated him more than I ever had in my life.
He had only barely tolerated Nolan. My mother on the other hand… was his biggest fan. President of the Nolan Carstark fan club. She’d probably make t-shirts if Dad let her.
Mom leaned forward, her eyes alight with the information bomb she was about to drop. “He wants to know when you’re coming back to town. He said he misses you.”
I held my mother’s sharp gaze, resisting the eye roll I desperately wanted to unleash because I needed her to take me seriously. “Mom, I know two things about Nolan. And this might be disappointing, but I feel like you need to hear them anyway. One, he doesn’t miss me. Maybe in the generic sense of the word because we share a collection of good, youthful memories together. But he doesn’t miss me. Not really. And I know this because the only time I ever hear from Nolan is after he’s three sheets to the wind and had meaningless sex with a random female whose name he can’t remember. That’s when he tells me he wishes I would move home and marry him. When he needs a name to remember to assuage his guilt.”
“He’s said he wants to marry you? He’s said those words exactly?” My mother’s selective hearing was astounding. Like, legitimately something medical science should study.
“Two.” I held up correlating fingers, choosing not to respond to her temporary psychosis. “Even if I did leave my job here, pack up my life and move back to Hamilton, he would only break my heart again. He’s the same kid I graduated with nine years ago. He wants nothing to do with commitment or a wife that has opinions or a mind of her own. And he’d just drag out our engagement for another hundred years because, no matter what he’s led you to believe, he isn’t ready to settle down.”
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth flatlining. “He said he misses you, Kaya, that means something.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t. He misses a girlfriend that loved him. He misses not feeling guilty every time he gets laid. He misses having someone there to tell him he’s amazing and help him match his ties to his shirts. He doesn’t miss me.” I let out a slow breath and tried my best to shield my fragile heart from the next truth she needed to hear. “He’s a narcissist, Mom. He loves himself. He doesn’t love me. He’s never loved me.”
My dad’s hand clamped down on my knee under the table and squeezed supportively. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he rumbled sternly.
Mom huffed and tossed her napkin on the table. “You haven’t even given him a chance, Kaya. You left him remember? You left town and never looked back. The rest of us were left to pick up the pieces. That boy was going to marry you and you just… abandoned him. And for what? For this life you claim to love so much? You work a million hours a week. You don’t have a social life or a dating life, or hell, any kind of life. You have no prospects. You’re stuck on this never-ending hamster wheel where you cook all day. This can’t be all you want out of life.” She never raised her voice. Her sense of decorum was too strong to cause a scene, but she didn’t need to. Her words were arrows, aimed directly at my self-esteem and shaky confidence. One eyebrow rose, and I instinctively shriveled back, knowing she was dealing the final blow. “I raised you better than to settle for this.”
The air behind me turned to static, electrified and sharp. I felt the change all over my bare skin. All the little hairs on my body stood to attention, the back of my neck prickling with warning. The sensation was so strong I hardly noticed my mother’s sneer at all. Although I couldn’t ignore it completely. I mean, it was there. All over her face.
“Hey there, chef,” Wyatt’s deep voice greeted from behind me.
My body had been keenly aware he was there for a solid twenty seconds now, but the intense warmth in his voice made me jump. I couldn’t move right away, paralyzed by the intimate way he said “chef” and the five alarm warning bells clanging through my head. The signal was to run, but I didn’t know if it was to run from Wyatt or to him.
“I hope you’re enjoying the meal,” he said, addressing my parents now.
The nervous feeling zinged through me evolving from hot tension to cold fear. How much had Wyatt heard? Had he caught my mom’s tirade? Had he heard about Nolan not wanting to be with me? Oh my God, right now would be such a good time for a cataclysmic earthquake. Or super volcano? Surely there was a hidden super volcano buried directly beneath me.
I swiveled in my seat to stare up at him. He had been waiting for me. His smoldering gaze met mine immediately, the corners of his mouth turning up in that wicked, mischievous way of his. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” I told him.
“I wanted to meet the parents,” he said evenly, destroying all of my assumptions about him. Or maybe not all of them, since he had been the one to set up the reservation in the first place, but there was an extra layer to his words that made my heart karate kick my breastbone. “I’ve heard so much about them after all.”
Not wanting to draw this out for longer than I needed to, I jumped to my feet, only tottering a second or two as I adjusted to the height of my stilettos. “I’m going to make you pay for this,” I whispered to Wyatt as I settled my hand on his shoulder to catch my balance.
His head dipped so he could whisper, “Promises, promises,” against the shell of my ear.
Hiding my shiver, I faced my parents again and waved a hand in Wyatt’s direction. “Mom, Dad, this is Wyatt Shaw, executive chef of Lilou.” Seeing my mom’s still pinched expression, I added, “And my boss,” hoping to soften the snarling bitch that had taken possession of her body.
My dad rose immediately to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, chef. Eric Swift.”
Wyatt offered a firm handshake I knew my dad would respect and said, “Same to you, sir. Your daughter is a real asset to my staff. I’m afraid I’d be lost without her.”
“That’s true,” I quipped. “He needs me.”
His hand settled on my lower back, adding pressure to my already tingling spine. “I do.” My breath caught in my throat at the seductive tone to his voice, but he quickly added. “She’s the best sous chef in the city. I’m lucky to call her mine.”
God, was it me or was Wyatt full of innuendos tonight? Probably just me. Right? One mind-blowing sexual encounter did not a relationship make.
“You’re who we have to thank for working our daughter to the bone?” my mom asked, not even pretending to be impressed with Wyatt.
“Yes,” I said quickly, trying to diffuse the insult with sarcasm. “Please blame him. He never listens to me when I lodge complaints.”
He smiled down at me, taking the bait, but there was something in his eyes that let me know he was only being kind for my sake. There was a gentleness there, meant for me. A sweet question of, “Are you okay?” with a vindictive shark swimming in the background. Wyatt didn’t take shit unless it was from Killian or Ezra. He wasn’t about to let Dana Swift bust his balls. Even if she was my mom.
“Wyatt, this is my mom, Dana.”
Wyatt took her hand, but quickly released it, reaching for mine instead. As if we stood like this often. With his hand still on the small of my back, splayed familiarly… possessively and his other hand holding my fingers loosely in his, my body tucked into his like we were a couple. Or two people with zero physical boundaries—the latter probably more accurate.
“Hi, Dana,” Wyatt greeted brightly.
She tried to smile, but none of us believed her. “Everything has been delicious so far.”
Wyatt looked at me, our eyes connecting in another one of his encouraging glances. You can do this, he seemed to say. You’re strong enough for this. And because he believed it, I believed it too. The gaping wound my mom had opened with talk about Nolan and marriage and my priorities began to close, my body ached less, my heart hurt less.
“Thank you,” he told her patiently. “You won’t eat a better meal in the city.”
My mom blinked at him, but his confidence held strong. I also knew he believed what he said. It wasn’t bravado for the sake of standing up for me. Lilou was the best. It was worth sacrificing for.
“We see that,” my dad said tersely, saving the conversation.
I turned to Wyatt, putting my hand on his chest, realizing too late how comfortable we looked touching each other. His arm that was already resting on my back, slid around and tugged me toward him, settling me against his body and holding me there. I focused on his face, stopping myself from glancing around in a panic. It wasn’t only my parents that I was worried about watching us now. His entire staff could see our public display of affection.
There would be no way to stifle the gossip. This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
And yet… I didn’t hate it either. Yes, thinking about my career and the implications this would have on my application for Sarita, I wanted to shrink into a tiny version of myself and race out of here like a cartoon Jerry trying to escape Tom’s sinister plans. But, the girl inside of me—the one that controlled my emotions and soul and my broken heart—rested in this touch, this closeness, the way he held me so firmly but so delicately. My heart grew three sizes in his arms, allowing my body to feel comforted and healed and held all at once.
“You should probably get back to the kitchen,” I told him, even though all I wanted to do was throw my body around his like a boa constrictor and never let go. “I’m not in there to save your ass tonight.”
He smiled down at me, his mouth a sanctuary of affection and his eyes a temple of desire. His expression was nothing short of adoring. God, how had I caught this man’s attention?
And how was he still here after everything I put him through? How had he not run away screaming by now? How did he ignore every single word out of my mouth and only pay attention to the signs I was too chicken to say out loud?
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. Tipping forward on his toes, he pressed a sweet, slow kiss to my forehead.
I was momentarily blinded by the riot of butterflies inside me. They started low in my belly, but quickly spread to every extremity, making it impossible to think straight or form words or do anything but melt into a sticky, gooey pile of adoration.
Wyatt stepped back and addressed my parents. “Your food should be out in a minute. It was nice to meet, y’all. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.” To me, he said, “I’ll text you later, yeah?” He started to pull away but didn’t. He quickly leaned in and caught my ear with his lips. “By the way, I’m thinking about making this your new dress code. Goddamn, woman, you know how to bring me to my knees.” And then he was gone. Back to his lair, while I was left to convince my body it still had bones to hold me up with.
How did he do that? How did he make me feel so completely hot and melty and… soft? I wasn’t soft. I was hard, edgy… biting. I was a venomous snake. I was a snarling Pitbull. A barbwire version of what I used to be before unrequited love and devastating heartache had made me completely pull into myself.
Bracing myself for my parent’s questions, I collapsed on my chair and turned to face them. They were as flabbergasted as I was. All they could do was blink at me.
Thankfully, our food came out, saving us from trying to speak in full sentences until we’d collected our scattered wits.
Kim went over each dish, reminding us what was in front of us. She took another drink order—I asked Darius to surprise us.
I wasn’t entirely sure that alcohol was going to improve the evening, but I was willing to give it a shot. Besides… I still had two days left with my mother. Probably best to soak everything in booze—especially my sharp tongue.
“Wyatt seems nice,” my dad said evenly as he cut up his steak.
“Are you dating him?” my mother demanded, her tone shrill and slicing. “Is this what your hang up with work is?”
I took a bite of my handmade tortellini, closing my eyes against the fresh taste of blanched sweet peas and wholesomeness of pasta from scratch. The sauce was perfect tonight, hot and creamy and just a little tart thanks to the sharpness of the aged parmesan. God, I could eat a gallon of this. Carbs and my ass be damned.
“The thing with Wyatt is…” Not real. Too real. So very real. “Early.” I cleared my throat. “My hang up with work is that I love it. I love it more than I’ve loved anything in my life.” I pointed my fork at her when she started to protest. “Including Nolan.”
“Maybe you should back off for tonight, Dana,” my dad tried.
But my mom was a dog with a bone. “You can’t hide in a kitchen your whole life, Kaya. Eventually you’re going to have to come out. And when you do you’re going to find that you’re all alone and life has,” she made a vanishing gesture with her hands, “passed you by. No man is going to want a shriveled-up spinster, even if she can cook him a good meal.”
I slid to the edge of my chair. “Life is not passing me by, Mother,” I snapped. “I’m living life. I’m living it to the fullest. I have an amazing job. A job other chefs would literally kill for.” I glanced at my dad. “Not literally. But do you know how many other chefs want my job? How many are dying for the day I leave? A ton. So many. And I love my friends. And I love my apartment in the city. And I love my life. I love it. And I have a man. A good man. A smart, creative, super talented man. A man that I love—” the words caught me off guard, sticking in my throat and burning my tongue. I hadn’t meant to say that. I hadn’t even meant to think it. “To work with,” I finished. Calmer, slower, with more intention, I repeated. “A man I love to work with. A man that makes me a better chef. And a better person.” I relaxed in my chair, realizing that all these things were true. I not only felt them, I meant them. I didn’t have to convince anyone else. I could… rest in their truth. I held my mother’s angry gaze, praying she would see the sincerity in mine. “Nolan was never that man for me, Mama. We were kids. And he… he’s never grown up. He’s still the same kid, still playing the same games, still using the same tricks. But I’m not the same. I have grown up. And my taste has grown up. My qualifications. My preferences. I’m sorry that you think Nolan is this great love of my life, but he’s not. And I’m also sorry that you think I need a husband to make my life worth living. Because I don’t. I’m happy. Really, truly happy. And I would love it if you would be happy for me.”
Both of my parents stared at me, hardly believing the words that had come out of my mouth. For so long I’d been the silent victim to her constant nagging. I’d taken her anger, believing I deserved it, deserved their anger.
I’d felt guilty for running away. I’d felt guilty for leaving Nolan, for leaving Hamilton, for leaving everything behind. And they were so content with their life, so utterly happy with the smallness of it. I couldn’t live that way. That life wasn’t for me. Those people weren’t for me. Nolan wasn’t for me.
It had taken almost ten years and an unlikely arrogant chef to help me see it, but I finally felt released from the chains of my childhood.
My mother twisted the napkin in her lap and stared at her untouched pork belly. “Well.” She sniffed.
Surprising everyone, my father barked a low, “Enough, Dana. Eat the damn good food and give her a break for once.”
I had to shove some tortellini in my mouth to hide my smile. My dad never stood up to my mom. Like ever.
But then again, neither did I.
It might have been my imagination, but our dinner tasted even better after that. The conversation fell to safe topics like my sisters and how good everything was and the genius that was Darius the master barman.
My dad and I even laughed over the different names of dishes as I explained the rest of the menu and how frilly everything sounded. My mom never quite got over her ruffled feathers, but that was okay. I was willing to risk hers if it meant mine could be left alone.
By the time we got home, I was exhausted. All of us were ready for bed. I said goodnight to my parents and headed to my room.
Mindlessly working through my nightly routine, I saved plugging my phone in for last. I knew I’d have a text waiting for me. I had several—precisely what I expected after Wyatt’s full on possessively affectionate act tonight.
There were several waiting for me from Dillon and Benny, even Endo had texted a WTF?!?! But it was Wyatt’s and only Wyatt’s that I was interested in opening. There were four of them, sent throughout the night.
Keep thinking about you and that dress, Kaya. Damn.
Five minutes later he added, But it’s not better than you stripped naked for me. Need to see that again real soon.
An hour later he sent, Hope I didn’t piss your parents off too badly. To be fair, I was on my best behavior. At least considering the circumstances. Don’t remember being that irritated in a long time.
And then twenty minutes ago. PS, who the fuck is Nolan?
I typed back, He’s nobody. For the first time in too many years, I meant it.