I was in the middle of work, distracted as always. It was as if I was here in body but not in spirit.

The kitchen at the Myrtle Beach hotel had different rules than from where I came from. I’d got so used to my old job that I tended to do things on automatic when I wasn’t paying proper attention—which was rare in and of itself, because I took my job very seriously—but I was still stewing with myself over my decision as to whether to go back to Charlotte or stay in my current position.

I could stay…

But four days after I’d had the thought that I might not have made the best idea with the transfer, I realized I was still miserable. Even more so, because I’d come to know in the ensuing days that things could get worse. My new coworkers had upgraded from occasionally acting like assholes, to outright bullying, reminiscent of high school.

It was so fucking annoying. I’d get into work, go to my locker in the staff room, only to realize my uniform was missing. Then I had to track down a new one, sign on a bunch of forms, and when I finally got a new set, I went back to my locker only to find my old uniform there, dirty when I’d left it clean. While I wasn’t in uniform, I wouldn’t be allowed to work in the kitchens, so it was like I was slacking off at work.

There were other little things, like them snubbing me when a bunch of us were in the staffroom for meal breaks or tripping me up when I got near them. Thankfully, no one had tried it while we were in the kitchen, or I might have tripped into one of the many hot cooking stations and burned myself or been otherwise injured. They were immature, but they weren’t taking it too far.

But I’d gone through high school, and I knew if it didn’t stop soon, then at some point, someone might try it. There had been some sabotage here and there as well with people messing with my recipes, and I’d have to start all over instead of allowing anything less than my best be served up to the guests.

Honestly, the behavior was getting old quickly, but I was giving it a little time before I made a formal complaint, since I doubted arguing back would be of much help. Whether the manager would take action or not… well. That, I had no idea about, but I had to hope.

Although, there was another option.

I could always go back…

But there were pitfalls with that plan as well, ones that I wanted to avoid. Running into Trent being one of them.

Not that it was my biggest problem. If I wanted to go back to the hotel in Charlotte, I would have to apply for another transfer, and again, I would have to go to the manager to get that done. His attitude towards me meant he wouldn’t make it easy for me. He might outright refuse or he could delay it. Or pretend to agree to it at first, only for me to find out later that he was just pranking me.

Maybe that kind of thinking was a little overboard. I was turning this guy into a typical villain when he might not be that bad a guy. But that didn’t necessarily mean he would be on my side either. Because, whether or not I had good reasons, the transferring back and forth was an inconvenience for both sides because of the paperwork involved. And the last thing I wanted was to make a nuisance of myself, so that was another reason why I was hesitating.

With so much to think about, I was distracted and not noticing what I was doing. I’d worked that way a few times, so at first, it wasn’t a problem. Until I knocked into another worker there, who yelped and dropped the bowl they were holding. It was made of metal, and it dropped to the floor with a loud clang that caught everyone’s attention and made everything come to a halt.

I would have been fine had I been back home because I was so used to the kitchen there. Here, it was a bit smaller, more cramped, and organized in a way that seemed disorganized to me.

If I had been back in Charlotte, there would have been a moment of silence, then good-natured laughter and ribbing from everyone else, teasing me about what—or who—I was daydreaming over.

Here, though…

“Jessi!”

I winced at the loud yell of my name, even as expected as it was. Slowly, I turned to look at the chef who’d called me. It was the same chef who’d been giving me a hard time since I got here, I’d never actually met the head chef here, and I was starting to wonder if the man was just lazy, or if this guy was him.

“Yes, sir?” I said meekly, clasping my hands in front of me and keeping my head ducked down.

Before, he’d looked for whatever excuse to give me shit, and I couldn’t even blame him this time because it was my fault.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice especially loud in the silence.

I fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot as I twisted my fingers together, my stomach tying itself up in knots. It felt like my lips were glued together, and it took a moment to part them, only words escaped me.

“Um… I…”

“You were daydreaming in the middle of work,” he accused.

I couldn’t say no, so I just kept silent. I wanted a hole to open up in the ground and swallow me whole. I didn’t bother to check, but I knew the others were trying to hold in their snickers at my misfortune. I hadn't failed to notice how no one else got into as much trouble as I did.

“We’re here to work, Jessi,” he went on. “I don’t know what it is that you were doing at the main branch, but we’re serious people here. I don’t know if you wanted to come down here or if you were sent away, but either way, you can't come here and bring the rest of us down just because you can.”

I wanted to scoff when he said the ‘serious people’ part. But what followed had me holding back. I had neither wanted to come or was sent away, but I couldn’t even open my mouth to defend myself. A fine trembling started in my body, and I blinked as my eyes started to sting.

“Everyone else, continue working. Jessi, move over here.”

I sighed as I left what I’d been doing and went over to where the chef moved, out of the way of everyone else as they went on with their work. They didn’t even bother to hide that they were listening in on our conversation, and I did my best to ignore them.

Why the fuck am I letting them get to me?

I knew better than to show weakness because that was when they went in for the attack. So when I looked up, my expression was stoic, and I pushed back my emotions. I thought back to school, on the few occasions I was sent to the principal’s office and dealt with this as I did with that. I distanced myself from it emotionally, looking on dispassionately as the chef continued berating me. The others were outright making fun of me now, but I ignored that too.

Stay calm, I thought to myself. This is nothing like high school. The worst they can do is fire you, and it’s not like finding jobs in other places would be hard with such a good record.

Not that I wanted to get fired but starting over might not be such a bad thing. I wouldn’t have to stay at Myrtle Beach, and I could find someplace close enough to Charlotte that I wouldn’t be too far from my parents. The Thompson hotel was the biggest contender in the area, but there were a few other hotels I could try for.

“What is going on in here?”

The sudden interruption had everyone freezing again. My eyes blew wide as I registered the familiar voice, thinking I had to be mistaken. But I looked around, and sure enough, there he was. Dressed in a shirt, slacks, and loafers instead of the usual suit, with his hair falling over his forehead, but it was undoubtedly him.

“Who are you?” the chef asked, incensed at being interrupted. “And what are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Trent,” he said bluntly, walking further into the room. His eyes traveled from me to the chef in curiosity. “And who are you?”

The guy looked offended that Trent had to ask, and puffed out his chest, fisting his hands on his hips.

“I’m the head chef around here,” he said proudly.

I almost laughed, wondering if he meant that it was his given position or the position he imagined himself in because I believed the latter. Though I was worried, Trent’s presence had made me feel lighter. He probably wasn’t here today to make things even harder for me.

“Not anymore,” he said, sounding almost cheerful as he put his hands in his pockets and faced the chef. “From now on, you no longer work here. Have your bags packed and yourself moved out of the premises. If you’re still here by tomorrow, I will know. You’ll receive your severance package. Good day, sir.”

The chef was stunned, standing there gaping in shock, before he started stuttering.

“Who are you to come here and fire…” he started to argue, losing steam as his eyes widened. He gulped. “Trent Thompson?” he asked, suddenly looking small and fearful of the answer.

Trent gave his best smirk. “The one and only. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal the pastry chef. She is still very much needed at the main branch. If you would all excuse me.”

He looked down expectantly at me. It took me a minute to realize what he wanted, and I started to walk out of the kitchen, him falling into step beside me. Once we were out, and hopefully away from earshot, I stopped. Trent turned to me again with that expectant look, only for it to dissolve into shock when I suddenly burst into laughter, that may have been part giddy and part hysterical.

“Thank you for that,” I said, once I’d calmed down a little, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I don’t know why I laughed so hard, but that was a nice sight to see.”

Trent chuckled beside me. “Anytime,” he teased, nudging my shoulder with his. Though his expression turned serious when I looked up to meet his gaze. “I wanted to talk to you. Do you mind following me back to my suite? I have one booked.”

I didn’t refuse, and he led us to an elevator, where we got on and went up several floors. We went to his room, and the first cursory glance told me it was beautiful. But I could hardly focus on it when Trent walked in behind me. He looked as handsome as I remembered, even more so perhaps, and I realized I’d missed him over the past few weeks.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, curious. And how was it I had dreaded this, but Trent was standing right in front of me, and all I could feel was a relief?

He took a deep breath, wiping his hands on his thighs. He paced slow steps to close the distance between us, and all I could do was watch him as my heart started to beat a little fast.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

I blinked, not comprehending the phrase. “I’m sorry, what?”

Suddenly, words were spilling out of his mouth. “I came because I realized I never apologized to you. And it was completely unfair of me to think you would stay when I hadn't even done that. I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you, including our past together, and I’m also sorry that it took me this long to get my act together and find you. I meant it when I asked you to stay. So please, come back with me, Jessi.”

I didn’t know how to react. A part of me wanted to rail at him because I’d spent so much time feeling worried, and here he was, telling me everything I wanted to hear. My eyes stung again, and I blinked back the tears.

“Trent,” I said his name in a whisper, and it was all I could get past the lump in my throat.

Like he understood what I was trying to say, Trent closed the space between us. His hands cupped my cheeks as I tilted my head and ducked down so his lips covered mine. I melted into the kiss, sighing at the familiar feel and taste of him, even after the weeks apart.

His mouth was rough against mine, and all I could do was clutch at him as he walked me backward, never once breaking from the kiss. I jumped a little when my back hit something hard and cold, probably the glass wall from the smooth feel of it through my clothes. I didn’t even care that people might be able to see us from outside.

Trent had come for me, and it was more than I could have dared to hope for.