Chapter Twenty WES
Chapter Twenty
W ES
The shock of what I’ve just told her ripples through her body.
Eyes wide, she seems to be trying to process what I’ve said.
I just hope she’ll give me a chance to explain. To give her a true picture of what happened. But I also understand if what I’ve said is enough. If she doesn’t need to hear anything else from me.
Because something like what I’ve done can be a deal-breaker. Even though I technically wasn’t a cheater, I still did something with serious moral implications. And with the things Murphy has shared with me about her time in LA, it makes me think she might not be able to brush this off.
Which is why I’m talking to her about it now.
“Can I tell you what happened?” I ask after a bit of time has passed and she still hasn’t responded.
I can understand why she might say no. I doubt she wants to hear about an affair I had with someone else, let alone a married someone else.
So when she takes a deep breath and gives me a quiet, “Okay,” I feel grateful. What I don’t expect is for her to reach over and put a hand on my forearm.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure that you’ll feel better once you talk about it.”
Her words are so kind, but I can’t help the humorless laugh that bubbles up from my chest. Because the truth is that I’m not so sure I agree. It’s very possible that sharing this with Murphy will ruin that wide-eyed way she looks at me, and in that case, I will definitely not feel better.
I clear my throat, and then jump in, knowing that if I don’t just rip off the Band-Aid, I might never get it out.
“I spent years working for my mentor at an incredible restaurant in San Francisco,” I tell her, wanting to make sure she understands where I was coming from. “All the things that Chef Hines preached about food are the things I’m bringing to my chef work here. The farm-to-table, community-oriented cooking.”
Chef Hines was a wonderful mentor during the most important and formative time of my career, and he is a huge factor in the kind of chef I aspire to be. I only wish that I hadn’t let him down in such a major way.
“But the beginning years in a culinary career are not incredibly lucrative. It’s generally accepted that you’ll be broke for years before you really feel comfortable, unless you make smart choices early on. So when I garnered some interest from a couple who were restaurateurs, I jumped at the chance to work for them. The salary was something I’d only ever dreamed of, and it was the kind of thing where I thought I could have the job, live comfortably, and pay for my brother to go to college so he didn’t have to struggle like I did. So I picked up my meager little life and moved to Chicago.”
I run a hand through my hair, sure that I’ve mussed it enough to leave things looking messy and neglected. It’s an accurate representation for how things feel inside my chest as well.
“I was the head chef for a restaurant they’d just opened. But after the first year, they offered me a chance to partner with them on other projects, so before long I was helping them open several others. It was a fast-paced thing, and instead of being paid more, we discussed partnership opportunities for ownership, which felt like a huge move for me.”
I pause, realizing this is where my story changes. That from here on out, there’s no going back.
“We talked before about restaurant culture, how wild and toxic it can be and how everyone sleeps with everyone.”
Murphy nods.
“Well, I guess it’s not just restaurant staff, it’s management, too. Everybody knew that the couple, the Santiagos, had an open marriage. Alejandro and Bridget both slept around—servers, staff, kitchen crew, guests, it didn’t matter. Nobody was off-limits. And a guy from one of the spots I helped open told me that he hooked up with Bridget and got a bonus in his next paycheck. So when Bridget began flirting with me ...”
I trail off, the shame I feel weighing heavy in my gut.
“It was only a few times, and it wasn’t a hardship or anything. She was beautiful and funny and it felt like a normal interaction. A normal hookup.”
I swallow thickly.
“Until I got that first paycheck,” I continue, shaking my head at myself. “I’ve never felt so sick in my entire life, so ... ashamed. I felt like I’d sold my soul. Or gave it away without realizing its worth. And that’s not ...”
I trail off again, and this time, Murphy surprises me when she reaches out and places her hand on mine where I’m gripping the seat of the bench.
“My brother is all I have, and I would do anything for him. But I realized as I was looking at that paycheck, there were other ways I could have tried to help him, you know?”
I squeeze the bench seat more firmly and continue to glare daggers at the ground. I’m not ready to look at Murphy. Not ready to see the look on her face.
“How did you end up getting fired? If they were in an open marriage, I mean, did he really fire you for that when he was doing it, too?”
At that, I actually laugh, because this is the part I can still barely believe myself.
“I went to work drunk the day after I got the paycheck,” I tell her. “I didn’t really know how to handle the whole thing and ended up making an ass of myself and talked about their marriage and sleeping with Bridget and getting paid for it. In front of them and their guests.”
I still don’t understand exactly how it all went down, the pieces of my actions only flittering in and out of my memory in drunken hazes.
“Alejandro walked me through the dining room, through the kitchen, out the back door. Gave me a black eye and shoved me to the ground. Told me I was done. That when he was through, I’d be lucky to work as a dishwasher. And he has the clout to make that happen.”
I finally turn and look at Murphy.
“Almost a decade of work trying to build up my reputation, my skills, my salary. Gone. It took me weeks to find a new job, and it was literally as a dishwasher, and yes, I felt lucky as hell to finally find it because I couldn’t seem to get anyone to call me about any chef positions, line cook work, nothing.”
She looks surprised.
“Is that really a thing? One person can block you from work like that?”
I level her with a stare. “You tell me.”
Murphy nods at the reference to her own story. To her own experience.
When Alejandro told me I was done, I knew he meant it. That he had that level of control and influence to ruin any kind of culinary connections I was trying to cultivate and keep me from forming new ones.
A chef further along in his career might have been able to weather this kind of situation. But I didn’t have the connections to maneuver around Alejandro.
“What did your mentor say about it?” Murphy asks.
“I haven’t talked to him since it happened.”
She looks shocked. “What? Why?”
I shrug, because I know my answer isn’t good enough. “He told me not to get involved with them and I did it anyway and look how things turned out. I ruined my career because I didn’t listen to him, so I promised myself I would do everything I could to fix things before I reached out to him. Get back to my roots and what matters to me. Go back to the lessons I was taught in the beginning.”
Then I chuckle, scrubbing my face with my hands.
“This is why I wanted to talk to you. Because my life is a mess, Murphy. And I feel like I need to be truthful about it, so you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Look,” she starts, her eyes boring into my soul. “I can’t even tell you how much I wish I’d had a mentor when I was in LA. Someone I could reach out to and share everything I’d been through, who might be able to provide suggestions on how to handle it. And you have that, Wes.” She squeezes my hand. “You have someone who cares about you and wants to see you succeed waiting for you in your corner to patch you up and send you back out.”
Then she moves to twist our fingers together.
“You have me in your corner, too,” she adds, her voice gentle. “I might not have the ability to patch you up, but I can be here to listen. To make sure you feel heard. If I learned anything during my time in LA, it was how important it can be just to know that someone sees you. That they know you. Who you really are.”
Murphy lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses the back, never taking her eyes off me.
“And I know who you are, Wesley Hart.”
Her free hand rises and she places her palm against the center of my chest.
“I know how kind and thoughtful you are. How much you love your family, even when it hurts. How hard you work.”
She pauses for just a breath, her eyes searching mine.
“And I know that I’m in love with you.”
It takes a second for her words to sink in, and when they do, something heavy in my chest takes flight, leaving me feeling weightless.
“I’m in love with you, too,” I tell her. “ So in love with you.”
At that, Murphy’s leaning in and pressing her lips to mine, all thoughts of our earlier conversation taking a back seat to this moment.
It’s not a kiss filled with lust or desire. It’s a kiss filled with love. There’s something special about it that I can’t name. All I can do is feel it.
We pull back to look at each other, and I reach up and tuck some of her loose hairs behind her ear, then stroke my thumb down her jaw.
“I’m sorry about what you went through in Chicago,” she tells me, sympathy written all over her face. “And how everything turned out.”
I shake my head. “It was my own fault,” I tell her. “Are you not at all upset with me?”
At that, her brows scrunch in confusion.
“Why would I be upset with you ?”
“I mean, you had someone offer you your dream if you would compromise yourself, and you refused. I thought I saw a chance at something better, and I took it without a second thought.”
She considers me for a moment, her eyes scanning my face.
“If you could go back to any point in time and talk to yourself about what happened in Chicago and give yourself advice, what would you say?”
Blinking a few times, I think it over, having never thought of this before.
“I’d probably go back to before I went to Chicago and tell myself that I should listen to Chef Hines. That I need to focus more on the things I value than the value of things.”
Her lips tilt up at the sides.
“Wes, you talk about this mistake like it’s one of the most horrible things a person can do.” Her hand reaches out and twists into mine again. “But someone who has truly sold their soul wouldn’t care this much about redemption.”
I shake my head and just stare at Murphy.
“I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve said.”
She grins, something playful coming across her smile.
“Yeah, well ... you’d better check if I’m in network,” she teases. “This therapy session is gonna cost you big-time.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nods.
“Do you take AmEx?”
Murphy giggles, her head falling back, the sound deflating the last bit of tension still lingering in the air around us.
“Hmm, that’s a no. How about Discover?”
“Who even uses Discover?” she asks, still smiling wide.
“All right, not Discover. How about this?” I lean forward, so my lips are just a breath from hers.
I kiss her gently, and just for a heartbeat. When I pull back, she licks her lips.
“I might be able to accept those.”
“Good to know.”
We smile at each other, and then I pull her in for another kiss.
And if it was up to me, I’d never stop.
Murphy goes back to my cabin with me, where we strip each other of our clothes and fall into bed.
I kiss her for what feels like hours before finally trailing my way down her body, branding her with my lips in as many places as possible.
She watches me with wide eyes and open mouth as I pulse my tongue against her clit. Her hands grip the pillow behind her, soft whimpers falling from her mouth.
Only after I have her right on the crest of orgasm do I kiss my way back up her body and slip inside, groaning at how tight and wet she is.
“I love you,” she whispers, her eyes piercing mine as she clamps down and then flies over the edge.
I moan, tumbling over as well, my forehead pressed to hers, my eyes never looking away.
They really do mean it when they say there’s a difference between fucking and making love.
Before Murphy, I wouldn’t have known.
I wouldn’t have been able to explain how something that might look the same on the outside feels so different on the inside.
But now that I have her, I don’t ever want to go back.
I don’t ever want to be reminded of when sex was something other than the intimacy we just shared in this bed.
Because making love to Murphy might just be the most incredible, beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.
And now that I know it exists, I don’t want to settle for anything less.