CHAPTER 7
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Rose
Tears trickled down her cheeks as she slammed the door on her aging Chevy Equinox. Rain pummeled the windshield and mirrored the depression in her soul. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” Rose whined.
The wind rocked the midsize SUV as the late summer storm strengthened, blurring the busy patrons on Hill Street, their colorful umbrellas seemingly unimpacted by the wind and rain.
Lifting her teary-eyed gaze to the restaurant on the corner, Rose sobbed as the word open glowed in neon and flickered off.
For the final time.
The floodgates crashed as the burn grew behind her lids, sliding down her face like a river flows downstream. “What am I supposed to do?” she repeated. As she sucked in quick gulps of air, her head pounded with the new reality of her world.
Her eyes fell to her chef’s jacket, inciting a burst of anger to burn a hole in her gut. Heat flushed her cheeks and fueled the fire in her chest at the now seemingly useless piece of clothing.
The hours. The money. The things I gave up...
Rose dropped her head to the steering wheel and groaned as her sister’s name appeared on the dashboard—her incoming call was the worst timed in a lifetime.
She tapped decline and returned her forehead to the cool leather coating the wheel. Releasing a sigh as the fury in her heart smoldered, Rose squeezed her eyes shut. But the echo of Rachel’s call sounded again.
What the fuck, Rachel?
“Can’t you take a hint?” she spit and pressed decline again on the dash.
Rose stared at the darkened restaurant once more—the brick walls her home away from home—her first “big girl job” after moving back from the Windy City.
Another incoming call rang out and Rose grunted, jamming her finger against the green accept button with a frown. “What do you want, Rachel?” she yelled.
“Why are you declining my calls?” she sniped back.
“Maybe because when someone hits decline, it means they don’t want to talk right now!”
“Why don’t you want to talk to me?”
Rose released a long, slow breath—calming her body as ire raged through her veins. “It’s not you, Rach. I just don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”
“Okay, why?”
“Ugh! Mind your own business!” she snapped.
Rachel scoffed, her offended snort echoing through the speakers. “What’s your problem?”
What’s my problem? What’s my problem?
Amusement overpowered anger and sent laughter to her lips. Rose sobbed through the pain and unbuttoned her jacket completely, tearing the thick wet fabric from her body and tossing it to the passenger side floor.
“Rose?” Rachel pressed.
“My problem, sis, is that Break the Bread just closed. For good. I’m out of a fucking job.” The tears returned as the truth spilled from her soul. “I’m out of a fucking job,” she repeated in a sob of disbelief.
How did this happen?
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An hour later, Rachel’s headlights glared through the front window of her condo. Rose smashed her eyes closed and willed the building headache away.
The sweet red of a cheap bottle of pinot noir slid down her throat as Rachel took the front steps at a snail’s pace and gripped the doorknob.
“Rose?” she muttered as she pushed the front door open.
With a grunt, she lifted her glass in Rachel’s direction. “Cheers,” she grumbled and relished the slowly growing fog settling in her brain.
“Oh, Rose,” Rachel whispered and dropped her signature canvas bag to the floor. Kicking off her sandals, she tiptoed into the living room and sank onto the single oversized chair.
“There’s an open bottle in the kitchen.” Gesturing over her shoulder, Rose drained the remaining red contents in her glass.
Rachel lifted a brow. “Refill then?” She stood and snagged the empty glass before her footsteps echoed down the short hall.
The muffled clanks of glass and bangs of a cabinet door reached her ears as Rose lifted her feet and tucked them beneath her body on the sofa. Releasing a heavy sigh, she dropped her head into her palms and propped her left elbow on the armrest.
“Where’s Cole?” Rachel asked as she set two full glasses down on the coffee table.
“Boston. He flew out with Elaina yesterday for a conference. They’ll be back Wednesday.”
Rachel nodded and took her first sip. Wincing, she settled back into her seat and shivered.
“You don’t like it?”
Rachel cleared her throat. “No, it’s not that. I’m still getting over whatever it was that I had.”
“So, it wasn’t just the flu?”
A smile twisted her sister’s lips. “The plague, actually.”
Rose furrowed her brow as she eyed Rachel’s lingering grin. “What’s up with you?”
She shook her head, but the flush on her cheeks brightened. “Nothing.” With a snort, Rachel sipped the wine.
“Whatever.” I’m in no mood to play games tonight. Rolling her eyes, Rose dragged a hand across her damp forehead, pausing to rub her right temple.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
A sad smile tugged at her lips at the recall of her last moments in the Break the Bread kitchen—the hours, the days, the weeks... gosh, the years... spent preparing and serving one-of-a-kind meals to patrons, now long gone. The sting returned behind her lids and invited another round of tears to her eyes. She sniffled and sucked in a breath.
“Rose?”
The words stalled in her throat—the truth still too fresh to speak.
Rachel stood and set her glass on the coffee table. Dropping onto the cushion beside her, she leaned in and hugged Rose.
Heat radiated from her sister as if a mini furnace lived beneath her skin.
“Why’re you so warm?” Rose choked out between tears.
Rachel sighed. “I told you. I’ve been sick all week.”
“Please tell me you’ve been to a doctor.” Pulling away from the Hell-like temperature of her sister’s body, Rose lifted her hand to Rachel’s forehead. “You’re still feverish, Rach. Why are you over here?”
She shrugged. “When you’re sad, I’m sad. I’m here to support you—whatever you need.”
Her heart ached. The sorrow swimming in her soul at her own misfortune danced with the pity in her sister’s gaze. “I think what I need is for you to take care of yourself.” Frowning, she brushed Rachel’s hair behind her ears.
“I am.” The glimmer of a smile reappeared. “Er, I mean, in addition to some antibiotics, I’ve had a pretty good nurse this week.”
Rose wrinkled her nose and gripped her glass tighter. “If you mean Ryan—”
Rachel barked out a laugh. “I do not mean Ryan. His idea of caregiving is chucking a half empty box of tissues at my head.”
With a giggle, Rose nodded. “True story,” she muttered as a vague childhood memory resurfaced. “If not Ryan, who are you talking about then?” She sucked in a breath as an idea blossomed in her brain. “Wait, Ian?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, not Ian.” Lifting her gaze to the ceiling, she rested her right hand over her heart. “Someone else, actually.” Rachel closed her eyes and licked her lips. “Someone new.”
“Oh?”
Her eyes shot open. “But Rose, I didn’t come over here to gush—”
She held her hand up. “Whatever you’ve got on your mind is a distraction from the shittiest day of my life. Come on, lay it on me. Who’s the new guy?”
Because whoever it is will be way better to talk about than filing for unemployment and my inability to now contribute to Cole’s lavish wedding plans. Ugh... or our mortgage payment.
“Rose, I—”
“I’m serious! Distract me. Please,” she begged and took a large gulp of wine. The sweet liquid poured down her throat, clouding her brain with another bout of fog. “So, you met someone new?”
Rachel nodded and tugged the vintage multi-colored afghan from the back of the couch around her shoulders. “I did. But I didn’t come over here to—”
“I know you didn’t. Please though, I need something happy to focus on right now. Who is he?”
Her pink cheeks turned red as the smile on her lips widened. “His name is Miguel. And he’s absolutely wonderful.”
Rose smirked. “Where’d you meet him?”
“Funny story, actually.” Rachel snorted. “I got stood up by a guy I met online. Weird twist of events, but the restaurant I was at turned out to be owned by Miguel. He saved me from looking like a complete doofus.”
I can’t help it.
“What restaurant?” Rose asked.
“Pier Ninety-Two.”
Her heartbeat raced as the dots connected. “Oh! I remember him! He came by our table after our engagement party, didn’t he?”
Rachel nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Such a beautiful restaurant,” she cooed and lifted her line of sight to the ceiling, recalling the twinkling lights on the patio, incredible food, and the swanky atmosphere.
“Yeah, it really is. Miguel—”
“He’s not looking for a chef, is he?” The words tumbled off her tongue with an adrenaline-fueled spark of hope.
Rachel tilted her head. “Actually, now that you say it, he did mention being short-staffed.” Nodding, her eyes darted back and forth. “Want me to text him?”
“Yes!” Rose dropped her feet on the floor and set the wine glass on the coffee table. Dashing to Rachel’s purse in the tiny foyer, she gripped the bag and returned to the sofa. “I’d take anything right now,” she muttered and dumped the canvas on her sister’s lap. “Fuck, I’d even wash dishes if it got me back into a kitchen with a paycheck.”
Rachel stuffed her hand inside and rummaged until she gripped her phone. “I’m sure he’d go for more than a dishwashing job for you, Rose.” Rolling her eyes, she tapped in a new message and rested the phone on her lap.
Rose sighed. “I just... I can’t believe Break the Bread closed. That was supposed to be the job of a lifetime! No one leaves Kendall and walks into a head chef role!”
Shrugging, Rachel eyed her silent phone. “Maybe that was the first clue the place wouldn’t last.”
She snorted. “All right, fine, maybe.” Rose leaned forward and peered at the phone screen. “Did he reply?”
Rachel shook her head. “Not yet. I, umm, may have shared my germs with him. He’s probably sleeping or something.” With a silly grin, Rachel locked the screen and readjusted the blanket. “But I promise, the second he responds, I’ll ask him about a job for you, okay?”
Nodding, Rose released a sigh.
I’ll do anything to get a new job. Anything to avoid telling Cole I’m a failure...
“More wine?” Rachel asked, gesturing to the nearly empty glass on the table.
Rose gazed at her sister’s phone once more, willing it to light up with a response. “No, I’m okay. Three glasses should probably be my limit,” she slurred.
Rachel slouched in her seat and rested her head against the arm of the couch.
“Stay here tonight, Rach?”
With a nod, her sister’s eyes closed.
The minutes ticked by in silence until Rachel’s inevitable soft snores penetrated her ear. Rose circled her gaze around the small living room, zeroing in on the newest picture frame beneath the TV. Cole wrapped his arms around her in a memory, the night they celebrated their engagement at Pier Ninety-Two. She eyed his familiar face and charming smile—the boy she grew up with and handed her heart to.
Her fingers toyed with the engagement ring on her left hand, spinning the diamond lazily in a circle.
“I don’t know, Cole,” she whispered. Glancing at her sister’s sleeping form, she sighed. “Maybe it’s not about the wedding fund...”
Swallowing the truth in her heart, she squeezed her eyes closed as the burn returned behind her lids.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be getting married at all.”