Chapter 18
Chapter
Sometime between sunset and nightfall, we end up sitting on a bench overlooking the East River and a view of the Brooklyn Bridge that most people would kill for. Nights are colder now, so I pull my jacket collar around my neck and sit closer to Adam for what I tell myself is solely body heat.
“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?” I ask.
“There’s a private lunch for some Wall Street investors—they do it every month. I’ll go in to help prep,” he says, and I let out a little laugh. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “You’re just—you’re an adult. ”
“Yeah, when the fuck did that happen?” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Some days it feels like yesterday when I was still in school. Then I think of all the years of work and late nights and…” He looks at me, his eyes fixated like they see more than what’s in front of him. “I mean, you were there.”
I was. Every day we lived together, we were both working in tandem toward our dreams. Memories play like footage from an old home video in my mind—all of the monologues I performed in front of him, the songs I practiced and made him listen to, the nights he iced my back, my ankles, or my feet after rehearsals.
Then another roll of film plays, one showing the recipes he asked me to try, the diners and food joints I would eat at just to get a glance of him in the kitchen.
The nights we both swore we were giving up, and the pep talks we’d give each other saying we’ll get there someday . And now we’re here.
For the first time since reuniting, I’m seeing Adam. I didn’t realize all those years ago, but he was just a boy. I was just a girl. We were kids in our twenties who felt like we knew everything, and somewhere along the way from then to now we grewup.
“I wish I could’ve been there,” I say quietly. “When it all happened.”
“Me too.” He gently tips his chin to me, acknowledging my career. We watch as the NYC Ferry glides along the river toward Midtown, a neon spectacle as its backdrop.
“You know, when I was at Alden the other day”—I nudge him with my elbow—“I was very impressed.”
“Oh yeah?” He nudges me back. “Does it get the June Wood stamp of approval?”
“It sure does,” I say.
“You’d love the tagliatelle,” he says.
“God, that sounds so good right now.” I throw my head back.
“Do you want some?” he asks.
“Now?” I look at him, confused, because he says it like it’s not almost midnight. “Isn’t the restaurant closed?”
“Yes,” he says. “But I do have a key.”
I bite my lip. Pasta does sound good right now, and I’m not entirely ready for the night to be over.
“Let’s do it.”
This time, I’m entering Alden through a poorly lit back alley leading to the rear entrance.
“This kind of feels like the last place I’m going to see before I get thrown into a van,” I say as I wait for Adam to unlock the door.
“Oh, were you not up for that?” he says.
“Not really feeling it tonight.” I shrug.
He opens the door, and the lights are off. “One second—stay here.”
He disappears to the right, and at the flick of a switch, I see I’m in a hallway leading to the kitchen.
Thanks to Adam, I’ve seen a few different kitchens in my lifetime, but as we turn the corner, I’m in awe at how big the space is.
This is a kitchen. When I was here with Dan, I remember being impressed looking through the glass window, but up close, I’m speechless.
“Whoa,” I say, analyzing the stove ranges. There are endless shelves surrounding us full of wine bottles from floor to ceiling, something that Alden is famous for. It’s no surprise people make reservations just to take photos of the interior.
“Still hungry?” Adam asks over his shoulder, going through the commercial fridge.
“If you are,” I say, suddenly feeling small.
“Why don’t you take a look around. I’ll have this ready in fifteen.” He starts putting some pans on the stove. “Pick a bottle of wine you want too.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Where’s the restroom?”
“Down that aisle there,” Adam says, pointing. “And to the left.”
I take my jacket off and place it on the first booth to my right, along with my purse.
There’s something intimate about having the whole restaurant to ourselves.
The lightbulbs on drooping pendant wires cast a warm glow throughout the dining area.
Meanwhile, brick walls, marble tables, aging mirrors, and blue-and-burnt-orange tilework on the ground are the perfect backdrop.
I attempt to make myself look a little more presentable after running around Manhattan for twelve hours. When I emerge from the ladies’ room, a framed photo catches my eye.
Among more than fifty eccentric paintings and photographs, there’s a black-and-white one, a little out of focus.
It’s a snapshot from a rainy night in front of the Imperial Theatre.
At first glance, it looks like a beautiful homage to the Theater District, but looking closer, I see a woman with her back to the camera, gazing up at the marquee.
A poster for Rent. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I reach out to touch the photo and outline the thick black frame. I remember this day exactly.
Adam’s dad had given him a film camera earlier that month, but to my knowledge, he’d never gotten the film developed.
In an instant, whatever walls I had up begin to shatter like waves crumbling a sandcastle.
I didn’t even know this photo existed, and now it’s sitting here among artwork and memories in a place that is Adam personified.
When I reenter the kitchen, there’s a mouthwatering smell filling the air. On top of the stainless-steel countertop are two bowls of pasta that put any meal I’ve ever looked at to shame.
“Black truffle tagliatelle.” Adam gestures to a bowl, a symphony of herbs, salted butter, and caramelized mushrooms sitting on a bed of thick pasta.
“Wow…I didn’t realize how hungry I am. Also, does this work?” I hold up a bottle with an intriguing coral label that I pulled from the wall.
“Perfect.” He takes the wine from me and pours two glasses. “Do you want to sit down, or…?”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to eat in the kitchen with the chef.” I grin. “May I?” My eyes go to the countertop.
“Who am I to deprive you of your fantasies?” Adam says, and I hoist myself up to sit on the counter.
“Are you kidding me?” I say through a mouthful of pasta.
“It’s one of the more popular dishes.” He laughs, and leans against the counter with his bowl in hand. “I never get to make it for myself anymore, though, so thank you.”
“Did you come up with the recipe?” I ask.
Adam nods. “Everything on the menu.”
“Wow,” I say, more to myself than him, not hiding the fact that I’m impressed. Very impressed. But not surprised.
“So.” Adam twists his pasta onto his fork. “What happened with Liam?”
My ex-boyfriend’s name is the last thing I expect to come out of his mouth, but I deserve this. It’s clear we’ve opened an honest line of communication in the past twenty-four hours. I lower my bowl a little and breathein.
“I, uh, was going through a little bit of a rough patch a few years ago,” I say, feeling more vulnerable around him than I ever have before. “Couldn’t eat, couldn’t get out of bed, just not great all around…and he couldn’t take it anymore.”
What I don’t share is that I wasn’t going through depression; I was going through heartbreak.
“How are you now?” he asks, like the Liam part of the story doesn’t even matter. Like my well-being is the only thing that he cares about.
“Better.” I nod assuringly, because it’s the truth. “I guess it was just hard, being in a new city, newish career, not knowing anyone. But therapy really helped.”
“Therapy’s been good for me too,” he says, a look of relief on his face. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Liam.”
“Don’t be.” I shake my head and wave a hand. “That was doomed before it even started,” I say, and Adam just nods, lost in thought.
“Look, earlier, about Riley—” Adam starts, but I don’t want to talk about our exes. I don’t want us to think about the past. All that matters to me is the here and now.
Interrupting him, I say, “Adam, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything. Whatever happened with you and Riley, with me and Liam, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done.” I smile.
“Yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “Okay.”
I lift my bowl back up and finish the rest of my pasta in an embarrassingly short amount of time. After placing it off to the side, I take a sip of my wine. “Oh wow, that’s good too.”
“It should be,” he says. “That’s one of our most expensive bottles.”
My eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s fine,” he says with a laugh.
“How much is it? I’ll pay you.”
“June, stop.”
“Just tell me!” I demand.
“One seventy,” he finally says, and I pull my lips inside my mouth.
“Okay, how about I wash the dishes?” I offer.
“Deal—I think you’d look pretty sexy with those rubber gloves.” He nods to the washing station. He’s definitely flirting, and I don’t hate it. I laugh and try to kick him from where I am on the counter even though I’m nowhere within reach.
“Hey, thanks for today,” I say.
“Did you have fun?” he asks.
I nod. “Did you?”
“I’m still having fun,” he says, and I catch his gaze quickly go from my eyes to my lips. I swallow. In this moment, there’s nothing more I want right now than to be near him, to feel him.
Although we’re completely alone, the four feet of space between us may as well be four miles.
His forearm muscles slightly tense as he adjusts himself against the counter.
There’s no denying I’m still beyond attracted to Adam.
It’s an attraction where you just need someone with your entire body and soul.
The physical exterior is only a bonus—I want his mind, his thoughtfulness, his protectiveness. I want all of him.