Chapter Six
Aubrey
“The prizes are great, and I can see why she thought it’d be a good opportunity, but there’s no way I can maintain the current event load and come up with a strong enough concept when I don’t even have a team yet,” I said as I loaded the last supply crate into the catering van.
“What are the prizes?” Jase asked through my earbuds. The bridal shower ended thirty minutes ago, and this was the first chance since yesterday’s meeting with Jillian I’d been able to talk to him about it.
I swung the van door shut and climbed into the driver’s seat. “A featured spread in Philadelphia Food Journal, a hundred thousand dollars, and the opportunity to cater the art museum’s seventy-fifth-anniversary celebration.”
“And the submission deadline is in eight weeks?”
“Yeah.” I pulled the van out of the driveway and onto the road that would take me from Cherry Hill back to Philly.
“You got Jillianed,” he said.
I studied the pavement in front of me as if the solutions I needed would magically appear on the asphalt. “What does that even mean?”
“It’s that thing where she signs us up for stuff she knows we’ll object to without giving us any sort of notice or prior discussion so we have no choice but to pull it off.”
I huffed. “You mean like committing Ardena to catering a massive fundraiser for a local nonprofit when we’d been open less than a year?”
“With an extremely limited team and almost no resources? That’s exactly what I mean.”
Jillian had sprung that one on Jase over the summer, much to his displeasure. I guess the event being wildly successful and the catalyst to the launch of Arden Catering wasn’t exactly a deterrent for her.
And I could see where she was coming from with the competition. If I pulled this off and managed to win, we’d get all the recognition Jillian was eager for and more. It would solidify both Arden Catering and Ardena restaurant as staples in the Philly food scene.
The hundred grand for the business wouldn’t hurt either. If I survived that long.
“I can’t decide if she’s lost it or is an actual genius,” I said.
He snorted. “Welcome to the club. And it’s probably both.”
I half sighed, half chuckled, already fortifying myself for the next two months: work enough events to keep us somewhere near the black, hire at least one other chef to serve as my second, and conceptualize a one-of-a-kind catering concept to put us on the map.
Easy.
“At least the museum’s anniversary party isn’t for another year. If I can’t find a halfway decent team by then, I’ll know the problem is me.” The rest I could handle on my own. I didn’t want to do it on my own, but I’d find a way.
“You know what I’m going to say,” Jase replied. “If you need help in the meantime, one of the guys can split their time—”
“No way. You’ve been packed every night of the week. You need them more than I do.”
“We’ll manage. The new prep cook’s been working out okay.”
“How the hell did you find someone so quickly?” I asked, squeezing the wheel to channel my frustration. “No one I’ve interviewed has even come close.” Maybe I really was the problem.
“You’re looking for a sous chef, not a prep cook. That’s way different. I’d still be looking too if I was trying to replace you.”
The words pinched my chest, and I forced a deep breath to shake it free. He wasn’t trying to replace me. Not in the way it felt when he said it. I was moving up, not being left behind.
But a part of me wished I could do both—run the catering side and stay his sous chef.
“Have you promoted one of the guys yet?” I asked. It would be Zach. He deserved it.
“Not yet. Zach’s almost ready, and he’s hungry for it. I’m easing him in.”
Good. That would be good.
My earbuds beeped, and I glanced at my phone. “Evan’s calling me. I should take it.”
“No problem. I need to get back to prep anyway.”
“Have a good service. Tell the guys I say hi.”
“I will.”
Jase hung up, and I tapped my earbud to switch calls. “Hey.”
“What are you doing tonight?” Evan asked. It sounded like he was outside, but it was hard to tell over the rumble of the van’s tires. If it was a weekday, I’d assume he was in the city for work, but he didn’t usually go in on the weekends. Not unless his boss called with a graphic design emergency.
“I have to unload the catering truck, then nothing. I’ll probably get food somewhere.”
“Let’s do something. I need to get out of the house.”
“What? Why?” He’d been living at his dad’s house the past two years—ever since his mom’s funeral—and so far, the two of them hadn’t had a single problem. Half the time we hung out, we did it at his dad’s house so Mr. Hardt could hang out with us.
“Gabe’s coming over later, and I don’t feel like dealing with him.”
My attention snapped from the rearview mirror to the road as excitement kicked up in my belly. “He’s home? When did he get back from camp?” It must not have been long if Gabe hadn’t texted me. He usually did after a flight.
“A week or two ago? I don’t know; he hasn’t been staying here. But he came by yesterday to borrow a suit, and he and Dad made plans for dinner tonight.”
The excitement in my gut soured like skunked beer.
A week or two.
The words stuck to the edges of my brain like flour along the sides of a bowl, refusing to fully incorporate.
Gabe had been back in Philly at least seven days and hadn’t told me.
We’d texted like normal three nights ago. I’d sent him a picture of a coaster with a Colorado Springs brewery on it, thinking that was where he was, and he’d said nothing to indicate otherwise.
But why?
Could he think I already knew? Maybe he assumed Evan or his dad had told me, and the whole coaster thing was me referencing where he’d recently been?
Except we’d never used his family as proxies before. If anything, he usually told me this kind of thing first, and I communicated it to them.
And a suit? What would he need a suit for? And where was he staying that wasn’t their dad’s house?
Why wouldn’t he tell me he was back?
Maybe because the last time he got to town, you jumped him the second he walked through the door like a rabid squirrel and assaulted him with your mouth.
Even knowing it was true, it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like I’d chased him down after the kiss and demanded he define what we were.
I knew what we were. At least, I’d thought I did.
“So what do you think?” Evan asked, cutting into my spiral. “Want to grab dinner and watch a movie or something?”
I swallowed the hardened lump from my throat. “Yeah, that sounds good. Meet at my place at seven? We can order from Pho Dinh.”
“Sure. Text me your order, and I’ll grab it on my way.”
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled in front of the prep kitchen and texted Evan what I wanted. Then I typed out a message to Gabe and deleted it twice before staring at it with my thumb hovering over the Send button.
Me: I heard you’re back.
That was neutral enough, right? I didn’t want him to think I was angry with him for not telling me.
I didn’t want to be angry. It wasn’t like we’d made plans to do something once he got back. If he’d been in any other city and forgot to tell me when he got there, it would have been no big deal because that was our dynamic.
No pressure. No expectations. No overthinking.
Yes, we were in the same city now, but that didn’t automatically change things.
He’d probably been busy. He hadn’t been home for long stretches since turning pro after high school, and there had to be a dozen old friends and boxing colleagues he was keen to catch up with who he hadn’t seen over New Year’s like he had me.
He’d always been popular. He and Evan both.
And not in the obnoxious way jocks sometimes were when they were kind of mean but everyone idolized them anyway because of their good looks and athletic ability.
The two of them had just always gotten along with everyone and made them feel accepted. No matter how shy or socially awkward.
Especially when that shy and socially awkward kid had just moved in next door and had no other friends.
At this point, I cared less about why Gabe hadn’t told me and more about making sure things between us were still okay.
I hit Send and threw the phone into my bag, willing my nerves to settle. He’d reply to me when he got the chance. Until then, I wouldn’t worry about it.
It took me another half hour to unload the catering van and get everything cleaned and put away. When I checked my phone on my way out, something behind my ribs gave an annoying flutter.
Two new messages.
Gabe: Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’ve been working on something
Gabe: Can I show you?
My heart raced, relief at his response warring with a nagging sting I hadn’t managed to bury. One mostly comprised of aggravation at myself for being this affected in the first place.
I wanted to cut off the source of the eagerness humming along my skin at the thought of seeing him again. To smother the thrill he sparked in me without even trying. To not slip back into my adolescent crush on him after all these years of finally building a true friendship.
More than that, I wanted to know what he had to show me. To peek under the steel cover he kept so tightly in place for everyone else.
Curiosity won out.
Me: I’d like that.
Thirty seconds later, a message came through with an address in Fishtown. I could take the subway, but it’d be tight to make it there and back to my place by seven. Driving would get me there in half the time, giving me an hour to see whatever it was and still make it home in time to shower.
Or I could ask Gabe to show me whatever it was tomorrow instead.
I grabbed the keys to the catering van and headed for the door.
It took three shoves to get the boarded-up door to the old building in Fishtown to budge free. I let it swing inward to allow as much fading daylight in as possible before I walked into what appeared to be a top-notch murder site.