Epilogue
Aubrey
Eight Months Later
“Yes,” I gasped. My hand tightened in Gabe’s hair, the strands long enough for me to tug on now, and I stifled a moan as his tongue swirled my clit.
My other hand clenched the edge of the bathroom counter so hard I worried it might snap, but loosening my grip wasn’t an option.
Not with pleasure gripping my muscles as my orgasm hurdled toward me like a speeding train.
Sounds from the party we’d snuck away from reached us through the kitchen on the other side of the wall. Gabe had barely been on his knees for more than a minute, but I didn’t need much longer. It turned out sex in a public bathroom was a major turn-on for me.
He slid one finger inside me as his lips latched onto my clit—
“Oh shit, I’m coming—” I slapped a hand over my mouth as my back arched and my hips jerked, his hand on my thigh the only thing keeping me from slipping into the sink once the orgasm locked me in its hold.
I tried to catch my moan in my throat as it broke, and a low, deep hum radiated from my chest, the residual pleasure washing over me like a warm shower.
“I want you inside me,” I mumbled, the glass of the mirror cool against the back of my head. Gabe kissed the inside of my thigh.
He got to his feet with a pleased smirk on his lips, the bulge in his dark jeans unmistakable, but he didn’t reach for his zipper. Instead, he slid my chef pants back up to my waist and dropped a kiss on my lips. “No time, greedy girl. You have to get back to work.”
I pouted, but he was right. It was less than ten minutes to midnight, and Jillian expected me to make an appearance.
Even though it would be so easy for him to hike me onto his hips and sink me onto him.
Thanks to that specialist Coach Dotson recommended, Gabe’s shoulder could handle it with no problem.
He hadn’t even needed surgery since he’d retired from fighting for good.
He kissed me again. “Later,” he whispered as if he’d read my mind. “You can ride my cock slow and deep the rest of the night once we get home.”
A whimper escaped my lips, and I licked into his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue before managing to pull back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
He grinned. “Promise?”
I shoved him away before I jumped him right here, and turned to adjust my chef cap in the mirror.
My long ponytail was secure in its braid, my appearance no worse for wear.
The flush in my cheeks could be explained by the “fresh air” Gabe and I had told my staff we were getting on the balcony. An excuse they may not have bought.
Once cleaned up, we exited the staff bathroom and headed down the short hallway that connected to the kitchen.
“How we looking?” I asked Mack as they finished garnishing the last tray of baked chocolate custards with hazelnuts and brown sugar fluff. We’d been in good shape when I stepped out, with only desserts left to finish before the ball drop.
“Good,” Mack said. “Sydney is getting a jump on clean up, and I’ll be done with this in a minute.”
“Once you’re done, go enjoy the party, okay?” I glanced at Sydney, where she loaded one of the dishwashers. “Same for you, Syd. Finish that load, then the night is yours.”
“Heard, Chef.”
“Great job tonight. Both of you.”
We’d been the definition of a well-oiled machine. Three little bees running the beehive in perfect sync.
Mack and I had fallen into a rhythm as soon as they’d started—one they’d been comfortable enough to switch to they/them pronouns in after only a few weeks—and business had been so good, we’d brought on Sydney as a line cook a few months later with help from Jillian.
Syd was even younger than Mack and had never been to culinary school, but the drive and raw talent were there, and Mack had been as eager as I was to take her under their wing.
It was my first time working in a kitchen without a single male chef, and while that hadn’t been an intentional decision, it was a cool shift in dynamic from what I’d experienced so far in my career. Made better by the fact that I still got to see my boys regularly.
Both sides of Ardena’s operation got together for a weekly staff meal and monthly shift drink, and this year, we had our first staff holiday party.
It was a potluck at Ardena’s, and the winner of the favorite dish of the night got a hundred-dollar gift card from Jillian, though the real incentive was trying to beat Jase.
He’d technically won the most votes but had declared himself ineligible to win, so the prize went to Luis with his upgraded spin on his mom’s pork tamales.
I’d left that night with both my stomach and my heart full, a feeling I’d had a lot lately. In no small part due to the breathtaking man waiting for me near the door.
Gabe gave me an easy smile. “Ready?”
I took his hand as he pushed us through to the event hall. Live music and the sounds of celebration rushed my ears as energy from the party bubbled inside me like water overflowing a pot.
After last year’s success, Jillian’s party had become the New Year’s Eve party in Philly.
She took the reputation seriously. Not only had her replica Millennium Times Square ball returned in all its glory, but professional acrobats swung from the ceiling and performed jaw-dropping stunts on the stage.
I had no idea how she’d keep upping herself year after year, but I looked forward to finding out.
I spotted her along the stage and made my way to her and the gentleman she talked with. Gabe let go of my hand and fell behind to let me network.
Jillian opened her arms to me. “The chef of the hour, as promised. John Patel, this is Aubrey Witter, the head chef of Arden Catering.”
I shook his hand.
“John’s daughter is getting married to a professional football player next year,” Jillian explained. “They’re expecting quite a few guests and will need a caterer up to the task.”
A year ago, I would have dreaded the idea. One more mammoth event to manage on my own. Now? “Our team’s one of the best,” I said. “We’d be happy to make your daughter’s wedding everything she hopes for and more.”
“You saw the Philadelphia Food Journal article, right?” Jillian asked him.
It would have been impressive if he hadn’t, seeing as Jillian had blown up a copy and hung it on either side of the party’s entrance.
The headline was practically legible from the ground floor.
How she’d gotten it in advance, I had no idea, since the magazine issue wasn’t officially available for a few more days, but every guest’s swag bag tonight had a copy.
It was the issue featuring the art museum’s seventy-fifth-anniversary celebration that had taken place earlier this month, highlighting the winner of the catering competition whose food was the star of the show.
We had not been that winner.
While we did make it into the final round and got to serve our food to the judges, one of the bigger and more well-known restaurants ended up winning the whole thing.
Jillian heard it was because they liked the idea of another longtime Philly establishment being a part of celebrating the local institution, a touch we couldn’t offer yet as a start-up.
I was fine with it, especially since Pépère wasn’t the winner. Christian’s menu submission hadn’t even landed them a spot in the final round.
Meanwhile, Arden Catering got featured in the magazine as an honorable mention.
It wasn’t something the magazine planned to offer, but the judges loved our menu so much they decided to add it to the mix.
I had no idea what it would mean for business, but my guess was we’d need to hire another chef soon.
After another minute of Jillian talking me up, I politely excused myself, and Gabe and I weaved through the crowd to our friends. We were down to three minutes until midnight, and most of the group was together in a cluster on the edge of the dance floor, ready to ring in the New Year.
“They’re here,” Dani said, beaming as brightly as the engagement ring on her finger. “We can ask them.”
I hugged her first, then Jase. I’d seen them a week ago at the staff holiday party, but we’d missed our Monday night get-together so I could prep for tonight.
Most weeks, the four of us did dinner together, either out at a restaurant or at one of our apartments, but sometimes we went dancing or had a game night with Evan.
And on the weeks it couldn’t happen, Dani and I tried to plan something with the girls instead. “Ask us what?”
“Okay,” Neela said, her arm around Robin’s waist. “Would you rather get ten million dollars or never have to eat ever again?”
I scrunched my brow and looked at Jase. “Ten million dollars.”
He tipped his head. “That’s what I said.”
“Zach said never eat again,” Robin informed us.
All eyes went to Zach, who tried to use his much shorter boyfriend as a shield. “It would save me time, okay? I’d still eat when I wanted to.”
“I’m with Zach,” Gabe said. “I’d get way more done if I didn’t have to think about food.”
“Yes,” I said, “but Zach’s literal job is to think about food.” He’d officially become Ardena’s sous chef six months ago and was crushing it.
“Speaking of jobs,” Jase said to Gabe. “The gym opens in what, ten days?”
“Eleven,” Gabe said with a grin. “I saw you and Colin on the registration list.”
“Hell yeah. You’re close enough to where Colin works that you may poach him from his current gym for good.”
Gabe had found a building in Queen Village for his boxing gym, just a few blocks south of Colin’s art gallery.
It had been in need of major repairs, but since Gabe needed to gut it anyway to turn it into a boxing gym, that hadn’t been a problem.
And since he was still living with his dad and Evan at his dad’s house (when he wasn’t staying with me), he had a second stream of income renting out the apartment up top.