Chapter 22 Naomi
The kitchen is a different animal at night. It sheds its chaos like a skin, humming in quiet contentment now that the rush is over.
I stand there, contemplating as I run my fingers over the fresh herbs. Next to me, Sonia flips through some invoices, her pen tapping rhythmically.
"I think we need to double the aromatics next time," she comments. "You know how it is when the weather gets warmer."
"Sounds good," I agree. "But let’s really watch it. Remember how we overdid it with avocados during the holidays? You know how much I hate wasting both food and money."
"I got you, chef." Sonia taps my shoulder with her pen.
"I’ll fire you if you call me that again, especially when no one’s here."
She smiles. "And what would you do without me then?"
"Sell the place and go to South America to camp in the wild," I joke.
"Sure. And leave Tyler Brady behind?"
My mood sours at the mention of Ty. "I wish you wouldn’t say that asshole’s name."
"Why?"
"Because he's all I can think about," I confess in a rushed whisper.
"So you admit it?" She stares at me, her eyes sharp and curious.
I nod. "He keeps texting about dinner."
"Just go."
"I'm not certain if I want to. It was already pretty awkward between us the other day when he came to the community center."
Sonia’s the only friend I trust. Of course I told her about my make-out session with Tyler last week. Keeping it to myself was too difficult. And it’s not something I’d tell Mom. Or Adri. Especially Adri. Unless my goal is to summon the end of the world.
"I think your rockstar has a point, and you two do need to talk it out eventually," Sonia supplies thoughtfully. "This back and forth isn’t going to solve the problem. Are you giving up on your little revenge plan?"
"Don't know if I can go through with it."
Sonia waits for an explanation, but I stall, shifting a box of jalapenos.
"I'm worried it's going to end the same way it did before," I finally say. "He makes me waver. I feel like I’m in high school again when he’s around, and he’s clearly not leaving town anytime soon."
"It’s probably driving you nuts, huh?"
Ugh. She has no idea. "It does. When I wanted him to come back, he wasn’t there. Now that I'm almost over him, he’s back into my life, claiming every goddamn part of it like he owns it. Like he’s always owned it."
There’s a beat of silence, punctuated by the distant jingle of slot machines in the casino.
"Can I ask you a question?" Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
I don’t like that. Still, I reply, "Okay."
"When was the last time you got laid, lady?"
Only Sonia could be this blunt.
"Is that somehow important right now?"
"Of course. This tension"—she bumps my shoulder gently with her fist—"needs some release."
I find myself laughing a little while my fingers keep finding their way to the fresh cilantro, twisting off small pieces as if the smell will somehow calm me down.
"Your mind goes straight to the gutter," I tease her, trying really hard to remove the image of my drunk bathtub adventure from my mind. It's utterly mortifying—pleasuring yourself while thinking about your jerk of an ex.
"My mind lives in the gutter, chica." She grins. "The way I see it… You can kill two—no, three—birds with one stone."
Sonia's amused stare follows me around the kitchen as I move to the containers with the aromatics. It's like she has a spotlight on my inner turmoil, which I guess isn't so inner anymore. "Three?" I ask, curious what those are.
"Well, for starters, you’ll get to have great sex, which is always a nice way to release stress. Then, you’ll get to see if that can help you get the guy out of your system. And finally, revenge. If you plan on following through, of course."
"We barely said three words to each other the other day while volunteering." That much is true.
"Three words, huh? Not bad." Sonia leans against a shelf, looking like she's settled in for the juicy details. "You only need two to have great sex."
"I don’t want to know which ones. Besides, who says Tyler is great in bed? Maybe he sucks."
"Oh, honey," Sonia says in a mocking tone. "A man that hot and that good on a guitar? He probably knows a thing or two about making you squirm. Otherwise, it'd be a waste of talent."
I blush. All these years later, I still remember the firm press of his body and the salty taste of him. You don’t forget your first.
"You’re ridiculous," I say.
"I know, but I want you to be happy, and I think unless you do something about all this tension between you and your high school sweetheart, you won’t get any closure.
I also know you're not someone to take my advice, so don’t think of it as advice.
I’m just sharing my thoughts. You decide for yourself what works for you. "
"It's distracting."
"What exactly is distracting?"
"The whole thing." I wave my hand like it's going to explain anything. "I wasn't supposed to get tangled up in him again."
"Hearts and brains have a way of screwing with the best-laid plans."
"What if I fall for him again?" I ask, feeling the knot in my stomach tightening. "What if he breaks my heart all over again?"
"But what if this time is different?" she counters, ever the optimist. "There must be a reason why you two keep crossing paths."
I let out a long breath as if it might carry all my worries with it. "What if revenge isn’t worth it?"
Her mouth quirks up. "And what if it is?" She watches me for a moment, her expression softer now. "You're overthinking this," she says.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my heart jumps like it's a living thing trying to escape. It's just a work email, but it gets me thinking about Ty again, and I'm back to pacing the kitchen, working up the courage to do what I probably shouldn't do.
Sonia doesn't take her eyes off me, which is both comforting and annoying. "You're won't know anything until you see him again," she says.
"I guess," I reply, though it comes out sounding more like a question. "I just don't want to open that can of worms."
"Or box of jalapenos," she teases. "Just open it already."
"Easy for you to say."
Sonia smiles and returns to her papers, giving me some space to wrestle with myself. My fingers hover over my phone, and I tap out a text, only to delete it before it's even done. This cycle repeats more times than I'd like to admit.
I’ve never contacted this number. My mother gave it to me forever ago and said it was for Tyler’s cell and she’d gotten it from his parents. I can’t believe he never changed it. But neither have I. I’ve had the same number ever since I got my first cell phone. Maybe I secretly hoped he’d reach out.
He did.
Twice.
In seventeen years.
And both times, he was drunk.
Finally, on my fifth attempt at composing the text, I feel satisfied with the content. I look at it once more before hitting Send.
Meet me at the casino at 9 pm.
The lobby is a glittering jungle, all blinking lights and the soft roar of voices. I'm out of my element, shifting from foot to foot as people swirl around me, going about their business.
I have my trusty purse in hand, and I’m wearing khakis and a plain white shirt—not exactly red-carpet attire. But seeing him wasn't on tonight's agenda. I was dressed for the grind, not romance.
I’m regretting that text already, but I don’t have the guts to cancel. I depleted all my courage by using that damn number that I had saved in my contacts under Biggest Disappointment Ever.
My reflection stares back from a mirrored column, looking more nervous than I want it to. I check my Midnight Merlot lipstick for the millionth time, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear and hoping no one I know sees me acting all weird.
Deep in my gut, there’s this fear of being stood up. Again. And a part of me wants to leave first, before he leaves me. But I suppose it’s curiosity that wins. Curiosity and stupid hormones.
Sonia’s on point. I can’t remember when I had sex last. And no, sex isn’t on my mind…
Wait, yes, it is. After the office incident, I can’t wipe out the image of Tyler Brady with his bedroom eyes and swollen lips all flustered and looking at me like he needs me in order to breathe. And then that slip-up in the bathtub.
You’re thirty-five years old.
You’re a grown woman.
You have your own business.
Guys like Tyler Brady are a dime a dozen.
This is the pep talk I’ve been giving myself for the past ten minutes while I wait. But it’s a lie. Guys like Tyler Brady don’t exist. He’s the only one of his kind.
I’m a nervous wreck, and I’m doing the exact thing I said I wouldn’t.
At some point, I convince myself that it's for certain—he’s going to stand me up, and my mind has almost won the battle. I’m ready to leave.
Just then, Ty shows up wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt, the kind that fits just right in all the important places.
He's got his studded leather jacket thrown casually over one shoulder.
His ink is on display, and his hair is an artful mess—the kind of look that screams I just rolled out of bed naturally stunning, even though I've seen those locks enough times to know they don't just grow that way.
He must've spent an hour making it seem accidentally perfect.
That stupid stud earring is just the cherry on top.
I suck in a breath at how good he looks, trying to act cool when everything inside me is anything but.
He weaves past the slots and stops in front of me. "Hey." His voice is a mix of awkward and hopeful. His gaze drops to my toes and slides up to my face like he’s scanning me, and I can't tell if he’s happy or disappointed.
"I’m sorry, but I didn’t have time to go home and change," I say before he comments further.
"Have you been waiting long?"
Seventeen years. "Uh…no. Just a few minutes." For some reason, I think my lipstick is smudged. I see that it’s not when I quickly glance at my reflection, but under Tyler’s scrutinizing gaze, everything feels off.
He nods at the chaos around us. "It's…busy."