Chapter 29 June
“Moving to Charleston?!” I’m screeching—panic-screeching—and Ryan’s vast apartment amplifies it.
His eyes go wide, and he holds out his hands in front of him like he is trying to soothe me before I bolt. Maybe I will.
“No, don’t do it, June. This is not a sudden impulse I’m acting on.” He pauses, and his brows furrow. “Well, maybe it is slightly impulsive, since I never thought of moving back to Charleston until I saw you again, but . . .”
“Not helping your case.”
His face softens, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. Now I’m trapped. He’s not going to let me run out of here. “June, I can’t explain it right. But when I went to the restaurant today, it just felt all wrong. Not where I want to be. But back home in Charleston, it did feel right. I’m lonely here. I hate my apartment. I’ve even been hating my job.”
“But you’ve worked so hard to get where you are, Ryan! You can’t just walk away from it.”
“Why not?”
I pull out of his arms. “Because you can’t!”
“Actually, I can. I was serious when I told you I want more than one date. I want us. Or at least a decent shot to see if there is an us. And not a long-distance relationship. If I loved my job and this city and had a good friend group here, it would be different. But I have none of that, June. And I’m ready for a real life outside of a kitchen. I want to live where it’s not so damn cold all the time. I want a comfy couch.”
“I can buy you a new couch.”
His face falls. “What are you saying, June?” Ryan’s eyes leave me for the first time, and he scrapes his hands through his hair. “You don’t want a relationship?”
I should let him go. I should cut him loose. Go on, get! He’s destined for great things, and I will just hold him back.
But as I stare at the man of my dreams, elbows resting on his knees and hands in his hair, I can’t bring myself to deny my heart what it really wants. “I want to be with you more than anything, Ryan.”
His hands fall away, and he turns his face to me. “I don’t want to do long distance.”
“I don’t either.”
“And I think you should buy Stacy’s half of the bakery. And if you do, I want to be nearby to support you through it.”
“I am going to. I told her on the phone last night.”
“You are?” His voice is a mix of pride and hope.
“Yes. And I want you nearby when I take it over, too,” I say, feeling like the most selfish person in the world. He’s willing to give up his dreams so I can have mine.
He nods like we just finished conducting an important business deal. We should shake hands now. “Then I’m moving?”
I pause, breathing deeply and considerately before I say, “I guess you are. If you truly want to.” A tentative smile breaks over my mouth.
His face mirrors mine, and we both stay frozen—statues depicting two people who have made a life-changing decision, captured in the moment before they fully smile. It’s beautiful. A masterpiece to be marveled at and discussed in museums across the world.
“Okay, I’m moving.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
At the exact same moment, we both crack, and unhindered laughter spills through Ryan’s lofty apartment. He lunges at me, and I lunge at him, and we collide somewhere in the middle. I have so many more questions for him. I want to give him the third degree of Are you sure? But I don’t, because everything about this moment feels too perfect to disrupt with reality.
My head falls back against the cushion—ahem, brick—again, and Ryan hovers over me, the devilish smile that I never want to forget aimed down at me. His head dips, and I intertwine my fingers in his hair so we can properly lose ourselves in kisses. His mouth is hungry against mine, tasting and exploring in a way that has me feeling wild.
Nothing in life has ever felt more right than this moment on this brick of a couch with Ryan. After frantic whispers of consent, we peel each other’s clothes off and ensure we’ll be very late to the restaurant opening.
“Thirty minutes and then we’re out of here,” Ryan promises as we’re racing up the sidewalk to the restaurant. He’s practically dragging me.
Ryan tried to persuade me that we should skip the opening and spend the night in his apartment instead. He made a very convincing argument, and I’ll absolutely never look at his couch again (good gracious), but in the end, I held strong. If his friend is opening his own restaurant, Ryan should be there.
“Ah, Ryan! Slow down!”
“No. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can get out.”
I’m laughing so hard that I can’t keep up now. I tear my hand away from him to bend over and adjust my high heel strap back onto my foot. “Go. Save yourself!” I say, waving a tired hand.
He turns back and scoops me up in his arms. “No woman left behind. Hold on, Broaden.”
I bury my head in the collar of Ryan’s dress shirt and laugh for the rest of the walk. He’s being ridiculous and dramatic. I love it. I love him and this happy bubble we are captured inside. I think the bubble is filled with laughing gas, because that’s pretty much all we’ve done since deciding Ryan will move to Charleston.
Once we approach the restaurant entrance, I make Ryan set me down. I eye the warmly lit awning over the dark-tinted glass door and watch a woman in a little red cocktail dress enter on the arm of a handsome gentleman. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that I had the forethought to pack my black cocktail dress. It’s not as fancy as the dresses I see entering the restaurant tonight, but it’s not too far off, either.
I lean in a little closer to Ryan as we walk under the awning and ask, “What exactly am I walking into here?”
He leans toward me, and his breath hits my ear. “A night of boring schmoozing. This is just a soft opening, meant to generate buzz. So, only those high up in the food industry have been invited.”
“High up? So, people like you?”
He smirks. “Yeah. And food bloggers and journalists. Other chefs and probably a few celebrities.”
“What! Like Beyoncé?”
Ryan reaches for the door and opens it. “I hope not, because I don’t trust that look on your face.”
I pass by him and look over my shoulder as I do. “Fun sucker.”
A rush of air blows my hair as I step into Sonrisa, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the low lighting. Ryan steps beside me and anchors me with his hand on my lower back. I feel instantly more at ease. My eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, and suddenly, I see everyone. I wish I didn’t. It’s a room full of Amazons and gorgeous Hollywood types. I’m not even sure what they’re doing here. Clearly, they don’t eat.
No one is seated yet, just sort of mingling around the restaurant. Well, that’s what they were doing before we walked in, I imagine. Now, it seems as if every head in the place is turned to Ryan. All eyes are on him—wide, prying, searching. Am I imagining this?
I look up at him and notice that he’s pulled a mask over his face. An impassive smile rests where the open one previously lived. The set of his shoulders reminds me of how he looked around his staff earlier today, but dressed in a finely tailored suit, the effect is much more intimidating.
The gravity of all that Ryan is hits me at once, and it’s like I’m seeing this moment in slow motion. A few cameras flash, and I blink at the circles burned in my eyes. A new energy and buzz fills the room. In this world, Ryan is famous. These people all know him and want to be near him. Even now, they are collectively inching their way toward us. Sweat fills my palms.
In the next moment, a man in a chef’s coat rounds the corner. “Ryan! You made it!” he says, crossing to shake Ryan’s hand with a smile so blinding joy punches you in the gut.
“Congrats, David. This place is incredible.” Ryan nods toward the room, and David beams even brighter.
“Well, that means a lot coming from you. And thanks for showing your support here tonight. I know you don’t really come out to stuff like this anymore.” He shakes Ryan’s hand with gratitude in his eyes, confirming my suspicions that Ryan’s presence here is a big deal. David then shifts his gaze to me and extends his hand. “And who is this pretty lady?”
Ryan grins and then wraps his arm around my waist. The action feels both proud and possessive. “This is June, my girlfriend.”
At that title, I suck in a sharp breath. That’s the first time I’ve heard him say those words, and yeah, I guess it’s true given the discussion we had earlier, but it still shocks me. It’s equal parts wonderful and horrifying. It means I’m officially done with my one-date rule.
This is monumental, and I feel like the world should stop for me so I can soak up this moment. It doesn’t.
Despite the shock rippling through me, I manage to offer David compliments on his restaurant and tell him how happy I am to be here tonight. He kisses my cheek and somehow makes me feel just as important as Ryan. I like him excessively, and if everyone I meet tonight is anything like David, I have nothing to worry about.
There has been quiet music playing overhead, but when David leaves us to step out into the middle of the room and make a speech, everything goes silent. Eyes move from Ryan and me to David, and I feel like I can finally breathe. Ryan pulls me a little closer.
“Everyone! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for coming to the launch of Sonrisa! Translated into English, sonrisa means “smile,” and I hope that’s all you do while you’re in my restaurant!” He raises both his hands to his mouth and blows a kiss to the room. “Enjoy!” And then he sweeps himself into the kitchen to the applause of the room as the waitstaff begins moving guests to various tables.
To my great dismay, Ryan and I are seated in the very center of the room. I glance over my shoulder and find a brunette with beautifully arched brows staring at Ryan. To my left, it’s a blonde. I bounce my gaze all around the room and find eyes from every color of the spectrum stealing glances at Ryan. A few look at him and then scribble in a notebook. One man is secretly taking Ryan’s photo from under the table. My heart rate picks up, and something feels off.
Suddenly, I feel Ryan’s hand cover mine, drawing my gaze up to him. “Breathe,” he says in a rich warm tone that instantly soothes me. I take a breath and let my shoulders drop. He nods his approval and squeezes my hand. “It’s awkward, I know.”
I lean a little forward. “I didn’t know you were, like . . . famous famous.”
He grins a little, but it still looks different from the one I’m used to. “Just in this sphere of life. It wasn’t really until the New York Times ran an article about me. After that, I kinda blew up in the foodie world.” He says it like it’s the most casual thing.
I blink at him, trying not to let my mouth gape open so the man with the camera doesn’t catch it and turn me into a GIF.
“What was the article about?”
He shrugs. “How I’m the youngest chef in the world to earn three Michelin stars.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because, in the next moment, a short man in a shiny gray suit and a woman six inches taller than him walks up to our table and clasps Ryan on the shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t Ryan Henderson in the flesh. I’m surprised to see you tonight.”
Ryan doesn’t smile. His eyes slowly slide up to the man’s smug face before he looks back to me. “Noah, this is June, my girlfriend. She convinced me we should come.”
Again with the girlfriend! But this time, it doesn’t shock me so much. Instead, I feel a surge of pride.
Noah reminds me of a snake. His eyes are jet black when he looks at me—appraises me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely looking for something. “June, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet someone who has actual sway in Ryan’s life. We’ll have to talk later.” He winks at me, and then he and his date are directed to a table across the room.
I don’t know how to feel. The vibe is odd in here. Ryan seems oblivious, though. He’s a natural in this setting, and it shows in the confident set of his shoulders. It’s not that I feel insecure, but I certainly don’t feel comfortable here. Maybe it would be better if Ryan and I could actually talk, but we aren’t given a chance. Important person after important person works their way up to our table and monopolizes Ryan’s attention for the whole evening.
We are served the most delicious Columbian cuisine of pineapple empanadas and grilled plantains with braised beef, but Ryan is barely given a chance to take more than one bite of each food. Every journalist wants to know what he thinks of the dishes, and Ryan, wanting to help his friend, gives them all a praiseworthy quote.
Newer chefs shyly inch up to him and ask for his advice, and a few women boldly ask if he’s single. He always says no and directs their attention to me, but I wish he didn’t, because it makes me nervous to walk to the bathroom alone the rest of the evening.
After an hour and a half, I wish I could take Ryan up on his thirty-minute suggestion. I miss him even though I’ve been sitting across from him all night. Actually, no. I haven’t been sitting across from him all night. I’ve been sitting across from Ryan Henderson, the famous chef. I’m coming to realize there’s a big difference.
It’s not that Ryan is offensive in this state. In fact, if I were a random girl sitting at one of these tables, I’d be drooling too. It’s just that he’s more . . . refined. Serious. Poised. He wears his fame well, and for some reason, that unnerves me. He looks comfortable here under all the scrutiny. Almost like it’s where he belongs.
More than once, I catch myself watching him while he talks to someone important and wondering how he’s going to give all this up.
Is it terrible that I’m relieved he will give it up? That this sort of schmoozing won’t be a regular occurrence for us? Ryan looks beautiful and stoic and severe in this chef mask he wears, but I miss the Ryan with a teasing glint in his eye.
He tells me he wants to go congratulate David before we leave, and while he’s gone, I take my cloth napkin and fold it into a teeny-tiny square. I fold to keep myself from focusing on how adrift I feel in the center of this restaurant, among all the people wondering how I got so lucky to be Ryan’s date tonight.
I’m so focused on trying to turn my napkin into a swan that I almost don’t notice when Ryan’s seat gets taken. I look up into jet-black eyes. “So, June, right?” says the man I met earlier named Noah.
I nod and tuck my napkin into my lap. “Yep. And you’re Noah.”
He smiles and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, making himself comfortable, and me the exact opposite. “You know, earlier today, when Ryan came to look at the restaurant, I was confused about why he’d turn down the job.” Ah, so that’s who this guy is. “But now, looking at you, I can see it all perfectly.”
His words pinch me. “Oh?” I glance toward the kitchen and wish Ryan would come back out.
Noah gestures toward my face and down my body. “You’re gorgeous. And he’s clearly crazy about you. Those are the only two things in life that can persuade a man like Ryan to give up all his dreams.” Give up all his dreams. I look away from Noah, wishing I could turn away from his words just as easily.
Come back out, Ryan.
“It was all his decision. He said it wasn’t a good fit for him.” My voice sounds quiet.
Noah makes a scoffing, guttural noise from somewhere in his throat and leans back in his seat. “Well, of course he did. Good men like Ryan will give up everything for the women they care about. But what happens in five years when all those tingly little sparks fade?” I see what he’s doing. I’m not going to let his words affect me. I’m not. “Eh, but don’t mind me. I’m just bitter because he turned me down. This restaurant was going to be huge for both of us. An epic career changer. But that’s okay. I wish you guys the best of luck. Better than my luck, at least.”
I must give him some hint that I’m curious about his meaning, because as he’s standing from the table and adjusting his tie, he says, “I was married once to a woman I loved. But those sparks faded, and now, I regret waiting so long to launch my career. I hope that doesn’t happen for you and Ryan.”
Noah leaves the table, and when he’s gone, I pick up my napkin again and fold, fold, fold. My hands are trembling. Where is Ryan? I feel lightheaded. Come on, Ryan. I look toward the kitchen door again and will it to open. It doesn’t, and my whole body is shaking with energy now that I can’t contain. I bounce my knee to keep myself from doing something more drastic, but I feel the need to run bubbling through my veins.
I hate that weasel, Noah. He’s sleazy, and I’m not oblivious to it. But I also feel the truth in his words. Ryan is giving up too much for me. He’s going to regret it. When we fight, he’ll bring it up. If my company thrives, he’ll resent it.
I can’t do that to him. To me.
Before I fully realize it, I’m standing from the table and rushing toward the exit.