Worth the Wait (Sugar Mountain #2)

I HATE THIS CITY

ADDISON

I walked the streets of Manhattan on my way back to my mother’s condo. I’d been here for over three years now, and even though I’d loved everything about this place when I first got here, New York City was wearing on me. It was loud. Bustling. Smelly. And always dramatic. Most people loved it. But not me. At least not anymore. I was kind of growing to hate it.

Except for the food. That was truly spectacular. It made being here worth it, even if I had to remind myself of that fact multiple times a day lately.

A horn honked, and I jumped as I walked, almost tripping off the curb. I swore I’d never get used to that.

New Yorkers were constantly in a rush to get somewhere else, not caring who they ran into or knocked off-balance. It was kind of rude. And it made me miss my home, where we knew our neighbors and actually cared about how they were doing. I’d come to realize that the slower pace of life suited me. In Sugar Mountain, we’d actually stop and apologize if we even so much as accidentally bumped someone’s shoulder in the general store.

But not here. Here they kept on moving like it had never even happened in the first place.

Even the colorful lights on all of the trees didn’t catch my eye the way they used too. Instead of feeling joy at all of the gorgeous Christmas decorations that filled this crazy city, I felt sad instead. People from all over the world seemed to descend on New York to check out the seasonal decor and stay for the city’s infamous New Year’s Eve festivities. They took pictures, booked fancy hotels, and oohed and aahed their way through Rockefeller Center and Fifth Avenue.

They all seemed so impressed with every single thing that caught their eye. I remembered feeling that way too. But now, all I could think about was how this city didn’t hold a candle to the way Sugar Mountain dressed itself up for the holidays. Especially the resort. They always had the best holiday themes, going all out each and every year. This Christmas would make the fourth one I’d missed. Yes, I was apparently counting.

“Good evening, Miss Addison,” Gary said as soon as he spotted me on the street.

I reached my mother’s building, and as he held open the door, I slipped inside, the heat instantly warming me.

“Hi, Gary.”

He rushed past me toward the elevator, pressing the call button before I could reach it myself.

No matter how many times I told him he didn’t need to do that, he still did, insisting that it was part of his job.

“Have a good night,” I said as soon as I pressed the button for floor eighteen and the doors started to close.

I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and glanced at the screen. It still had my favorite picture of me and Patrick on it. We were lying in the back of his truck, looking up at the sky. His arm was wrapped around me, and my head was on his chest. Whenever my world felt like it was spinning just a little too fast, this picture calmed me. Reminded me of what was important.

And what I’d left behind.

I knew I was living a lot of people’s dreams. A condo in the city on the eighteenth floor—although I was sure most of them didn’t include living with their mother in their New York fantasy.

I’d gotten accepted into one of the best culinary schools in America. And after finishing two separate twelve-month courses, I received another offer to learn from one of the most impressive and popular chefs in the world. Every year, he handpicked ten students from the graduating class to teach in his home kitchen with a job guaranteed at the end of it. I was invited, and I couldn’t say no, even though I’d been tempted to do exactly that.

Of the ten of us, only six had lasted the entire course. To be honest, I’d almost quit more than once, too, and I didn’t blame the ones who’d bailed. The chef that I’d previously admired from afar started to lose his luster up close. He made cooking a chore instead of something enjoyable, and he was mean almost all the time.

Cooking was supposed to be a fun activity. The kitchen had always been my happy place. I loved creating food not only for myself, but for others as well. I wasn’t learning that side of things with this chef. There was no joy to be found; only harsh critiques and a lot of screaming.

This industry was brutal. I’d always known it could be that way, but the reality was more than a little disheartening. New York had eventually started teaching me that I had an aversion to mean things. People yelling, shouting, acting unhappy and downright cruel toward others didn’t make me feel good. And I was surrounded by so much of that lately. It felt like my soul was being crushed with each day that passed.

Aside from tonight, I usually got home between three to four in the morning. Once the restaurant closed and we got the last patron out, there was the cleaning, prepping, and double-checking the next day’s menu. Even with a multitude of staff who each had their own responsibilities, it fell on my shoulders to make sure the kitchen was deep-cleaned each night and ready for the next day. Regardless of what your scheduled hours were, those were just numbers on a call sheet. They didn’t really mean anything. As a chef, you stayed until your job was done.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and I stepped into the long hallway. When I reached the front door, I fiddled with the handle first to see if it was open, but it was locked. Punching the seven-digit code into the keypad, I heard the dead bolt unlatch, and I made my way inside, wondering if my sister was here or not.

Sarina was a couple of years younger than me, but she fit into this city like she had been made from its DNA or something. A beauty blogger and influencer who had more friends than the entire population of Sugar Mountain, Sarina was always being invited to one event or another, and she lived for being seen. It only added to her online popularity and sponsorships.

The girl was making a mint from simply posting online. It was shocking that we shared the same parents, even though we definitely resembled each other. I chalked up our differences to the divorce and where we had each been raised and by which parent.

You see, my mother left my dad because, “ Sugar Mountain is boring ,” and she wanted “ more out of life than some small mountain town with nothing going on.”

Once she moved to Manhattan, she married some ultra rich guy almost right away. When they divorced, he’d given her a lump sum of cash instead of paying alimony each month. Eventually, she’d found another, even richer man to marry, and the same cycle happened all over again. I assumed she was on the hunt for her next victim, even though her money was nowhere near close to running out.

So, while I’d chosen to stay in Sugar Mountain with my dad, Sarina left with our mother and her revolving door of rich men.

And here we were—two girls with such vastly different personalities and characteristics that you’d think we were strangers instead of siblings.

“Sarina, is that you? Or is it you, Addison?” My mother’s voice carried throughout the condo and hit my ears right as I kicked off my boots and left them on the tiled entryway.

“It’s just me, Mom,” I answered, wondering if she was disappointed that it was her second-favorite daughter instead of her first.

She waltzed out of her bedroom and met me in the kitchen, her silk robe flowing out behind her, her hair still perfectly styled. “You’re home from work early. Is everything okay? You didn’t get fired, did you?”

I stopped myself from making an annoyed sound, but couldn’t stop my irritated tone. “Why would I get fired?”

“Who knows, Addison? Maybe so you can have an excuse to run back to Sugar Mountain and that boy,” she said, her voice trailing off.

My mother and I had always had trouble connecting on an emotional level after she moved away with my sister. All she’d wanted was to get me out of Sugar Mountain and away from Patrick O’Grady. Instead of being excited for me when I’d started dating him, I remembered her being downright mortified and angry. She went on some rampage during one of our rare phone calls, ranting about how I’d be stuck there forever because O’Gradys didn’t leave.

“They practically own the town, Addison. How could you date one of them? Now, you’ll be stuck too.”

But I had been happy, being stuck . Especially with Patrick. I hadn’t wanted to leave. And she never understood that. How could she when she was so fulfilled here, in the city that not only never slept, but never shut the hell up either?

“Why do you hate it so much? There had to be a time when you loved it there? When you loved Dad?” I pushed, even though it wasn’t something I typically did. I usually took her crappy comments about my home and tossed them away.

My mother and I didn’t have that many heart-to-heart conversations. Plus, I barely even saw her since I’d started working at the restaurant. When she was awake during the day, like a normal person, I was usually sleeping. But the disparaging remarks about the town I adored got to me. Especially tonight, when I was missing everything that I loved about it so damn much.

“Like you, I grew up there, and I appreciated being somewhere safe as a child. I loved your father; otherwise, I wouldn’t have married him. But at the beginning, we both talked about seeing new places and traveling, even though, eventually, I knew he’d take over his family business. So, when it came down to it, your father never wanted to leave, and I became obsessed with getting out. It was all I could think about.” She sat down on one of the two barstools in her kitchen. “I know you think I’m some kind of monster, Addison. But I just wanted more. I’m too big for that place. I never belonged there. You and your sister don’t belong there either.”

Okaaaay.

I bit out a sarcastic laugh. “Sarina doesn’t for sure. But I do. And I know you think less of me because of it.”

“I don’t think less of you.” She gave me a wave, but her expression said it all. She absolutely thought less of me. “I just don’t understand. I got you into this amazing school. You have a job at one of the best restaurants in the city, and you’re what?” She leveled me with a disappointed look. “Unsatisfied? What more could you possibly want, Addison? The world is at your fingertips, and it’s like you don’t even care.”

This woman did not know me at all. Even after three-plus years of living with her, I was still some sort of enigma in her eyes. She treated me like I was a puzzle that was broken somehow. Like, if she only put the pieces together just right, I’d magically turn into who she expected me to be.

“Of course I care. I’m grateful and thankful for all you’ve done,” I said, making sure that my mother got just the right amount of praise to make her feel appreciated. “I would have never gotten into that school without your help.”

It was the truth. Not only would I have never applied, but I wouldn’t have gotten accepted if it wasn’t for my mother and all her connections. I’d still had to do the required work to get in, but I knew that she’d pulled some strings on my behalf. Which was part of the reason why I’d felt like I couldn’t turn the offer down when she called me to deliver the news.

Plus, Patrick had told me it was an opportunity that wouldn’t come around again. He said I deserved this chance and that I should grab it with both hands. Said he wasn’t going anywhere and that he’d be waiting for me to come back home.

I was pretty sure he’d stopped waiting by now.

My mother opened her mouth to say who knew what when the front door—thankfully—flew open and my sister stepped inside, looking like a freaking movie star. The look on my mother’s face was unlike one she’d ever given me. It was obvious that Sarina was the apple of her eye. Their relationship was the exact opposite from the one we had.

“Oh my God, you’re home! I’m so happy. I never see you anymore,” Sarina said as she kicked off her sparkling ankle boots and headed in my direction before giving me a hug.

Even though we kept similar hours during the night, our paths never seemed to cross.

“I know. Work is brutal,” I breathed out, and my mother looked at me quickly before focusing all her attention on the prettier Whitman daughter.

Sarina’s hair was the same shade as mine, filled with natural highlights, and was currently pulled into a high ponytail on top of her head. But it was her stunning features, accented by what always looked like professional makeup, that truly set our looks apart. She really did look like a runway model who rarely ate a full meal. And I looked like someone who enjoyed eating the things she cooked. Sarina was always dressed to impress and wouldn’t be caught dead in half of the outfits I loved to wear.

“How was your night? Did you meet anyone fabulous? Or famous? Tell me everything,” my mother asked, and my sister looked at me before rolling her eyes.

“My night was fine. All the usual suspects were there,” Sarina said, sounding completely unimpressed, yet she still attended some event or another almost every single night. “No one to write home about, Mommy Dearest,” she said, and I laughed out loud. “But you really need to come with me sometime, Addi.”

I bristled. The scene my sister was in was definitely not for me. I had less than zero desire to mingle with the rich and snobby of the Upper East Side. Or wherever they were from. I always got it confused.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

My mother quickly agreed. “Oh, I concur. Can you imagine Addison at one of those soirees, sweetheart? They’d probably think she was the staff.”

Damn. Mommy Dearest could really be a bitch sometimes.

“Mom,” Sarina chastised. “No one would think that. Jesus.” She turned to look at me. “No one would think that, Addi. Plus, I’d dress you and do your makeup so you’d look even hotter than you already are.”

For as different as my sister and I were, she was an absolute rock star whenever it came to defending me. For whatever reason, she saw me in ways I did not see myself. And I knew she wasn’t bluffing or just trying to blow smoke up my ass. She meant the things she said, and I loved her for it.

“Just say you’ll come to at least one. I know you don’t think you’ll enjoy it, but come for me. So I can show you what I do. Bring you to my work for one night,” she pitched, and how could I possibly say no?

It was easy to forget that this was Sarina’s job when it looked like all she did was party every night. But those parties led to endorsements. It was her job to be seen and to document it all on social media to her millions of followers.

“When you put it that way, of course I’ll come.”

“Yes!” She clapped her hands together, and I tossed a glance at our mother to catch the disapproval written all over her face.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, and my sister shooed her away with both hands the second our mother turned her back.

“I thought she’d never leave.” Sarina maneuvered into the kitchen and opened the fridge to pull out a meal replacement drink.

“You should let me cook for you.” I cocked my head to the side. “That is not a meal.”

“If I let you cook for me, I’ll never fit into any of my clothes,” she argued.

I scoffed. “I do know how to make healthy meals, ya know.”

“I’ll think about it.” She pulled out a seat and plopped in it. “My feet are killing me. World’s cutest booties over there”—she thumbed toward the door—“but also the most uncomfortable.”

I swallowed the obvious question that was on the tip of my tongue—why wear them then? There was no point in asking. I’d already done that when I first moved here, and Sarina explained that she was known for certain things and she liked maintaining that image, even if the outfits she wore physically hurt sometimes. Her image made her a lot of money, and she’d told me once that the pain was worth the paycheck.

“Maybe I’ll wear them in the kitchen,” I teased, and she barked out a laugh.

“Your feet would be bleeding in an hour,” she said, and I must have made a face because she told me she was joking… kind of . “Will you really come to an event with me?” She perked up, her warm honey eyes meeting mine.

“Yeah. Absolutely. I’m just not sure I even have a day off anytime soon since it’s the holiday season.”

“I know how busy you are.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly feeling bad for not spending more time with my only sibling. It had been nice, getting to know her.

“Don’t be. This is your dream.” She waved me off with not even a hint of resentment or anger.

“You really are the best sister. I hate that we didn’t get to grow up together,” I admitted.

After the split, my sister had flown out to Sugar Mountain a few times, but it was never for very long, and those visits stopped happening once our mother started filling up her schedule with various activities that she couldn’t miss . I never blamed Sarina because I’d refused to leave Sugar Mountain and go visit them in New York as well.

That was the only thing that had made me sad after coming here and getting to know them both all over again. I honestly felt like growing up without my mother had probably been good for me, but growing up without my little sister felt like a travesty.

“I know. But I can’t imagine growing up in Sugar Mountain. I don’t think I’d be who I am at all. I can’t even picture who I’d be. Can you see me living on a farm?” Her face twisted, like just the thought of living there was her ultimate personal nightmare.

“Sugar Mountain isn’t all farms.” I bit out a laugh.

There weren’t that many true farms at all. Christmas tree farms maybe. A pumpkin farm or two. But it was a mountain town. A ski and vacation resort more than anything else.

“Whatever. I love this city. I never want to live anywhere else,” she admitted.

I reached for her arm and gave it a tight squeeze. “I know. It suits you.”

“But you miss home, don’t you?” she asked, her expression mournful.

I swallowed as a lump instantly formed in my throat and my eyes started to water. I never felt like I could talk about these feelings with anyone, so I kept them all tucked inside, where they festered and ached. “So much.”

“And Patrick?”

Just hearing his name made my stomach twist. Patrick O’Grady wasn’t the kind of guy you got over. He was the kind you never forgot. The one you measured everyone else up against. The guy no one could ever compare to—not that I’d tried, much to my mother’s chagrin.

“Every day,” I answered.

“How have you lasted here this long?” she asked, her tone not at all malicious. It was genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” I answered, even though I did.

Time was a funny thing. It just kept ticking, and if you weren’t keeping a careful eye on it, it could get away from you completely.

How had I gone almost four years without going home a single time? I knew exactly how.

If I’d gone back to Sugar Mountain, it would have kept me there. There was no way I could have stepped foot in the one place where I truly belonged and been able to leave again. Even if I’d been in the middle of my courses or in training with a world-famous chef, I would have given it all up to stay.

Once I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t go back because I’d never leave, it was easy to stay away. The same way I had to convince myself to not reach out to Patrick. Even though, technically, he’d cut me off first. He’d been right though. Staying in touch with him was too hard. Too painful. And never seemed to get any easier. So, before I had known it, all this time had slipped by, and I was looking back, wondering where it had all gone.

Years of it.

And I couldn’t get a single second of it back.

“Wanna know something?” Sarina asked, and I nodded. “I didn’t think you’d last a year.” She finished off her fake meal in a carton and shoved it away.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “And now, it’s almost been four. Can you believe it?”

The lump in my throat was back.

“Not really,” I said.

Even though I was gaining so much knowledge by being here, I instinctively felt like I was losing something at the same time.

My heart told me that it was Patrick.

My brain told me that I’d deserve the loss if it were true.