CHAPTER 32
Maya
“WELCOME TO CHEZ LAURENT.” SEBASTIAN SWEPT HIS arm around his kitchen.
It was a chef’s dream—top-of-the-line appliances, gleaming cookware, and a giant marble island anchoring the room.
“I’ll be personally cooking your dinner.
I thought it would be a nice way to end the tour—as long as you don’t mind hanging out for a bit until the food comes out. ”
I melted a little at how much thought he’d put into our date. I’d expected another hidden gem restaurant for our last meal of the day, but this was even better.
“That sounds perfect,” I said.
“Great.” Sebastian smiled, a hint of relief crossing his face. “Feel free to explore the house or sit back and relax. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.”
“Can I help? I’d rather do something more useful than lounge around.”
“As long as you stick to food prep,” he said. “I still remember the bake sale cookie disaster.”
My jaw dropped. “Okay, that’s unfair because I was ten. We had to replace the oven, but I didn’t burn the house down, did I?”
“No, you just burned a dozen perfectly good cookies.”
I responded to his good-natured teasing with a few obligatory grumbles, but my lips curled into an involuntary smile as we prepped for dinner together. I stuck to chopping vegetables and mixing sauces while Sebastian did the bulk of the work, and we quickly fell into an easy rhythm.
Some people might chafe at making their own dinner for a first date, but this was turning out to be my favorite part of the day. It felt so domestic, and seeing Sebastian cook was incredibly hot.
I snuck another peek at him as he trimmed the steak with quick, precise strokes.
His forearms flexed with every movement, and he maneuvered with effortless grace as he seasoned the meat after trimming it.
He didn’t consult a recipe or look to see what he was grabbing; he knew exactly what was where and how much he needed of each ingredient.
God, I loved competent men, especially ones who looked that good in an apron.
Forget men in uniform. I’d take one in the kitchen all day, every day.
I was so busy looking at him that I didn’t notice the sauce bowl was overflowing until the sticky liquid dripped onto my hand.
Sebastian was too busy on his side of the kitchen to notice my mistake, but it was the reminder I needed to keep my eyes on the task at hand and stop ogling my (objectively gorgeous and ogle-worthy) boyfriend. If I messed up something as simple as food prep, he’d never let me live it down.
Thankfully, the rest of the prep and cooking process went smoothly. Once our food was done, we took it to the dining room. It was already set up with candles, roses, and soft French jazz playing in the background.
I settled in my chair, my insides suspiciously gooey. “Sebastian Laurent, a true romantic,” I teased. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“I’m not sure you can call me a true romantic when I asked you to prep your own dinner.” He poured us both a glass of wine and sat back. “You did great, by the way. My favorite assistant by far.”
“Have you had many of those?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking if I’ve cooked for other dates in the past?”
I shrugged, but a blush crept across my cheeks. I really needed to work on my subtlety.
“No,” Sebastian said, his eyes on mine. “I’ve never cooked for another date. I’ve never wanted to.”
I didn’t bother hiding my smile this time around.
He’d cooked two different main courses—pasta for me, steak and potatoes for himself. The food was incredible. I hadn’t expected anything less, but it felt extra special knowing I’d played some part in creating it.
We lapsed into an easy conversation about a new art exhibit at the Met, followed by a fifteen-minute breakdown of the latest hit TV show and an argument over which country might win the next World Cup.
The best part about dating someone you’ve known your whole life was skipping the small talk and cutting straight to the topics that interested you.
However, because this was us, and we were who we were, the conversation inevitably circled to work.
“I’m so excited for the launch event,” I said. “I can’t wait for everyone to taste your cooking. You’re going to blow their minds.”
The launch was in three months. We’d lost some momentum due to our personal issues, but we were quickly making up lost ground. When Sebastian and I stopped arguing and actually worked together, we were unstoppable.
I expected him to make a flippant remark about how of course they’ll love it because he was a genius, but his response was oddly subdued. “I hope so.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”
The kitchen was his element, and he was always so sure of himself in there. Tonight was proof of that.
“No. Yes. I mean…” Sebastian blew out a breath. “I didn’t tell you this, but when I agreed to take Derek’s spot in the collaboration, I made a deal with my father. If I—if we—succeeded in making the launch the event of the season, he’ll let me quit as CMO and become a chef full-time.”
Holy shit. That was huge. I’d suspected Sebastian was more passionate about cooking than marketing, but his father wasn’t the type to let his only heir abandon corporate prestige for restaurant life.
“That’s a good thing… right?” I ventured. It was a lot of pressure, but Sebastian thrived under pressure. I was confident we’d pull off a great launch, and his cooking skills were second to none. The odds were stacked in his favor.
“I guess,” Sebastian said. “We’ll see what the critics say.”
“They’ll love you.” I gestured at our plates. “You are talented. I’m not saying that because I’m your girlfriend and obligated to do so. This meal is truly one of the best I’ve had in a long time. Your love for your craft shows in your food. I’m sure the critics will pick up on that too.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But talent is only part of the equation. Things didn’t work out so well the last time I ran a kitchen.”
My brow knotted. “What do you mean?”
“We can talk about it another time. It’s too heavy a topic for our first date.” He sipped his wine and tossed out a half-hearted smile. “How are your bridesmaid duties going? Has Priya turned into a bridezilla yet?”
“Sebastian.” I fixed him with a stern look. “We both know this isn’t a typical first date. I don’t want to talk about my sister’s wedding. I want to talk about you—if that’s what you want.”
He hesitated, appearing to debate whether to deflect or tell the truth before he settled on the latter. “Do you remember the Le Boudoir opening a few years ago? It was in the news for months.”
I nodded slowly, my mind rifling through my memories until it landed on why, exactly, that restaurant opening had been so memorable. “That was where Martin Wellgrew…”
“Died,” Sebastian finished. “You can say it.”
I winced. The banker’s high-profile death during an equally high-profile event had been the talk of the town.
It’d made headlines in national news outlets, and everyone thought that would be the end of the Laurent Restaurant Group.
Sebastian’s family weathered the storm, but they came out bruised and battered.
I remembered how vicious the press had been and how certain people had delighted in what’d seemed to be the Laurents’ downfall. I hadn’t been one of them. We were rivals, but I wanted to beat him, not see him vilified.
I’d talked to Sebastian a few times during that period. He’d seemed fine, but he was good at putting on a mask, and the experience had obviously taken a bigger toll than I’d realized.
I didn’t want to push him, so I waited silently for him to continue.
“I was the head chef that night.” Sebastian swallowed.
“It was my first time running a kitchen, and someone died. It’s every chef’s nightmare, and it fucked me up for a while.
I went to therapy, but I also spiraled. Hard.
I couldn’t cook for ages. I couldn’t even pass by a kitchen without getting a panic attack.
” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My therapist was great, and I eventually got better. I slowly rediscovered my love for cooking. But there’s a part of me that’s afraid something similar will happen if I do anything beyond making meals for family and friends.
That’s why I was so hesitant when you pushed me to replace Derek on the collab.
I was so fucking scared that I’d mess up again on an even bigger scale.
My family barely survived the first crisis; I don’t think we can survive a second one. ”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said fiercely.
“The recipes have been double and triple-checked, and I’ve seen the reports from the test groups.
People love them. What happened at Le Boudoir was terrible, but you can’t blame yourself.
Shit happens in restaurants all the time.
It’s not a reflection of you or your abilities. ”
“In that case, it was.” Sebastian’s mouth flattened into a thin line.
“He died from a peanut allergy, Maya. It wasn’t a freak heart attack or an accident.
It was food-related, which means what happened was on me.
” His voice cracked. “I’ve replayed that night dozens of times in my head.
None of our dishes had peanuts, and I was so sure we didn’t have a trace of them in our ingredients either.
But something must’ve slipped past me, and it kills me that I can’t figure out what it was.
If I don’t know what the problem is, I can’t fix it, and it can happen again. ”
A sharp pang tugged at my chest. I couldn’t imagine the guilt he’d been living with. How long had he shouldered that burden, thinking he was responsible for someone else’s death?
“You don’t know that there was a problem,” I said.
“I understand why you feel responsible. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the same way.
But you said it yourself. You did everything in your power to keep the kitchen peanut-free.
It’s a common allergen. The person sitting next to him could’ve had a peanut bar in their pocket, or he could’ve, I don’t know, kissed someone who ate peanut butter beforehand.
The point is, there’s no way to know. What happened to Martin was an extraordinary circumstance, and it’s not an omen for the future.
You’re not cursed, Sebastian. You just got unlucky. ”
He didn’t appear fully convinced, but his lips did curve into a small smile.
I took that as a win. “I can’t say I’ve heard that peanut butter line before,” he said.
His smile dimmed again. “You must think I’m a hypocrite for pushing my father to let me pursue cooking full time when I have all this… baggage weighing me down.”
“I don’t think you’re a hypocrite,” I said. “I think you’re brave. Not a lot of people have the courage to chase their dreams after their worst fear comes true. You do.”
The strength of my conviction seemed to get through to him. Some of the tension slipped from his shoulders, and his eyes crinkled into a genuine smile. “Maya Singh, complimenting me? The world must be ending.”
“It’s part of the girlfriend perks package.”
“Hmm. I like it, but it’ll take some getting used to.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t get used to it. Compliments are reserved for special occasions.” I reached for my wine. “This is our first date, and you fed me well, so consider that the special occasion.”
He laughed. The atmosphere lightened, and we gradually segued to easier topics, but the unguarded intimacy of our earlier conversation lingered.
Sebastian and I might’ve grown up together, but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. There were more layers than I’d expected, and out of everything we did that day—the food, the cooking, the laughter—getting a glimpse of the real him was by far the best part.