Epilogue
SAM
Five years later
“Bas,” I call as I tear after my three-year-old terror as he darts around the corner into the kitchen.
His little legs are a blur, his giggle a soundtrack to my chaos. With a frustrated laugh and zero real menace, I sprint after him.
Inside, the kitchen vibrates with energy, my team moving with precision and purpose. The scent of roasted garlic and caramelized onions fills the air, blending with the low buzz of conversation.
I glance around, expecting to see my son in the middle of his latest act of destruction, but he’s nowhere in sight.
“Stéphanie.” I spot my sous-chef plating hors d’oeuvres. She’s already grinning, clearly enjoying the show.
“Bas came barreling in here. Have you seen him?”
She chuckles, her soft French accent lilting through the noise. “You mean the adorable little boy who just ran off with his sister?”
“Paige took him?” I arch a brow, half relieved, half wary.
Stéphanie nods. “Oui. Out back.” Then she holds out a spoon. “Before you go, taste this. Tell me what you think.”
I lean in, letting the sauce hit my tongue. My eyes flutter closed as the flavors explode. Rich, balanced, unexpected. “Shit, that’s incredible.”
Her grin widens. “It’s for the pork tenderloin. Thought I’d test something new.”
“Test away.” I still taste it on my lips. “That’s going on the menu. You have to write it down before you forget.”
She blushes lightly and waves me off with a laugh. “Go find your family, Chef. I’ve got this.”
I grin, grateful as ever. Stéph’s a powerhouse—sharp, creative, loyal. One day, she’ll open her own place, and when she does, I’ll be first in line to eat there. Until then, I’m not letting her go without a fight.
Out in the courtyard, the party’s in full swing. Strings of twinkling lights crisscross the trees, casting a warm glow over the laughter and chatter. Balloons drift lazily in the soft breeze, and the scent of good food mixes with blooming camellias.
It’s Livvy’s birthday.
We closed Camellia for the day, and while she fought me on it—claiming it was “too much fuss”—I’m glad I insisted. Seeing our friends and family gathered here, the life we’ve built, makes every moment worth it.
My heart swells as I take it all in.
Five years, and not a day goes by that I don’t wish my father Bas could see this. See us. I like to think he would’ve loved it—the chaos, the laughter, the joy. The little boy named for him, racing around with his big sister.
I’ve got everything I could ever want. Thriving restaurants. A son who’s pure sunshine and trouble. Two amazing stepkids who have my whole heart. And Livvy—my wife, my forever.
When I moved here to Toronto, Alec came too. I’d worried it would be hard on him, leaving Montreal, leaving behind the home he and Bas built. But it wasn’t. It turns out change is good for the soul.
He’s blossoming here—cooking, mentoring, living. We both go back often, but my home, my heart, is here.
At the far end of the courtyard, I find her.
Olivia.
She’s laughing at something Sin just said, her head tipped back, sunlight catching her hair like a halo.
When her gaze meets mine, she freezes mid-laugh, her lips curling into a slow, private smile meant only for me.
I start walking toward her. No hurry. Just pure, deliberate want.
She excuses herself from the conversation, smoothing her dress as she steps toward me. We meet halfway, the rest of the world falling away.
My hands find her waist just as hers glide up my chest. She rises on her toes to kiss the underside of my jaw.
“Hey, you.” Her voice is low and sultry.
“Hey, you. Happy birthday.” I brush my lips against her nose, earning a soft laugh.
“Thank you. I hear this place is owned by some panty-melting celebrity chef. You seen him around?”
I feign a frown. “Hmm. Haven’t spotted him. Will I do?”
“Hmmm.” She taps a finger on her lips, pretending to consider. “I don’t know. What did you say your name was again? I might need to Google you first.”
We both laugh, the sound easy and familiar, grounding in a way I can’t name. It pulls me back to the day we met—awkward, flirty, unexpected—and my chest tightens with the memory.
“You missed the appetizers.” She licks her lips. “They were incredible. I might need to skip lunch, though, or my pants won’t fit.”
Before I can reply, a familiar voice pipes up beside us.
“That’s where I come in.” Jonah grins like the smug bastard he is.
“Back off, Jonah,” I growl playfully. “She’s taken.”
Olivia’s lips twitch, clearly amused as she crosses her arms. “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.”
Jonah chuckles, turning his grin on her. “Taken, huh? That’s not what you’ll be saying when we’re sweating it out tomorrow morning.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “He means our workout.” Like I need the clarification. Then she glances between us, pretending to think. “Actually, yes. I’m taken.”
Jonah pats my shoulder with a grin. “Sorry, Sam. You’re pretty, but not my type.” He plants a quick kiss on Livvy’s cheek, winks at me, and strolls off to join Sin.
Olivia watches him go, then tilts her head up, her gaze heavy with mischief. “Too bad for him, but all the better for me.”
Before I can answer, she threads her fingers into my hair and tugs—firm, sure, devastating. My laugh dissolves into a low groan.
“Careful, Livvy,” I warn, voice husky. “You’re playing with fire.”
Her eyes darken, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “Good thing I like the burn.”
Then she kisses me, hungry, open, claiming.
The world erupts in whistles and cheers from our guests, and we break apart, breathless and laughing. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and I swear I fall in love with her all over again.
I glance at the crowd—our family, our friends, our life—and my grin stretches wider.
Yeah. I’ve got it all.
I lean in, whispering against her lips, “Happy birthday, mon trésor.”
And then, because I can’t not, I kiss her again. Slow this time, tender, a promise that says everything words never could.
Thank you for reading Kissing the Chef.