Chapter 5 - Levi
The door closes behind her, and I stand there like an idiot, staring at it, listening to her footsteps fade into the parking lot.
Why the fuck did I just let her leave?
My hands curl into fists at my sides, frustration boiling up through my chest. I had the perfect moment standing there with flour on her nose, close enough to feel the heat of her, close enough to see the way her breath caught when I touched her face.
Close enough to kiss her.
And I didn't. I stepped back like a coward, retreated to safe distance, let the moment dissolve because I'm too afraid of what happens if I actually reach for what I want.
"Fuck." The word echoes in the empty kitchen.
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, head falling back against the exposed brick, hands coming up to cover my face.
The tile is cold beneath me, the ventilation system humming overhead, and I'm thirty-six years old sitting on a kitchen floor at midnight because I'm too much of a coward to kiss the woman I can't stop thinking about.
She's my employee. She's twelve years younger than me. She's just starting her career and I'm her boss and there are a thousand valid reasons why I shouldn't have kissed her in that moment.
But God, I wanted to.
I wanted to pull her close and find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks, wanted to feel her soften against me, wanted to hear the little sound she'd make when my mouth found hers.
I wanted to stop pretending I don't notice every time she walks into a room, stop acting like I don't watch her when she's focused on a task, stop lying to myself that this is just professional respect.
It's not respect. Or it is, but it's also desire and need and this aching hunger I haven't felt in years, maybe ever.
And she made a fucking perfect apple galette with cardamom whipped cream that shouldn't work but absolutely does, and she talked about her grandmother with this light in her eyes, and she told me I wasn't going to fail with such conviction that I almost believed her.
She's talented. Really talented. The kind of natural instinct you can't teach, the ability to taste a dish in her head before she makes it, to understand not just how to execute but why. In two weeks, she's become essential to Juniper's in a way I didn't anticipate.
What if...
No. I can't think like that. Can't let myself imagine a world where Maya Sutton isn't just my employee but my partner, in the kitchen and out of it.
Can't picture us working side by side, building this restaurant into something even better than my original vision, creating a life together that's as good as the food we make.
Except I'm already thinking it. Already imagining what it would be like to come home to her after service, to fall into bed together exhausted and satisfied, to wake up and do it all again.
To create not just a restaurant but a partnership, the kind where two people push each other to be better, where the whole becomes greater than the sum of its parts.
A dream kitchen and a dream life.
With a woman who's too young and too much my employee and too good for a burned-out chef who runs on caffeine and anxiety.
"You're such an idiot," I mutter into my hands.
I should have kissed her. Should have taken the risk, dealt with the consequences, found out if this thing I'm feeling is one-sided or if she feels it too. Because sometimes, like tonight, when she looked at me with flour on her nose and her lips parted, I could swear she feels it too.
The way her breath caught. The way she didn't step back. The way her eyes dropped to my mouth for just a second like she was thinking the same thing I was.
But maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I want it so badly that I'm seeing things that aren't there.
I push to my feet, my knees protesting from sitting on cold tile, and stride to the back door. The parking lot is empty except for my truck. Maya's already gone, driving her mother's car back to that small house with the white shutters.
Too late. Again.
I'm always too fucking late, too afraid of making a mistake to actually reach for what I want. It's kept me safe for fifteen years, kept me focused, kept me from getting hurt or hurting others.
It's also kept me alone.
I pull out my phone and stare at it for a long moment. It's almost midnight. Owen's probably in bed with Ivy.
But I need to talk to someone before I lose my nerve entirely.
I hit his contact and listen to it ring once, twice—
"Someone better be dying," Owen's voice is rough with sleep.
"I need advice."
Silence. Then: "Hold on." I hear rustling, a quiet murmur that's probably him telling Ivy something, then a door closing. "Okay. What's wrong? Is it the restaurant?"
"No. The restaurant's fine. It's..." I run my hand through my hair. "It's Maya."
"Your kitchen helper."
"Yeah."
More silence. Then, cautious: "What about her?"
"I think I'm losing my mind." The words tumble out faster than I intend.
"She's smart and talented and she made this incredible dessert tonight that I'm putting on the menu, and when I touched her face to wipe off flour I wanted to kiss her so badly I could barely breathe, but I didn't because she's my employee and she's twenty-four and I'm her boss and there are so many reasons this is a terrible idea—"
"Levi."
"—but I can't stop thinking about her and I don't know what to do because this feels different than anything I've felt before and I'm terrified I'm going to screw it up or worse, that I already have by being such an asshole to her for two weeks—"
"Levi."
"What?" I snap.
"Stop being an idiot and go for it."
I blink. "What?"
"You heard me." Owen's voice is clearer now, more awake. "Stop overthinking this and just talk to her. Tell her how you feel."
"I can't do that. She works for me—"
"So, figure out a way to address the power dynamic.
Make it clear she can say no without consequences.
But don't use that as an excuse to avoid taking a risk.
" He pauses. "You know Ivy and I spent fifteen years dancing around our feelings because we were both too scared to be honest. Fifteen years of wanting each other and being too chickenshit to do anything about it. Don’t make the same mistake we did. "
His words hit like a punch to the gut. I know their story: grew up watching it, watching two people who were clearly meant for each other waste years being afraid.
"I don't want that for you," Owen continues, his voice gentler now. "I don't want you to wake up in five years or ten years and realize you let something real slip away because you were too afraid of the what-ifs."
"What if she doesn't feel the same way?"
"What if she does?"
Good question. What if Maya does feel the same way? What if those moments when I catch her watching me aren't just professional observation? What if the way her breath caught tonight meant something?
What if I'm not alone in this?
"She's twelve years younger than me," I say, but it sounds weaker now.
"So? You're both adults. Age gaps matter a lot less when everyone's over twenty-one and knows what they want."
"I'm still her boss."
"I’m going to say it again. Just be really fucking clear about consent and boundaries.
Make sure she knows she can say no. Make sure she understands that her job isn't contingent on how she feels about you.
" Owen takes a breath. "Look, I'm not saying there aren't complications.
There obviously are. But if you feel this strongly about her after two weeks, that's not nothing. That's worth exploring."
"What if it ruins everything? What if I tell her and she's uncomfortable and I lose the best kitchen helper I've ever worked with?"
"What if you don't tell her and spend the rest of your life wondering?"
Fuck. He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.
"When did you get so wise?" I mutter.
Owen laughs. "Around the time I stopped being an idiot about Ivy. Speaking of which, she's threatening to come take the phone and give you her own lecture if you don't promise to talk to Maya tomorrow."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "Tell her I promise."
"You better mean it. She's protective of people she cares about, and apparently that includes Maya now." He pauses. "For what it's worth, I think you should go for it. Life's too short to play it safe with everything. Sometimes you have to take the risk."
We hang up after a few more minutes, and I'm left standing in the parking lot with my phone in my hand and my brother's words repeating in my head.
*Sometimes you have to take the risk.*
Fifteen years. Owen and Ivy wasted fifteen years being afraid, and I watched it happen, watched them hurt each other with their silence. I don't want that. I don't want to look back in a decade and realize I let fear keep me from something real.
Maya is talented and beautiful, and she challenges me to be better. She sees Juniper's not as my vision but as our potential. She makes me believe that collaboration isn't weakness, that trusting someone else doesn't mean losing control.
She makes me want things I thought I'd given up on.
And tomorrow, today, technically, since it's past midnight, I'm going to tell her.
I have no idea how. No idea what I'll say or how she'll react or what happens if she looks at me with pity or discomfort or polite rejection.
But I'm done being a coward. Done hiding behind professional distance and age gaps and power dynamics that can be addressed if we're both willing to be honest.
I want her. Not just in my kitchen but in my life.
And she deserves to know that.
I lock up the restaurant and climb into my truck. The drive back to my apartment is automatic, my mind already racing through possibilities. Should I tell her before service? During prep? After close when we're alone?
Should I just pull her aside first thing and blurt it out, or should I try to be smooth about it?