23. Vivienne #2
“Passion.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his eyes are bright in the streetlight, shining with something that looks dangerously close to tears of his own.
“I’ve been cooking on autopilot for two years.
Just surviving and trying to get through one more service while also trying not to lose everything.
But watching you work and care this much about something that isn’t even yours — it reminded me why I started doing this in the first place.
You made me want to cook again. Really cook.
Not to just pay bills or keep the lights on, but because it matters and because it’s beautiful.
And because …” His voice cracks slightly.
“Because I love it. I’d forgotten that. And you reminded me. ”
My throat is so tight I can barely breathe. Tears are definitely pricking at the corners of my eyes now, and I’m fighting to keep them from falling.
“And I don’t know how to thank you enough for that,” he continues, his thumb still moving against my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “I don’t know if I ever can.”
I reach up and cup his face with both hands, feeling the scrape of stubble under my palms and the warmth of his skin. “You don’t have to thank me. This” — I gesture vaguely back toward the restaurant — “this is what I do. It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that and you know it.”
He’s right. It is more than that. It’s been more than that since the moment I walked through those doors and saw him standing in his restaurant, looking exhausted and angry and so heartbreakingly familiar.
It stopped being just a job the second my heart recognized him and I realized I’d never stopped caring.
I never stopped wanting him and loving him, even when I was trying so hard to forget.
I know deep down we still need to have a conversation.
The big one. The one where I tell him everything about New York and why I really stopped cooking.
And why I disappeared off the face of the planet five years ago.
I need to finally let him past all the walls I’ve built and show him the broken parts I’ve been hiding.
I know I need to tell him.
But right now, standing in this parking lot with his hands on my face and his forehead pressed to mine, I’m in this happy, perfect little bubble where I have him back.
Where he’s looking at me like I matter and I’ve given him something precious.
He’s looking at me like maybe we could actually make this work. And I’m terrified to pop it.
Because once I tell him the truth, once he knows everything, he might look at me differently. With pity. Or regret. Or worse, with the kind of protective anger that will make him want to fix something that can’t be fixed. He might see me as damaged and broken.
Too much work.
He definitely won’t see me as the same Vivienne he knew once upon a time. That girl was confident and whole and unafraid.
It’s breaking my heart a little, thinking about how he’ll react and knowing that this easy happiness between us has an expiration date, and that date is the moment I finally find the courage to tell him the truth.
But not tonight. I don’t need to tell him the night before the biggest event of his year. He’s already carrying so much weight.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “It is.”
He kisses me again, slower this time. His hands slide into my hair, tangling in the strands, tilting my head to exactly the angle he wants. I make a small sound against his mouth and feel him smile.
When we finally break apart, we’re both flushed
“I should go,” I say, but I don’t move. I slide my hands down till they are resting on his chest and I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my palms.
“I know how this goes,” he teases, his hands still in my hair. His fingers curl slightly, holding himself to me.
“Big day tomorrow.” I shift closer instead of pulling away, my forehead finding his shoulder.
“Huge day.” His arms slide down to wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him, eliminating any space between us.
“We need to sleep.” The words come out muffled against his shirt.
“Definitely need to sleep.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then my temple, then the corner of my jaw, each one passionate and lingering, making it harder to think about getting in my car and actually leaving.
Neither of us moves. I tilt my head back to look at him, and he leans down to kiss me again. My fingers curl into his shirt. His hand slips under my shirt and slides up my spine, leaving heat in its wake on my bare skin. We’re swaying slightly, like we’re dancing to music only we can hear.
Then Roman’s voice cuts through the parking lot. “I can still see you both from the window! Just so you know!”
Callum drops his forehead to my shoulder with a groan, his whole body sagging against mine in defeat. “I’m going to kill him.”
I laugh, my hands still fisted in his shirt. “You need him for tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll kill him on Sunday.” He doesn’t lift his head. He just stays there, breathing against my neck.
Finally, he pulls back reluctantly, his hands sliding from spine down to my waist then down my forearms, fingers trailing along my wrists before catching my hands. He holds them between us, his thumbs brushing across my knuckles. “Drive safe.”
“I will.” I squeeze his hands, then start to pull away, but he doesn’t let go yet.
He takes a half-step back, but our fingers are still linked, arms stretched between us.
“I’m staying five minutes away.” I’m smiling even as I say it.
“Text me when you make it anyway.” He finally releases one hand, but keeps hold of the other, following me as I move toward my car door like he’s physically incapable of letting go all at once.
The warmth in my chest spreads, filling every lonely corner. “Okay. I will.”
He steps back fully then, our fingers sliding apart, and I immediately want to grab his hand back and drag him into the car with me. I open my door, the hinges creaking slightly, and slide into the driver’s seat before I talk myself into staying.
Through the windshield, I can see him standing there in the parking lot, hands sliding into his pockets now like he needs something to do with them.
I start the engine, and the headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating him in their glow. He raises one hand in a small wave, a slight smile on his face.
I wave back, then put the car in reverse, forcing myself to actually leave even though every part of me is screaming to stay and drag that man upstairs and show him exactly how much he means to me.
But instead, I watch him get smaller in my rearview mirror as I pull away, still standing there in the same spot, until he disappears entirely into the darkness.
My phone buzzes before I’m even out of the parking lot. Callum’s name fills my screen.
Thank you again. For everything. See you tomorrow.
I pull over for just a second to type back.
See you tomorrow, Chef.
The three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then appear again. I can picture him typing, deleting, typing again, trying to find the right words.
I really like it when you call me that.
My face flushes hot, heat spreading down my neck. I stare at the message for a long moment, then type again.
I know you do.
The three dots appear almost instantly.
You’re going to be the death of me.
A laugh bubbles out of me, breathless and pleased. I bite my lip, considering my next move.
I hope you have excellent health insurance then.
Vivienne.
Just my name, but I can hear exactly how he’d say it, half warning, half plea with a rough edge in his voice that means I’m getting to him.
Yes, Chef?
The three dots appear and disappear three times. I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot, waiting.
Be a good girl and drive home. Now. Before I come out there and we both forget about sleeping.
My stomach flips, heat pooling low in my belly. I stare at the message, my heart pounding, then force myself to put the phone face-down on the passenger seat before I do something stupid like drive back to the restaurant.
But I’m smiling the whole drive home.
And when I pull into the cottage driveway and finally check my phone again, there’s one more message waiting.
Sweet dreams, Vivi.
The smile stays with me as I unlock the front door and drop my bag on the couch. I catch myself grinning as I brush my teeth and wash my face and change into an old t-shirt. It’s still there when I climb into bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin, listening to the ocean through the open window.
I fall asleep still smiling, Callum’s last message glowing warm in my chest.