6. Wendy
“Stop. You're going,” said Marissa, plating two deluxe portobello mushrooms topped with provolone. The way the pale cheese melted off the slick mushroom deserved a chef's kiss. And the chef was me.
“I just don't know. It's been three years.” I tossed a damp white rag over my shoulder, plating key lime pies for the display in front. It wasn't the season for this kind of pie, but I couldn't resist the tangy and sweet flavors the dessert delivered.
“Three years is a long time. Maybe even long enough so you can finally go back.” Marissa picked up the burgers and pushed the kitchen swinging door ajar, one foot in the main dining area. “I'll be right back; this conversation isn't over.” Marissa left to tend to the packed lunch crowd, leaving me alone with sous chefs and the rest of the kitchen staff, who didn't make it too obvious they were eavesdropping in on our conversation.
It had been a week since I saw Blair and had been extended the invite for Sadie's first birthday. I hadn't been this torn over a decision since the night he left me. My heart wanted me to return to New York and celebrate with Blair and her husband, but my mind screamed at me for even humoring the idea. I left New York and all of them for a reason. Every part of that last night with him haunted me and was a tease. And while that night blew my mind and broke my heart simultaneously, I couldn’t help but think about all the memories Vincent and I shared. The way we laughed. We didn’t just laugh.
We fucking laughed until our stomach cramped and tears spilled from our eyes. We always respected the other whenever someone had something to say. The way Vincent’s eyes stared into my soul whenever I spoke to him. He was the one person I always knew who actually listened to me when I spoke.
He was my best friend.
Still lost in thought, I picked up a rolling pin from the counter and started working on a new batch of dough. My hands moved mechanically, but my mind was a million miles away. The mush of the dough under my fingers took on an almost comforting texture as if grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions conjured by Blair's invitation.
I grabbed a plate and plopped the slick dough on it, huffing a breath. It was a blessing for Blair to show up on my birthday, but it left me rattled, more unsettled than I had felt since the night everything changed. Without looking, I went to grab the plate of dough again for no reason.
Suddenly, the plate slipped from my greased hands and shattered on the floor, snapping me back into reality.
“Everything okay, boss?” Marco, one of the sous chefs, asked, rushing over with a broom.
“Yeah,” I replied hastily, bending down to pick up the bigger pieces of broken ceramic. “The sucker got away from me.”
“Everything okay in here?” asked Marissa, barging into the kitchen breathlessly.
“Just a little accident,” I mumbled, sweeping my pieces into the dustpan Marco held out.
Marissa scrutinized the scene, her eyes landing on me. She didn't miss the pained look in my eyes, connecting it to our earlier conversation.
“I love you, and you're probably not going to like hearing this, but you're a mess today,” she declared, her tone softer than I expected. “You need closure. You need to face your past. Even if that means going back to what you left. It'll be a quick visit, if anything.”
A lump formed in my throat, threatening to choke me, and there was a sudden sting in my eyes.
“Maybe,” I conceded quietly. But even considering the possibility felt like reopening an achingly fresh wound.
I returned to my workbench, diverting my attention to kneading another batch of dough with more vigor than necessary. The rhythm calmed me somewhat as I sank into the familiarity and simplicity of the task. The rest of the kitchen staff returned to their business. However, tension was still in the air—the conversation had stirred up emotions beyond my control.
As Marissa watched me from afar knowingly, I couldn't help but let myself think: would New York be different this time?
The rhythm of the kitchen continued: the clanging of the pots and pans against the stove, the sizzle of the juicy burgers grilling, and the bustling chatter of the staff. But I was deaf to it all, trapped in my own world. My heart was entangled in a whirlpool of emotions, pulling me in directions I dreaded even pondering.
“Order up,” a voice called from somewhere nearby, snapping me back from my thoughts. I looked over at Jeremy, one of the other chefs, who was neatly stacking beef sliders on a platter.
“Coming,” I murmured, setting my dough aside and wiping my hands on my apron. Moving mechanically, I ladled some chunky tomato sauce onto a plate of spaghetti and meatballs before sliding it onto a heating lamp.
“I'll take that!” Marissa chimed in, swiftly grabbing the plate to deliver it to one of our lunch regulars. Her resolute look afterward spoke volumes. My decision was out in the open now—no more hiding.
As the hours passed and lunch service ended, the tension in the kitchen started to ease. Conversations picked up again, filling the air with light-hearted banter, while Marissa and I caught ourselves stealing glances at each other across the kitchen.
It wasn't until after the early bird dinner service that Marissa approached me again. As we tidied up for closing time, she gently touched my shoulder.
“Hey, are you okay?” The concern pooling in Marissa's dark orbs grounded me.
“Yeah. I'm fine. It's just a lot to process, you know? I force myself not to think about what happened, and when I can't escape it anymore, it all comes rushing back.”
“I think you need to go. It'll be fun. You'll get to meet Sadie. See old friends without forgetting about your new ones.” Marissa winked, shifting on her tired sneaker-clad feet.
“Don't worry. You'll never be replaced.” I tossed her a sheepish grin.
Her smile broadened, the warmth behind it melting some of the icy dread inside my chest. “That's what I like to hear, boss,” she replied playfully, giving my shoulder a light punch before unlacing her stained apron from the day and tossing it into the used linen bin. “I'll get ready to close up. Whenever you want, just go. I'll lock up.”
“Who's the boss here?” I asked, undoing my chef's coat and fanning it out.
“You are. Definitely you.” Marissa smiled, pushing the laundry bin off to the side. “Just remember, everything will be fine.”
I watched her go, her words echoing in my mind. I was terrified about going back, about opening that chapter of my life again. But maybe Marissa was right—maybe confronting those feelings was exactly what I needed to do.
Arriving at my cozy home about an hour later, I clicked on the lights, letting my skin bask in the warm house, and closed the door behind me. The comfort of home wrapped around me like a blanket as I peeled off the layers of clothes until I was in a black tank top with matching boy shorts. That was what I loved about New England weather transitioning from autumn to winter. It had a way of cocooning you, drawing you inward. The crackling fire in the hearth added to the cozy ambiance, casting a warm glow on the blanched hardwood floors and filling the room with a smoky scent.
I took a bottle of red wine from the rack, popped it open, and poured myself a generous glass. The liquid, rich and dark as love lost, swirled around in my glass like a crimson cyclone before I took a sip. The musky, full-bodied flavor of the wine filled my senses, echoing the complexity of emotions throbbing inside me.
The memories I had locked away all these years suddenly started flowing back. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him. His defined cheekbones and his smile that used to spread warmth in my chest only triggered spiky, iced daggers.
I moved toward the window, looking out onto the silent street painted white by the season's first flurry. As each snowflake fell from the sky, it seemed to carry a piece of my past. Every snowflake represented an unspoken word or an unresolved feeling between Vincent and me.
And so, I stood, lost in the maelstrom of my thoughts. Night fell, replacing the flurry with a blanket of untouched white. The street lamp glowed a golden glow like a watercolor painting taking life before my eyes.
The wine had long lost its charm. Even the crackling fire had quieted to a nearly silent hum. I sat down in my old rocker by the window, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. The combination of the wine and exhaustion lulled me into a strange state between sleep and wakefulness. Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers dialed Blair's number, and I waited.
“Wendy?” Blair answered on the third ring. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” I swallowed. “I hope I didn't wake you.”
“Not at all.” Blair chuckled. “Sadie isn't the best sleeper, which means I don't sleep.”
“Aw, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. I wouldn't trade it for anything.” Blair sighed, and I could picture her closing her eyes, tipping her head back. “So, what's up?”
“I want to come to Sadie's birthday.” The words fell off my tongue faster than I anticipated but were also freeing.
“Oh my God, yes!” Blair shouted. “Wendy, this is going to be great. You'll stay with us.” And then there was a crash.
“Are you okay?” I was laughing now because Blair definitely knocked something or herself over.
“Yeah. Just knocked my chair backward. Oh, Wendy. This is going to be so much fun,” Blair gushed.
“I might want to stay in my own hotel. It's been a while, so I may want to explore. I'll see.” I shrugged for no one to see. “But, I'm happy I'm doing this.”
“This is one hundred percent the right choice. You won't regret it.”
I frowned, knowing I had to ask. “Is Vincent going to be there?”
“Vincent?” Blair gasped. “Fuck no. Zachary hasn't spoken to him in almost three years. Especially when he found out how Vincent went back to their old ways. Zachary wanted nothing to do with him after what he did to you and especially when he found out about the poker crap again.”
“Oh wow. I had no idea.” My stomach flipped at the thought of Vincent going down a dangerous path before quickly pushing any shred of concern for him out of my mind.
“Uh huh,” Blair said, still sounding breathless from her fall. “Total asswipe.”
A soft sigh escaped my lips as I looked out the window, the twinkle of the lone streetlight glimmering like a solitary star in the dark, lonely sky.
“Anyway, I just wanted to confirm with you about Sadie's birthday. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”
There wasn't much more to say other than the promise of seeing each other in less than two weeks, and after a long goodbye, we hung up. It was close to midnight, and I'd be getting up to start a new day at the restaurant in less than seven hours. I dragged my heavy, lazy feet to the bedroom before collapsing onto the cool, crisp sheets. The white comforter molded to my body while my head sank into the pillows. I wanted to sleep, but my body and mind were connected this evening and refused to settle. The minutes ticked by until it was officially a new day. At half-past twelve, when sleep wasn't coming any faster, I found my mind racing and suddenly realized how long it had been since I shared an intimate space with anyone. I hadn't welcomed one warm body into my bed since Vincent, and maybe everyone was right. Maybe that needed to change.
Before I knew what I was doing, my hand crept under the warm blanket, protecting my body from the cold as I attempted to ignite an inner fire that hadn't been lit in years. A shiver raced across my skin, hardened my nipples, and flooded my pussy with a liquid heat that wasn't from the cool air of the room but rather from the thoughts that I was slowly letting penetrate my mind. Echoes of memories, faded and almost forgotten, flowed back into my consciousness with a rogue wave's force.
His laughter, those ocean blue eyes, how he'd stroke my hair as we lay entwined. My fingers brushed against my swollen clit, traveling to my wet sex, dipping ever so slightly to coat the two fingers in my juices. This was wrong. So fucking wrong, but it was like I lost my brakes. I couldn't be stopped. My hand stilled momentarily as I contemplated my wants, thoughts, and these stupid desires. But my body had a mind of its own, and it yearned for more—the pleasure it hadn't known in years. And so, my fingers began to move again, slowly stroking, circling, exploring the sensitive button that sent waves of pleasure pulsating throughout my body. I bit my lip to keep myself from uttering his name aloud.
It was like opening Pandora's box. Once released, there was no containing the intrusive thoughts, no matter how sordid. They came gushing out—images of his muscular arms holding me close, his lips seared my skin, and his eyes always held a mischievous spark when he gazed at me. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath.
He ruined me. Vincent fucking ruined me. I wanted to stop thinking about him but refused. It was like I wanted to punish myself while chasing a release I hadn't met in years. A storm of blissful torture rendered me powerless.
My free hand reached up to cup my breast, squeezing and kneading it while my thumb went over the hardened nipple. The combined assault sent pleasure rippling through me, and my thighs clenched. My fingers drove into my cunt, just as he would have taken and fucked me on this bed. The memory of his hand collaring my neck, robbing me of the oxygen my lungs needed, sent pools of arousal coating my fingers.
Suddenly, I was there again, our last night together. Him fucking me into the mattress until I could barely breathe. His voice promising how I was his dirty little slut, sent my hips bucking on the bed, chasing my hand's rhythm to find my long overdue release. This was so wrong. How could I be thinking about him? Wishing it was his cock instead of my digits fucking me? The echoes of our past coated my skin; I could almost taste him on my tongue. The tangy salt of his skin after being buried under a suit all day, the sweet taste of his tongue against mine.
I gasped, clutching at the sheets as my orgasm ripped through my center, my pussy grabbing my fingers, holding and sucking them deeper. An image of Vincent's smoldering eyes flashed before me just as my climax hit its peak. The moan that tumbled down my lips was swallowed by the silence of the night. My fingers stilled, my breath heaving out of me in ragged pants as I lay there shuddering from the aftershocks of pleasure and guilt. I pulled them from under the covers, glistening with the sticky evidence.
Squeezing my eyes tight and throwing an arm over my forehead, I wondered when I became so fucked up that I wanted someone to call me his dirty little whore as he filled me up with his cum. Why did I want that? And why did I feel like I needed it only from him? I was trapped. So fucking trapped.
Just then, a sharp thud jolted me from my post-orgasm fog, and I nearly jumped out of bed. My heart thumped heavily in my chest as I quickly scrambled for the lamp on the bedside table, flipping it on and squinting against the sudden bright light. I slid out of bed and grabbed the bathrobe at the foot of the mattress, tying it around me as I padded over to my bedroom door.
The sound came from the living room; I was almost positive. I peered into my living room from behind the wall separating it from the hallway, immediately noticing a hairline crack on the corner window. When I was certain there weren't any unexpected hiding shadows other than my trembling against the floor, I crept to the damaged window. The moonlight hit the cause of the crack, and on the other side of the glass lay a bird on the cold ground, wings splayed. My index finger ran the crack's length as I frowned, peering at the either injured or dead animal outside and vulnerable to the elements. I thought about calling animal control, but it was no use. They would just laugh at my silly request to remove the animal.
I couldn’t just leave the poor creature out there, though. Grabbing a jacket from the wrought iron rack, I pulled the door open and darted over to the injured bird. Staring at its still body, heavy tears formed in my eyes. I frowned, bending down, and when my fingertips were about to nudge him, its wings flapped, and it came back to life, nearly throwing me flat onto my ass, and it flew away.
I watched the animal disappear into the night as a flood of relief filled my lungs. The stranger part was I didn’t know if it was meant for the alive bird or for me.