Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Alivia
Leslie turned her head, looking at me while I sat next to her in the living room of her small apartment, the two leather chairs side by side with a tiny table in between.
I imagined, several years ago, when her husband had still been alive, this was his seat.
Across from us, aside from the TV, was a wall decorated in framed photos that spanned years of her family’s life.
And scattered throughout those pictures were hand-sized canvases of art.
Paintings she’d done of different sceneries, weather, and nature. Not a single one had a cabin on it.
“Nothing feels the same anymore.” She reached her hand across the table, missing the miniature lamp, but stretching over the doily and knitted coaster. “I miss seeing you at meal time.”
I missed her, too, and many of the other residents I’d served almost every day for years.
I squeezed her cold, fragile fingers. “But I’m so happy I’m here. With you.”
“You told me you’d come to visit. But, you know, I wasn’t sure. It’s not that I doubted you. It’s just that things change. People move on. Life makes you busy.” Her thumb was sliding across the back of my palm. “Sometimes, those promises are forgotten when other promises become more important.”
“You’ll never be forgotten.” There was a knot in the back of my throat, and it was tightening.
It didn’t matter; I had to tell her this.
I had to get the words out even if, once I said them, there wouldn’t be anything left.
“During my time here, you were my family, and you probably didn’t even know it.
That’s why I stayed and why I worked so much.
I wanted to be here, in my real home, not the one I was living in. ”
Her thumb stilled. “But look where you are now, a place that’s so beautiful.”
I didn’t know if she was talking about Walker’s house—a mansion I hadn’t described to her, just that I was now living there.
I didn’t know if she was talking about my employment and the things happening in the future.
She, along with some other residents, knew about my full-time position at Charred and my plans of opening Alivia’s.
But it didn’t matter what she was referencing.
It was all beautiful.
“It is,” I agreed.
“I can see how happy you are. You haven’t stopped smiling since you walked in my door.” Every time she grinned, her dark lipstick would bleed into the lines around her mouth.
Lines I hoped I would have one day from all the smiling I’d done.
I pushed the back of my head against the small leather cushion behind me and closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds.
The thing was, at this point, I didn’t even know what I was smiling about.
There was that much good happening in my life.
And a part of me worried that with all this good, would there be bad too?
Or had I already experienced enough of that?
“I didn’t know a happiness like this existed,” I admitted. “I didn’t know, in life, there would ever be a reason to smile every day.” I released a long breath. “And I know how sad that sounds. Trust me. But it’s true.”
“It’s not sad, my pumpkin. It’s reality. And it was my reality.”
“It was?”
She pulled her hand back and crossed her cardigan over her chest. “I didn’t find happiness until I found art.
I smelled flowers and traveled and tasted and walked through forests all on my canvases.
But the truth was, I didn’t see those flowers or travel or taste or walk through forests.
I had to create those moments with a brush and paint.
” She stared at her hands, a yellow smear covering the nail of her middle finger.
She didn’t pick it off; she left it. “You’ve found your art, Alivia.
And now all the dreams you’ve had, the ones you recited in your head when times got tough and you wondered if you would ever make it, they’re all going to come true. ”
The nights I’d slept on the mattress on the floor, shaking beneath my comforter, turning up the volume in my earbuds, but no sound could take away their screams.
The hours I’d spent with my back against the door.
The threats, the coercion.
The abuse.
Those were just the years at Dean’s, but so much more had happened before him.
I didn’t know where the emotion came from. I didn’t expect it to enter my eyes and to have to fight so hard to hold it back. But when I nodded, the first drop rimmed my eyelid, and I whispered, “You’re right. They are going to come true.”
“The main courses have all been delivered,” one of our servers announced as she entered the kitchen.
A kitchen that didn’t have the most ideal setup for an event this large, but Walker and I, along with the pastry chef from Charred, were making it work.
Walker stood in the center of the cramped room, and with his arms crossed, the position tightened his chef’s whites across his back, showing the muscles there and in his shoulders. “You’re telling me everyone is happy with their selection?”
“Seems to be,” the server replied.
It had been an extremely stressful day, especially since we’d already been here for at least ten hours, first prepping, followed by cooking each course.
The appetizers were finicky. The sides of each of the mains were time-consuming.
The main dishes were tedious. He hadn’t exploded or raised his voice once, but there were times, I knew, he’d wanted to.
However, the nonchalant attitude of this server was going to send him straight over the edge.
“No assumptions,” he growled. “I need you to go out there and check on every fucking guest and make sure they’re pleased with what they’re eating. And if they’re not, I need you to come in here and tell me, and we’ll make it fucking right. Understood?”
Her mouth opened, and instead of saying anything, she nodded, almost immediately turning around and rushing toward the exit that led to the dining room.
Walker faced me as I was pouring hot fudge into the tiny dessert bowls. “I almost tore the fuck into her.”
I smiled. “You kinda did.”
“I could have done far worse.”
“I know,” I replied.
The pastry chef laughed.
We’d been here all day prepping each course.
The only thing we had left was dessert. James had ordered a cake.
Our responsibility was the homemade ice cream that went with it, which Walker and I had made this morning, along with the toppings that I was currently pouring, and a specialty dessert for our guests with allergies.
Once this was served, we could breathe a giant sigh of relief.
Walker came over, standing on the opposite side of the counter as me. “Is this the only thing that’s left on our end?” He nodded toward the vat of chocolate I was holding.
“Yes. I have just enough bowls for every person. They’ll each get the three toppings we’re offering. At least for dairy options. The vegan and gluten-free option will come in a separate dish that I prepared this morning.”
“How’s it coming with the vegan dessert?” Walker asked a little louder, getting the pastry chef’s attention in the back of the kitchen.
“Almond flour biscuits were just put in the oven, non-dairy ice cream is ready to be scooped, and I’m making the strawberry sauce as I speak.”
He uncrossed his arms. “Excellent.”
I could see his tension.
I could feel it.
I had plenty of my own, but I needed to be the calm one for him. The positive one. The one who wouldn’t let him blow his lid over anything and everything.
“It went great,” I assured him. “All we’ve heard is compliments.”
“So far,” he said, his palms on the counter, elbows bending, his head lowering. “There’s still plenty of time for bitching.”
“At least the servers said they devoured the appetizers. The main courses, in my opinion, are even better.”
He looked up at me. “The goddamn gas wasn’t coming through the range the way I needed it to.
I couldn’t get the fucking flame at the right level.
And don’t even get me started on the tofu and all those batches that decided to crumble and become unusable.
” He groaned. “If I never fry a block of tofu again, it’ll be too soon. ”
His eyes narrowed. “Do me a favor. Stop with the positivity.” He licked his lips, finally smiling. “How’s that for character development?”
He waited for a reaction, and I didn’t give him one.
“Trust me, I wanted to say a lot more and didn’t. I’d call that improvement.”
“Walker …” I shook my head, hiding my smile.
His description hadn’t been an exaggeration, and those weren’t the only problems that had gone down. There had been issues all day and night. We’d handled each one, but he was right; we had no idea how the main dishes were going to be perceived.
Even though the three dishes had made me moan, that didn’t mean they would translate well when prepared on a larger scale.
The kitchen door swung open as I was saying, “Walker, I think we should prepare—” and my voice cut off when I saw that it wasn’t one of the servers coming in, but it was James.
I sucked in a breath, my stomach suddenly in knots over her presence.
Every time I was around her, which had been multiple times this afternoon before the event started, I found it difficult to speak.
There was something about her that I found completely overwhelming.
Maybe it was that she was not only stunning on the screen, but even more so in person.
Maybe it was the way she looked at me, giving me her full, undivided attention, even when I was having a hard time coming up with words.
Maybe it was because, aside from Beck and Walker, I’d never been around a celebrity before, especially one who was as famous as James.
“Walker,” I said in a soft voice, nodding toward the space behind him. “James is here.”
He turned around, staying by the counter. “Is something wrong?”
She halted next to him, her body pointed toward us.
“No, actually, everything is so perfect. That’s why I wanted to come in and thank you.
” She gave a smile that deserved to be on a billboard.
“I told the server I didn’t want to be a pain, but I simply had to have all three options for dinner.
” She laughed, rubbing her stomach. “I’m eating for two after all.
” She gazed down at her bump. “I just have to say, the filet and ramen were exceptional. I’m talking truly wonderful dishes.
But that halibut”—her eyes rolled—“that now owns a permanent place in my heart. I cannot get over how it just melted in my mouth.”
I could feel Walker’s anxiety begin to lift.
Or it quite possibly could have been my own, but the relief was so immense that I could cry.
“I’m happy you enjoyed it, James,” he replied.
She continued to rub her stomach as she said, “When all of this is done, say, in a few weeks, can I somehow convince you to come to my home and cook the same dish for Brett and me? I know what I’m asking, and I know someone of your caliber is probably booked out months in advance.
But if you could make an exception, I would make it worth your while. ”
Walker looked at me, his eyes grinning even though his mouth wasn’t. “It’s not me you have to convince, it’s Alivia, my sous chef. The halibut is her recipe, and she’s the one who made it this evening.”
“You don’t say.” As James shifted her focus to me, my nerves returned just as fast as they’d left, and I could no longer breathe. “Well then, Alivia, what can I do to get you to say yes?” The same smile from before was on her face.
What … is even happening … right now?
James Ryne-Young wants me?
To cook for her?
At her house?
“It would take absolutely nothing,” I voiced. “I’m already mentally there.” As I realized how ridiculous I sounded, I let out a laugh.
James laughed too. “Girl, I like you. I’ll grab your number after everyone leaves, and we’ll set something up.”
I nodded far too hard and fast. “Perfect.”
She waved to us and left the kitchen, and I clung to the counter, holding on as though I was about to fall. “Did that just happen? Or did I dream that? Because if that was a dream, I do not want to ever wake up.”
“That was no dream.” Walker leaned across the stainless steel that separated us. “When you said to me you were never going to cook for James, I told you I disagreed. Do you need to hear me say I told you so? Or do you believe me now?”
“But …” Words once again escaped my mind. I literally didn’t even know what to say. What to think. And I desperately wanted to replay the last several seconds, but I swore I’d blacked out and didn’t remember a thing. “I guess … I just didn’t expect it. And never saw it coming. And—”
“And you need to have a little more faith in yourself. Alivia, you’re fucking incredible in the kitchen.
You should have seen yourself tonight. You need to believe me when I say this, and you need to know that, one day soon, you’re going to be even more well-known than me.
” He walked around the counter and stood in front of me, his hands going to my waist.
I went to back up to put distance between us so the pastry chef wouldn’t see us, and his grip tightened.
“Walker,” I whispered, doing everything I could to stop her from hearing us.
“I thought I was going to cry when James came in and drowned you in compliments, but now I’m really going to cry.
That’s one. Two, what if she goes back and tells the whole restaurant that we’re, you know, touching? ” I nodded toward the other chef.
“It doesn’t matter if she does. You’re no longer in a relationship with the head chef of Charred.”
My entire body froze. “What do you mean? You’re breaking up—”
“I’m breaking up with Charred, baby.” He kissed me. “Not you.”