37. The Final Course
The Final Course
M argaritas are my favorite too,” Amelie says as she hands Charlotte her third margarita of the day.
I watch Charlotte accept the drink from my spot by the kids’ area then glance away, eyes tracking Sadie as she climbs onto a fallen log, while Nevaeh and Marty, Shane and Heaven’s kids, are stationed on either side like tiny, overenthusiastic spotters.
“Careful,” I call.
I turn back to the reception, soaking in the scene.
Primrose, barefoot in a flowing pink dress, practically glows as Logan twirls her on the dance floor, laughter ringing through the night like a melody.
The wedding was beautiful—quick, with standard vows, but heartfelt enough that everyone got misty-eyed.
Watching the love between Logan and Primrose play out so openly, so unguardedly, felt almost intrusive.
Like peeking through a window into something sacred.
Now, the reception is a perfect reflection of them—intimate, warm, threaded with easy joy.
People move from table to table, eating from the buffet Shane prepared, swaying on the dance floor, sharing drinks and stories.
It’s the kind of celebration even my socially anxious brother can enjoy.
And he is. For once, Logan looks completely at peace.
So does Charlotte. Like she’s shed some immeasurable weight. She’s had food, drinks, and she’s laughed . Danced. Chatted. All the things she should get to do.
I don’t realize I’ve been staring until Ian’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Have you told her yet?”
“Hmm?” I turn as he steps closer, a beer in each hand.
“That you love her.”
I force a neutral expression, but my fingers twitch as I accept the beer. “Oh. No, not yet. Is it that obvious?”
“Only when you look at her,” he says, taking a sip. “And when you don’t.”
I huff out a chuckle, shaking my head. “Just...waiting for the right moment, I guess.”
“Take it from me, no better moment than a wedding.” He smacks his lips. “Or the present. Coincidentally, we’re at a?—”
“Yes, I get it.” I roll my eyes. “So, what, do I just...drop it on her? Do I need a speech?”
“You say...oh!” His eyes light up like he’s struck comedic gold. “You say ‘I love you cherry much.’”
My nose scrunches. “What?”
“Or . . . ‘I cherry -sh you’?”
Oh, boy. “She’d laugh in my face.”
Ian grins. “Exactly. And then she’d kiss you.”
Charlotte is now deep in conversation with Amelie. She’s got that little crease in her forehead, the one she gets when she’s listening intently, absorbing every word. She’s gorgeous. She always is, but tonight, with her easy smile and soft joy, she’s something else entirely.
“Looks like things worked out,” Ian muses, pointing at the two of them.
I nod, taking a pull from the bottle. “Yeah. In no small part due to your help, I’m sure.”
He shrugs. “Eh. This was mostly her.” He rolls his beer between his fingers, scratching at the label. “How are you doing?”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“Yeah? With your mom and all . . .”
I glance toward Mom, sitting in the far-right corner, chatting with a cousin. “I’m trying to be thankful for the good moments without obsessing over the bad ones that will come.”
Ian hums. “Sounds like the Aaron my wife tells me is so great.”
I snort. “Hey, about the...job and everything else, I want you to know there are no hard feelings on my part. I hope with time, we?—”
“We’re fine, Aaron.” He smacks my shoulder. “I wish you’d handled it differently, but we’re fine.”
Relief loosens something in my ribs. “Thank you, seriously.”
“What are you going to do?”
Job wise? Who the fuck knows. “Maybe, um...another private chef opportunity will come along.” I rub at the ache forming between my eyes. “I’ll figure it out.”
Ian shoves my shoulder. “Oh, come on, Aaron.”
“What?”
“Amelie obviously wants you to be her sous. Are you going to make her spell it out for you? She was just angry.”
“Are you sure she still wants...actually, it doesn’t matter.” A deep breath, a moment to steady myself. “I don’t think I want it.”
Ian’s expression falters, the amusement in his eyes dimming. “You don’t?”
My heart pounds as I put words to something I’ve been afraid to admit even to myself. “I love cooking with Amelie, but working in a restaurant is...” I close my eyes briefly. “It’s the closest thing to a nightmare I’ve experienced in a kitchen.”
Ian’s lips part, but he stays silent, letting me talk.
“I like being a private chef. I don’t think I’m cut out for being a chef in a high-stakes restaurant. And I’ve already disappointed Amelie. She doesn’t deserve more hurt, but?—”
“Aaron—”
“No, let me finish.” I bounce my gaze over to where Sadie is dancing with Darren, then continue.
“Charlotte walked out on her abuser, even after everything Beatrice did to her. She did it because she knew she couldn’t keep playing a part that wasn’t hers.
And maybe she’ll forever be the villain in her mom’s story, but. ..it doesn’t matter.
“For the last seven years—hell, maybe longer, I’ve lived my life for other people.
For Josie. Then for Sadie. I’ve held myself to impossible standards, trying to earn Logan’s forgiveness, trying to deserve Amelie’s teachings.
Then Charlotte came, and...” I swallow hard. “I finally did something for myself.”
When he smirks, I hold up a finger. “Do not make that joke. You’re better than Kyle.”
“Fine.”
“She helped me realize I can’t keep being the guy who makes himself unhappy to repair his old mistakes. That I need to forgive myself if I want everyone else to. And that sometimes, I need to be a villain in someone else’s story to be a hero in mine.”
Ian watches me for a moment like he’s considering my words. “So...you want to be a private chef.”
“Yes.” The certainty in my voice surprises me.
“No late nights at the restaurant, no sweating in a kitchen as hot as the inner circle of hell, no people screaming left and right while I rush through dishes like a machine. I want to listen to the ingredients. Every sizzle, the sound of the knife hitting the board, the angry bubbling of boiling water. I want to watch them slowly transform, to smell them as they roast, simmer, melt. And I want to take my time with each step. Make sure everything is perfect.”
“Okay.” He tips his beer toward me. “I’ll give you a call once I’m settled in Mayfield. For your briefing.”
I blink. “What?”
Like it’s nothing, he taps his foot in time with the music. “We have quite the waitlist. You can start with a new client as soon as next week.”
I stare at him. “You’re—you’re offering me my job back?”
He gives me a look like Who are you kidding? then says, “We both know if it was up to me, you’d still have your job. I didn’t want to fire you. Scold you, sure. Reassign you? Definitely. Tease you until the end of time? Oh, absolutely—by the way, that’s still happening. But fire you? No.”
“But—”
“Do you want the job?” he presses.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” I rush out.
“Cool.” He snaps his fingers. “I have the perfect family for you. Sweet married couple, both in finance. Three kids still living at home.” He squeezes my shoulder with a smirk. “All boys.”
“Funny, boss.”
Ian’s still cackling as he walks away, his shoulders shaking.
It’s not funny. Not funny at all.
But I’ve got my job back.
“May I have this dance?”
I set my beer down and drape my arms around Charlotte, settling a careful kiss on her lips. I’ve watched her enjoy herself the whole day but barely got time alone with her, and I miss her. “You may have whatever you want, actually.”
“Uuh.” She tugs at my hand, guiding me to the middle of the area of the backyard where people are slow-dancing, and loops her arms around my neck. “Everything?”
“Yes, everything.”
She hums. “A pony?”
“You got it.”
“And a castle.”
“Yours.”
Her lashes flutter. “And you?”
My fingers flex against her waist, the music fading into the background, drowned out by the sound of her breath mingling with mine. “Always.”
Her eyes flick across my face, as if seeing me for the first time. As if she doesn’t already have me etched into her bones the same way she’s burned into mine. Then, she grins. “Well, that’s good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”
My heart swells. “It’s cute that you think you could get rid of me.”
We sway in sync with the music, the warmth of her body against mine making everything else fade into insignificance. I could stay like this forever, in the glow of string lights and laughter, the distant hum of conversations, Charlotte between my arms.
This feels like a good moment to tell her I love her, right? I don’t need a speech, or a grand gesture. Just need to get the words out.
“Charlotte, I . . .”
She brushes the pad of her thumb over my cheekbone.
“You know I . . . cherry-sh you?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I let my hands curve tighter around her waist, then home in on her patient but curious gaze. “I?—”
“Charlotte!” Sadie calls, landing against her legs and making her stumble slightly. “Come play with me?”
Swallowing my words back, I watch her lean down and pick Sadie up with an oof . “Yes, of course I’ll play with—oh, you’re all sweaty.” She turns to me. “Where’s her jacket?”
I really need her to know I love her. “It’s?—”
“Charlotte?” Sadie squeaks.
That talk about interrupting people can’t come soon enough.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I think my daddy loves you.”
Oh, man. I guess that’s a way to tell her.
Charlotte looks up, eyes wide and a smile threatening to burst, before focusing on my daughter again. “You do?”
When she nods solemnly, I ruffle her hair. “Come on, Sadie,” I say in a half scold. “That was my line.”
Charlotte’s smile drops, replaced by a stunned gape. I grin as she sets Sadie down, then gently tell her, “Go play. We’ll catch up in a second.”
The moment Sadie hops away, I wrap one arm around her waist. “Hi.”
“Did you mean that?”
I rub her hip. “I was getting to it, yes.”
Her shoulders relax, but her frown is quick to take over. “You’re not saying it because I said it, right? Because you don’t have to. If you don’t feel that way, I?—”
“I love you, Charlotte. I love you because you make it easy every time you’re difficult. Because it comes as natural as breathing, because it feels like an instinct rather than a choice.” I smile on her lips. “I’m saying I love you because I do. And I don’t intend to stop any time soon.”
“Aaron,” she says breathlessly. “I love you too.”
Her lips part for me like they always do—trusting, open, with that quiet hum that makes my knees weak. I bury a hand in her hair, the strands familiar between my fingers, and she sinks into me like she knows I’ll catch her. We kiss like we’ve done it a thousand times and still can’t get enough.
When we part, I press my lips to her forehead and we continue lightly swaying on the spot.
“So what happens now?”
“Well, we enjoy being boyfriend and girlfriend. You find your footing in the world, with me one step behind you.”
“All the way?”
“All the way.”
She leans back to look at me. “I’m excited to get to know Amelie. And...to decide what to do with my life.”
“You’ve got time for that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Actually, I . . . I’m going back to work for Ian.”
Her eyes widen. “Not Amelie?”
“Turns out I like a more peaceful cooking environment.”
She hums. “I did see you move garnish around a plate for twenty straight minutes once.”
“Yeah. Perfectionism.”
“Or psychosis,” she mumbles.
She kisses me before I can rebut, and when her lips leave mine, I can’t remember what I wanted to say anyway. “We’ll figure it all out together. Right?”
“Right.” Her chest presses against mine. “Unless...are you gonna break my heart, Chef?”
“Not even a chance.”
She grins, green eyes twinkling. “Looking forward to it.”