Baby For My Grumpy Chef, page 15
“We want to create the illusion that you’re cooking.” David’s mouth curls in a half-grin, a distracted attempt to let me know he’s not holding a grudge. Then he checks his watch and starts walking. “But you need to let the kitchen staff do their thing! They won’t learn if you baby them!” He calls, slipping out the doors into the dining hall.
This place is even nicer than the original, if you ask me. But you probably shouldn’t. This restaurant, while inspired by mine, is David’s brainchild for the most part. I’m only here because my name’s on the damn thing.
He’s earned it. The main goal is that we can leave tonight and it’ll function on its own, which seems very possible after watching David whip the kitchen crew into shape, even the new head chef. His ‘get your ass in line’ bellow is almost as good as my old drill sergeants.
To be honest, I’m proud of him.
But I’m still irritated that I have to give this damn speech.
When I first realized that there was no going back, that I’d opened a restaurant in the same city Amelia moved to, I did everything I could to try and fix it. But the construction had started, the hiring process begun, and we had sunk too much money into it.
So I did the next best thing. I decided I would have nothing to do with it.
Which was going great, turns out David’s an excellent businessman, even more than I am. He actually enjoys calling the shots, where I prefer to get my hands dirty. It’s an arrangement neither of us have talked about, but it’s working out perfectly.
Until, of course, he messaged me a week ago, asking what I planned to say at the grand opening.
I replied asking what he meant by that, and then the argument began; David believes, probably rightly, that I should be here for the opening night of our second location. I’m the owner, the one who paid for all of it and made it such a success, along with a bunch of other self-congratulatory shit that I don’t care about.
But he’s done a lot for this business, and finally, I had to give in. He was right, even if I’d rather stay a thousand miles away from here.
As for what I’m going to say…
I still haven’t really decided.
But I’m here, and within a few minutes, I’m standing out in front of the kitchen doors, waiting in the darkness to make my dramatic entrance. I listen to the announcement, take a slow breath, and step forward.
She’s not here, I remind myself. Just because she lives in the city doesn’t mean she’ll be here.
I make my little entrance note, talking about the first time I imagined owning my own restaurant. It’s a pretty basic story to recall, the same that I’ve told so many reporters, and I’m feeling alright when I catch a flash of dark, long hair.
My eyes slide over her at first. Maybe it’s my subconscious trying to protect me, or maybe it’s the sheer disbelief that I’m seeing the woman I’ve dreamed of for months.
Sometimes, I wonder if I was wrong. If I acted too quickly, if I was afraid for myself more than her.
Because in the three months since Amelia left, I have thought of her every day. Nothing feels the same as it used to. What used to be part of the monotony brings a heavy, aching pain in my chest, a memory of some joke she made or the way she smiled on a certain street corner.
I thought we would recover. That by now, I would feel more or less the way I had before I met her, maybe with a few aches and pains left over.
I was wrong.
My eyes fix on her, and I stop speaking altogether. Stop paying any attention to the crowd. She’s staring at me rigidly, her eyes wide as they meet mine.
In this instant, it is just the two of us in this room. Just me, just her, sitting twenty feet away.
David’s voice comes through the speakers again. “Alright, everyone, thank you for your attention! We’re delighted to have you here at The Indigo Bunting, and look forward to serving you tonight.”
The lights return with the music, and all the air drains from my body. I don’t know what to do with myself, a feeling I’m not used to. Half of me is screaming to run to her, to tell her everything, to beg for her forgiveness.
The other half is pleading with me to leave, now, before I rip a new wound into myself.
But it looks like I don’t have to make a choice. Abruptly, Amelia stands up, walking towards me with quick, robotic steps. Her phone is on the ground, I realize, and her friend from the club is sitting across from her, calling for her to wait.
All too soon, she’s in front of me, but I can’t think of a damned word to say. Finally, the only thing I can think of slips past my lips, a whisper no louder than a breath.
“Amelia.”
My voice echoes with the resounding smack as her palm strikes my cheek, tears brimming in her beautiful, hazel eyes.
Right. I forgot about that right hook she has.
Before I realize what’s happening, Amelia turns and marches out, grabbing her things and heading straight to the front doors. Her friend Chloe, I think, is out of her seat by now, running up to me. “What the hell? Who are-” Suddenly, realization dawns on her face, her eyes scanning me up and down. “You’re Sebastian, aren’t you? The guy from that night at the club?”
Her face hardens, fury. I’ve seen that look before. “Hate me later. I need to talk to her.” I manage to say, trying to continue after Amelia.
“What- no!” Chloe darts to the side to block me, venom in her voice. “Do you know what you did to her?! You’re not getting anywhere near her!”
“What do you want me to do, then?!” I stop trying to get past her for a moment, my words sharp and tense. It’s all I can do not to raise my voice, but this isn’t some smartass kitchen staff, it’s Amelia’s friend, a friend who clearly cares about her. I have no right to be angry with her. But she has me cornered, and I barely have the restraint to stand here when Amelia’s disappearing through the door.
To her credit, she doesn’t back down. “Leave her alone.” She hisses. “Forever.”
I open my mouth, then falter, swallowing hard.
It would be easy. Easier, certainly, than trying to apologize for what I know is unforgivable. I promised myself that I wouldn’t come here for this exact reason, to try and avoid hurting her a second time.
But I can’t bring myself to go back to that kitchen. To that empty penthouse, filled with memories of her. My response is easy, the words falling out in a gruff, almost regretful voice.
“I can’t do that.”
Chloe starts to spit venomous, fully justified words at me, but I’m already running for the door. I rip the too-clean chef’s jacket off as I go, tossing it on the sidewalk without any care for where it ends up. Where did she go? The parking garage is to the left, but she couldn’t have gotten that far in just a few seconds-
Then I spot her. She’s walking down the side of the street, in the opposite direction that I’d expected, about a hundred feet from the doors. I bolt after her, breathing hard as she whirls to face me. For an instant, she just stares. Then she croaks out my name.
“Sebastian.”
Her voice wavers. She’s about to cry- no, she’s already crying, her eyes red and shining with tears.
“Amelia.” I pant.
We stare at each other, unsure of where to go next, what to say or do. “You followed me.” Amelia finally says, almost numbly.
“I…I wanted to talk to you.” It’s a lame response, but it’s all I can think of. Behind us, I hear footsteps - Chloe, no doubt coming to snap my neck. But Amelia glances past me to see her and ever so briefly shakes her head. The footsteps slow, and stop. I glance back to see Chloe glaring daggers at me, her arms crossed.
I have been granted a chance to plead my case.
And I have no idea what I’m going to say next. “I…I’m sorry.”
Amelia’s voice tightens as she asks, “For what?”
I clear my throat, trying to clear my head. This all feels so surreal, like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, that I’ll wake up from at any second. “For leaving you.” I say hoarsely. “I, I thought that…”
How do I tell her what I thought? I’d have to admit that I made that decision for her, without stopping to even speak to her about it.
And then I’d have to figure out why now is any different, which I’m still not sure of myself. It’s not like I’d be better for her after a few months, it’s more…
It’s more like I’m realizing that, despite my best efforts to move on, I love her.
I never stopped loving her.
My throat tightens, and I choke on my words, shaking my head. Amelia’s eyes narrow in a scrutinizing expression. I can’t make sense of the emotion on her face, but it’s obvious that she’s deciding whether she wants to slap me again or let me continue speaking.
Finally, she says in a soft, surprisingly steady voice, “I want to talk to you, too. Can you meet me tomorrow for lunch?”
I nod like a bobblehead, feeling like I’m in a daze. “I, you have my number.”
“I don’t, actually.” Amelia says flatly, her voice hard. Ah, I realize. She deleted it.
But her eyes are soft as she reaches out for my hand, digging a pen out of her purse. “Here, you can have mine. I changed it when I moved area codes.” She scribbles a series of numbers on my palm in ink, and the barest touch of her hand sends a prickle up my spine.
She pulls back, eyeing me uncertainly. “You’re the owner?”
I nod, swallowing. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and-”
Amelia holds up a hand. “I just…um…I want a refund. For both of our tickets.” She glances back at Chloe, and tears fill her eyes again. “Chloe, I’m so sorry-” She begins to say, and the other woman hurries forward, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tight.
“Don’t apologize. Refund?” She inquires, looking up at me with an unforgiving expression.
“As soon as I get back.” I promise, my voice rough.
She nods, looking back down at Amelia. I haven’t taken my eyes off of her for more than an instant, and she’s staring at me in the same way, as if she doesn’t think I’m real.
And then, just like that, she’s gone, walking away with her friend. I stand there, frozen in place, until they’ve disappeared in the distance. David eventually comes to collect me, his silence telling me that he knows what happened. I don’t even notice that my cheek still stings from that slap until I’m home, my face thawing out from the cold February air.
Tomorrow.
I’m going to see her tomorrow.
21
AMELIA
My heart beats like a drum, staring at the door of the small coffee shop where I agreed to meet Sebastian. After sitting inside for awhile, I’m starting to regret choosing this place. It’s my new go-to for peppermint tea, but…
My breath catches as the door opens, clear glass twinkling in the afternoon light, and he steps inside.
It’s like seeing a walking, breathing dream.
Sebastian pauses as he steps into the front door, the scent of fresh coffee hitting him at once, and I know that he’s thinking the same thing as me. It’s just like the shop where we met, before either of us knew who the other was. His eyes cloud with something I can’t figure out, and then he scans the room, his eyes catching on me all too quickly.
I’m wearing cozier clothes today, a thick green sweater and black leggings. I got here early, almost half an hour ago, and the peppermint tea I ordered is a few degrees shy of lukewarm after sitting untouched for so long.
It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on him while he strides towards me, closing the distance between us with a few long steps. My chest feels tight, even the way he moves sending a pang of grief through me.
“You…You look good.” Sebastian blurts out as he sits, that rough voice sounding almost…nervous.
And suddenly, far, far too easily, my mouth tries to twitch up into a smile. I school my expression into a blank mask, taking a deep breath.
Chloe wants to beat this guy up, I remind myself.
My hand finds my belly, even though my sweater is too thick to really feel anything. That’s right. Chloe isn’t the only one I need to worry about.
When I’ve imagined surprise pregnancies in the past, just as a dim possibility of something that could happen to me, I always thought I would be terrified. That I would panic at the idea of having a baby, of being a mother, and do whatever I could to try and escape it.
But, strangely…all I feel is absolutely, entirely bewildered.
I can’t be pregnant. Me? The woman who’s barely dated, barely slept with anyone? The most sex I’ve had was three months ago, and we always used a condom, were always careful to avoid a situation just like this.
A wiser, more levelheaded part of me knows it can happen. I’ve seen it happen to plenty of women, after working in labor and delivery for so many years. Medications always have a few outliers, those one in a million chance kind of people, who get the short end of the stick.
But seeing it happen to other people is so very different than having it happen to me.
After the event that was our visit to The Indigo Eatery, I had to explain everything to Chloe. I told her about the baby, and the reason I feel like it’s worth at least speaking to Sebastian.
I won’t ask him to be with me again. I don’t want to be with him again.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I want nothing more than to be with him again, just to feel those arms around me for a few more seconds.
But I will not allow him to hurt me a second time.
At the same time, Sebastian being with me doesn’t decide whether or not I want him in our child’s life. I want him to have a chance to be a father, if he wants to.
“You should go for child support.” Chloe had told me, her expression cryptic. “If he owns both of those restaurants, you wouldn’t have to worry about money at all while the kid is growing up.”
But I shook my head at that.
I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything from him, really. If I could, I would pretend this never happened, that I never saw him at that restaurant.
But this is his child, too, and unless I think it would be better for the baby to have no father at all…this is what I have to do.
If not for me, for the baby.
I shift my hand, picking at the knit on my sweater where it lays over my stomach. At the moment, I’m keeping the pregnancy to myself. Chloe warned me to keep it secret until I was sure, and I do agree with that piece of advice - I want to know who he is right now, when he has no idea about the baby, no pressure to do the right thing.
I want him to be the same man who left me three months ago, not the man who just found out he’s having a child.
“You look good, too.” I finally say back, realizing that I’ve been quiet for too long.
Sebastian nods, and after a beat, continues, “You have, uh…a good friend.”
“Chloe?” He nods, and I huff softly. “You’re right, she is a good friend. She…doesn’t like you.”
Sebastian snorts, glancing to one side as he raises his eyebrows. “Don’t sugarcoat it. She hates me.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling this time. It shouldn’t be this easy! He shouldn’t be able to make my heart lift like this, to make me forget about everything in an instant.
“I’m sorry.” He suddenly says. My eyes snap back up to his face, and I realize that he’s watching me intently. Did he see it? The hesitation, the confusion? “I-” He breaks off, clears his throat. “I don’t…really know what to say. The last person I expected to see last night was you.”
Somehow, that strikes a bitter chord for me. “I’m sure. Must have been awful when you did.”
His eyes widen. “That isn’t what I meant-”
“Then what did you mean?”
I don’t realize how loud I’ve gotten until I notice that the chatter has stopped, the other coffee shop patrons glancing at us. Clearing my throat, I adjust the way I’m sitting and drop my voice to a careful, quiet tone. “I don’t understand. The last time we talked, it seemed to me like you didn’t care at all.”
“That was…” Sebastian hesitates.
And for a moment, I understand the struggle on his face. The right words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t figure out how to put them together, how to express his thoughts in a way that makes sense.
I wish I didn’t know him. That I could just see a man who didn’t want to speak, rather than a man trying desperately to make himself heard.
“I thought…it would be better for you.” Sebastian finally says, haltingly. “If we ended things.”
“You…” Disbelief flashes through me, then regret, then rage.
All thoughts of keeping secrets fly out of the window. I’ve never been this angry, not since that terrible call about a drunk driver. I don’t care about what’s best, about the patient, gentle approach. I want to hurt him, the same way that he hurt me.
And I know just the way to do it.
“I’m pregnant.”
All of the blood drains from Sebastian’s face. “Amelia-” He stands up at the same time I do, his chair clattering onto the ground behind him. “Amelia, wait, please!”
“I’m done with you today.” My body feels oddly cold, so unlike what I’d expect to feel when I’m this furious. Anger is always compared to heat, but right now, I feel like my blood is frozen over. Sebastian’s hand ghosts my shoulder, unwilling or unable to touch me, and I whirl around. “What could you possibly have to say?! Nothing will fix this!” I shout, my voice crackling.
“I know!” Sebastian rasps back.
Before I’d ever met him, if he had looked the way he does right now, I would have stopped to ask if he was alright.
But right now, all I can do is turn around. Get in my car and leave, ignoring him as he calls my name. I’m halfway home before I realize that I forgot my tea, and I can’t really bring myself to care.
My phone buzzes once, then twice as I’m driving, but I don’t stop to check it until I’m parked in the driveway at my house. Somehow, I had hoped that maybe he wasn’t the one who texted me, that it would be Chloe, or even one of my coworkers.
