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His expression is a mix of pained and indignant. “Tori, do you honestly think I’d do what your ex did to you? Do you think I’d cheat on you like he did just because we’re apart?”
I pull my hand away, shaking my head. “No, that’s not…” I press my eyes shut, frustrated and hurt and angry all at once. A second later, I look at him. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean that I’m not open to having a long-distance relationship anymore. I just want to live in the same city as my boyfriend.”
Tyler stands up and moves closer to me. “Move to LA with me.”
I scoff. “Tyler, are you serious? I can’t do that. I just became business partners with Becca. I’m not giving up on my career so I can follow you. That’s not fair for you to ask me that.”
His throat works as he nods his head. I can tell he’s hurt by what I’ve said. But I’m hurt too by the way he asked me to essentially give up my career for this new job that he still seems completely on the fence about.
The two of us fall quiet once more. A lump lodges in my throat. This is it. This is the end of us. I can feel it.
I sniffle and wipe my nose with my sleeve.
“Tori…”
Tyler starts to reach for me, but I move back. “It sounds like you’ve made your decision.” I’m trying so hard to keep from crying that my lips are shaking so hard. I give up and pull my lips into my mouth for a second and breathe in.
Tyler gazes at me, the pain and longing clear in his mahogany stare.
He closes the space between us and presses a light kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes, tears burning.
He steps back and looks at me like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t.
He turns around, opens the door, and walks out. I stumble over and lock the door behind him. And then I fall onto the couch and let out the sob I’ve been holding in.
Chapter 32
Tyler
Idrop a dozen loaves of fresh sourdough bread into the massive oven at the MGT kitchen and wipe my hands on my apron.
“Hey, Grant! You done with the bread?” the chef whose name I can’t remember hollers from across the kitchen.
“Yeah. They’re all in the oven now.”
“Good. I need you on sauces for the rest of the afternoon,” he says.
“Will do.”
I walk over to the stove, grab a saucepan, and start making the béarnaise sauce for the dish we’re recipe testing today.
“You’re Chef Grant’s kid?” Jacob, the other line cook, says when he starts working next to me.
My jaw tenses. “Yup,” I say, staring at the saucepan as I stir.
I wait for him to make some snide quip about how it must be nice to have a celebrity chef dad. That’s what half of the staff here at MGT did when I first met them a week and a half ago. At first, I thought they were joking, but then later on I overheard a few of them talking about if I got this job because I was a legitimately good cook or because my dad is a celebrity chef who owns this restaurant.
Ever since then, I’ve been pretty guarded. I keep my head down, don’t say much, and just cook.
Thankfully all Jacob says is, “cool” before he starts sauteeing garlic for the sauce he’s making.
Ever since I’ve been here in LA, almost all my time has been spent here at the restaurant helping get everything ready for the opening in the spring.
“You’re from Denver, right?” Jacob says.
“Yeah.”
“Cool, man. You’ve got mountains there, right?”
