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I’ve never thought of her as someone willing to reduce herself to arm candy, but there she stands, propped up by Ryan near the bar. He makes her smile and she leans in, her body brushing his.
Tonight especially, her hair looks like it’s on fire, burning in waves across her pale shoulders and black sweater.
I tamp down a twinge of annoyance as Nadine follows my gaze.
“Ah! Whitney’s here,” she notes pleasantly. “And she brought a date from the looks of it. I think that’s the boy who plays her prince in the castle, isn’t it?” Someone confirms he is and she sighs like she’s just been presented with a newborn baby. “Oh, that’s too sweet they’ve come together. I wonder if they’re an item.”
“No no. Haven’t you heard? Derek here is her new prince,” Thomas says, grinning.
He and I go way back. Our years at Princeton overlapped prior to him coming to work for the Knightley Company, and I consider him a friend more than a colleague.
“Unofficially,” I amend, sipping my drink.
Thomas narrows one eye playfully. “I’ve seen the getup they have you in. Seems pretty official to me.”
Nadine’s jaw drops. “No! You can’t be serious!”
I explain the situation to her using every shortcut possible. Still, she lights up with excitement.
“Please say you’ve got a photo on you. I have to see you all done up in the costume. I bet it’s too good! Are the moms all squealing over you?”
“Haven’t you heard about him rescuing a toddler?” someone else feels the need to add.
I glance back at Whitney over the top of my drink—except she’s not at the bar anymore. Ryan and Carrie chat alone. I glance across the room, toward the hall that leads toward the bathroom, but then I catch a glimpse of fire disappearing into the kitchen.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to the group, cutting through the middle of conversation like a blunt ax without even realizing it.
I trail after Whitney, intrigued by her destination until I spot her near the sink, giving Ava a hug. The head chef and the sous chef from Étoile toil away on the far side of the kitchen near the stove. Ava is supposed to be out in the living room, with us, a guest tonight. I tell her so as I step into the room.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she promises. “I just couldn’t pass up the chance to see the chef at work.”
Ava isn’t classically trained. She was a cook at a mom-and-pop diner off the highway a few miles from the turnoff for Fairytale Kingdom. She makes the best food, genuine home-cooking. Chicken fried steak, cornbread, roasted carrots. My grandfather ate at her diner once after a late flight, and to this day, he says that was the best meal of his life. He sent a runner back every day for a week, trying something different each time. The following Monday, he marched down to the diner and offered Ava a job working as his personal chef. I once saw what he pays her. It’s obscene, and she’s worth every penny.
“I won’t keep you,” Whitney says, smiling guiltily at Ava. “I just wanted to say hi.”
The older woman swats her arm. “Nonsense! I’m glad you came in here. And look at you! I’ve never seen you so fancy. Doesn’t she look pretty, Derek?”
Beautiful. Radiant. Un-fucking-believable.
“Yes,” is all I manage.
Ava chuckles to herself and pushes off the counter, heading over to the chefs. “Do you two need any help over here?”
“Ava, c’mon,” I warn playfully. “It’s your night off, remember?”
She throws up her hands in surrender and leaves the kitchen, laughing. Cal will be glad I insisted. She’s as much of a workaholic as the rest of us.
Whitney and I stand alone. Across the kitchen—what feels like miles away—the two chefs continue working, but I get the sense they don’t even realize we’re here.
She makes no move to speak, and neither do I.
This back and forth between us has been confusing to say the least. I’ve been around her all week and technically we’ve communicated verbally, yet I don’t get the feeling I’ve actually talked to her at all except for the morning she admitted to her old crush on me.
She’s looking down at her drink, dragging her delicate pointer finger around the rim.
The warm light above the sink highlights the different hues of red in her hair. Her ivory skin is tinged with pink undertones.
I have a million things I want to say. Compliments could tumble out of me forever, but I don’t want to talk about how beautiful she looks. That much is obvious. I’m more curious about the thoughts she’s trying to hide away, namely her teenage crush on me.
“Seeing you here with Ryan is unexpected.”
She glances up, her eyes no less stunning than the last time I saw them.
