CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
Madison didn’t usually keep her phone on, but she knew to expect texts after her meeting with Nanine.
She’d arrived at her new home with Carl with fear coiling in her belly and sweat dripping down her back. But she’d gotten through it and told Nanine what she deserved to know. Thank God, Nanine hadn’t interrupted or tried to stop her from leaving abruptly before she lost control of herself.
Her roommates, though? She was expecting Dean to bring Pierre to the restaurant with some kind of love kit he’d sell at Pairings by Pierre, composed of chocolate sauce, red wine, and macarons. Like food could fix anything. Even with all her skills as a chef, she knew no dish was ever going to take this pain away. There weren’t enough onions in the world for this situation.
She had to start accepting how things were going to be from now on: no more Romance Shrine, no more kisses, and no “cuddling” between her and Kyle. They wouldn’t be living together anymore either.
They’d stay friends somehow. She had no idea how right now, but she couldn’t live with anything else.
The faster everyone got with the program, herself included, the easier it would be.
Still, she knew how it would be. Her family was going to be upset. Thea was probably going to cry. Brooke was going to dragon breathe. Sawyer was surely going to look at her contemplatively before offering up some quote about the endless quest of the self or some other bullshit. Dean might go for a bad joke. God, she didn’t want to contemplate the Plus Ones trying to interfere, because hadn’t she done that with a couple of them?
She would make it through somehow.
So when no one stopped by or texted—she checked every time she took a break—she got jumpy. Yeah, she hadn’t slept much and had downed about five coffees today, something she was sure her tense staff had noticed.
But no word? From anyone? That was totally wrong.
So when her phone buzzed right before dinner service started, her skin prickled. Until she picked it up and saw it was from Rico?—
Heard what happened last night. Coming by after work. Don’t think to evade me.
She blinked at the text. Terrific. Word had spread. Soon she would hear just how much of a pariah she was. She grabbed her cleaver and cozied up next to one of the line cooks, slicing and dicing up every vegetable needed for tonight’s service. She kept busy. So did her staff. When dinner service took off, she went from one order to the next, her focus absolute.
Except in the moments when she’d turn to ask Pierre something. Her heart would crack when she remembered he was still with Dean. The staff had noted his absence, she was sure, but they were professionals and said nothing despite the heaviness in the air.
Heat billowed off the stove. Sauces bubbled. She savored the crisp rendering of her duck breasts, her bitch of a recipe that she’d known in her gut was solid Michelin gold. According to her guests last night, it had been.
She knew how to take pride in unrecognized work. For years, she’d toiled in the background, head down, putting out food at a high standard. She had to continue that here.
Until she figured out what came next…
When the orders stopped coming and guests turned to after-dessert conversation and digestives, she found peace in scrubbing the stove. She even volunteered to clean the grill.
Claude emerged from the front holding a bottle of Louis XIII. Her body tensed. God, she’d forgotten Kyle had offered the staff a drink tonight. Was Kyle in the restaurant? She didn’t ask, but she did inquire about serving the front the rare yellow Chartreuse she’d promised. Of course, Kyle had already taken care of that too.
She went back to scrubbing until her hands were red and pruny.
Kyle didn’t appear as she and the staff sipped their drink, and when they began to say their goodbyes, she had to summon the effort to engage. Exhaustion, the mental and the physical kind, was pressing down on her as surely as if a piano had squashed her. She knew it didn’t mean she would sleep. Dammit, she’d gotten used to her end-of-night routine with Kyle.
She pressed her hands to her eye sockets, because she finally could—and then jumped when she heard something whack the counter.
When she glanced over to give Rico a piece of her mind for scaring her, she froze in place. Kyle was standing in the kitchen, holding a red brick. Another rested on the counter—the one she’d heard drop heavily.
He was wearing a gray suit, no tie, with a white shirt underneath. She loved that style on him. He didn’t have hisusual Golden Boy glow, but it didn’t matter. He was standing there, looking at her with those baby blues she loved, a soft smile on his face like he was glad to be seeing her too. Had he been here all along?
She realized she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was soak in the sight of him.
For a moment, they only stared at each other before guilt crawled up her throat. “Hey. Thanks for taking care of the whole drink swap. I forgot.”
Even now, his mouth curved, only it wasn’t wicked, but knowing and filled with the love and support she’d gotten so accustomed to since returning to Paris. “A lot happened.”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glad he’d shown up to talk even if no good could come of it. “So…how do we do this?”
