“I came here to slow down,” he answered as he leaned back against the door, running a hand over his hand. “I’ve been here for two years, and before tonight, I hadn’t even watched a sunset in this town.”
This shocked me. “Really?”
His head thudded against the door, eyes on the ceiling. “I thought if I came here, I would find happiness.”
I crossed my ankles, understanding him completely. So much so that I was beginning to feel sorry for him. I had come to Astoria for the same thing, and I’d found it. Part of it, anyway. “Well, you can’t leave tonight,” I told him. “I would fucking die if you did.”
At my curse word, his gaze collided with mine. He stared for a moment and then shocked the hell out of me when he started laughing. It was slow at first, a low sound coming from his chest, his shoulders shaking. That didn’t last long. The low laugh turned into a cackle, and I watched in a stunned stupor as he doubled over, laughing into the floor.
“Clearly, you think I’m joking,” I quipped. “Well, I’m not. You can’t leave. Yeah, I know the menu, but that doesn’t mean jack shit. I’m a pastry chef—a damn good one—but I don’t have—”
“Whatever you’re about to say,” he cut me off lightly, waving his hand, “don’t bother. You just made me laugh for the first time in weeks. Don’t ruin it.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m not leaving tonight, but I am leaving.”
My nails dug into the palm of my left hand. “And who will take your place? Scott?”
“Hell no,” he practically spat, glaring at me like I’d grown a second head. “Scott can’t handle this shit. Scott couldn’t even handle running a take-out joint.”
“Well, that’s a little rude.”
He sighed. “It’s the damn truth, Angel.”
This gave me pause. “Wait, why are you coming to me about this?”
He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends.”
Now I blinked. “Uh…we are?”
“Well, fuck. I thought so. You made me a fucking birthday cake.”
“Of course I did. It was your birthday,” I explained. “I make everyone something for their birthday.”
His arms fell to his sides. “You do?”
Oh, shit.
My head started to feel heavy. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t know. Still, I consider you a friend, which is why I brought you in here.”
I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself as I looked over Marg’s wall of photos. There was one in the center of the wall of her and her late husband at the ribbon cutting when this place opened. He was kissing her on the cheek, and she was holding those big scissors up in the air, a wide and proud smile on her face. Her hair was pulled back, highlighting just how round her cheeks were, how youthful they made her look. How hopeful she must have been, filled with so much joy that she refused to believe hard times would hit her.
“Felix, while I understand you need to do what’s best for you,” I began, keeping my voice soft, “Marg needs you. You can’t quit on her when she doesn’t have a backup.” My eyes met his. “If you do that, this place will crumble.”
He shook his head, eyes burning. “No, I don’t believe that.”
“You’re the sous,” I argued. “You don’t approve of Scott taking your place. Alex and Russ can’t handle that kind of pressure. You and I both know that.”
“Yes,” he said.
I threw my arms out; blood sugar be damned. “So, you’re fine with leaving Marg in a bind?”
His lips pursed. “I’m not going to be leaving her in a bind, Angel.”
I sighed and pulled off my hat, yanking it down to slap against my thigh. “Then please, Chef, tell me who is going to replace you. Do you have someone interested in the job?”
