Page 20 of Neap & Spring

In a few seconds, I’d see him. And he’d see me. And we’d have to figure out how to exist in the same space after years of silence.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to calm the nausea, and turned back to the windows.

I’d memorized what I’d say. I’d rehearsed it in the mirror this morning. I practiced in the car on the way here. It played in my head on a loop. Stay professional and calm. Acknowledge the past but keep it brief. Focus on the restaurant and the work ahead.

Hi Callum. Long time no see. I know this is unexpected. The investors hired me, and I’m here to help. If you’re uncomfortable working with me, I completely understand, and I can request a replacement.

I heard footsteps and the kitchen door opened. My heart thumped in rhythm with the approaching steps. My shoulders tensed, drawing up toward my ears. I forced them down.

And then there was this prickle at the back of my neck. That feeling of being watched.

I turned around.

And there he was.

He looked different. Older. Tired in a way that went deeper than just lack of sleep. His hair was longer than I remembered, dark and a little messy like he’d been running his hands through it. The mustache was new. The tattoos on his arms were more extensive. I could see them disappearing under the sleeves of his chef’s whites, ink covering skin I used to know.

He was still beautiful. Devastatingly so. In a rough, worn-down way that shouldn’t have worked but definitely did. Five years had carved something harder into him. He looked less like the boy I knew in Paris and more like a man who’d been through hell.

But his eyes. His dark blue eyes were the same.

Until they landed on me.

And went cold and angry in a way I’d never seen before from him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

And just like that, all my careful words evaporated.

That was twenty minutes ago. Now, my hands are shaking, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat, each pulse making my vision swim slightly. My iPad is slick with sweat where I’m gripping it, my fingers leaving damp prints on the black case.

He didn’t know.

Callum didn’t know I was coming.

I spent all night panicking about seeing him again. I spent hours trying to prepare myself for his reaction. And the whole time, I thought he’d been doing the same thing. I thought we’d both walk into this with our armor on, ready for the inevitable awkwardness of facing each other after five years.

But he didn’t know.

And now he’s furious.

I’m walking behind him through the dining room, following him toward the kitchen, and I can see the tension in his shoulders. His hands are fists at his sides.

My own hands won’t stop shaking. I clutch the iPad tighter, using it as an anchor. My heels click on the floor with each step, announcing my presence though I want to disappear.

He told me to stay and do my job. Keep it professional.

But his voice was ice, and his eyes were fire, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.

Six months. I have to work with him for six months. In his restaurant. In his space. Pretending like we’re strangers who just happen to have a professional relationship.

Pretending like I didn’t break his heart and I didn’t break my own.

I have to make everyone believe that seeing him again doesn’t make me feel like I’m twenty-three again and falling in love for the first time. Because I’m not twenty-three, and he hates me.

And he has every right to.

The kitchen doors loom ahead of us, and Callum pushes through without looking back, clearly expecting me to follow. The doors swing wide, and I catch them before they can swing back and hit me. The heat from the kitchen engulfs me immediately. It’s intense after the cool dining room.