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“I hate him.”
I spun around to see Mikey’s face flush with anger. His eyes shone with something closer to sadness and disappointment. I pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
“He doesn’t care about me at all, and I just… I don’t know why I keep trying.” His voice was muffled against my shirt, and his hands clutched at my sides.
I ran my hands in strong circles along his back. “What did he say?”
“He just… he thinks I’m…” He shook his head and stopped talking. I pulled back and tilted his chin up with my fingers.
“Tell me.”
“He thinks I’m following you around like a puppy. He said it’s pathetic.” His voice cracked. “He… he thinks I’m trying to find fame by association… like some kind of user? I think? He says it’s time for me to move on and find a new job.”
I felt my entire body begin to buzz with anger. “That’s absurd,” I bit out. “You’re the furthest thing from a user I’ve ever met. Hell, it took a year before you’d even let me pay for your coffee when we stopped by Starbucks.”
Mikey tried pulling away from me, but I held on tight. “Let me go,” he said. His chin was wobbly, and his eyes were blinking rapidly.
“No,” I said softly. “Never.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his face back into my chest. After a few deep breaths, he murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“For what? For your dad being an asshole? Me too. For people making jackass assumptions when they don’t know their ass from their elbow? Me too. For family butting their damned noses in where they don’t belong? Me fuckin’ too.”
I tried to stay gentle with him, but inside I seethed. How dare Coach Vining make Mikey feel small when he’d already spent his entire life trying to fill impossibly large shoes?
Mikey sniffed and looked back up at me. “Do you want to get drunk in the hot tub?”
I barked out a laugh and then snuck in a quick kiss because his lips looked too tasty to resist. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”
It took him exactly two and a half glasses of crisp white wine and three repeats of Billie Eilish’s “Therefore I Am” played at top volume on the Bluetooth speaker to loosen up.
“I think maybe he’s right,” he said, holding up his hand with a splash. “Wait. Hear me out. I’ve been your personal chef for too long when it’s not exactly what I wanted to do with my degree.”
My heart dropped. “Go on.”
“I’ve always wanted to cook for groups of people. Like… maybe have my own cafe or restaurant.”
I knew this about him already from listening to him talk to Sam. They’d taken some business classes together at the community college to help Sam’s work as a contractor and Mikey’s hope of owning his own restaurant one day. But, was it selfish of me to wish that was still further off on the horizon?
“You deserve to follow your dreams, Mikey,” I said instead of begging him to stay with me like an asshole.
He firmed his jaw and nodded, as if to himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
I took another big slug of water. After allowing myself to slow-sip one glass of wine with him, I’d quietly switched back to ice water. “What are your dreams? Where do you want to be? What do you want your life to look like?”
Mikey glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before turning to look out at the distant slopes, barely illuminated under the bright moonlight. After a moment, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
“I want my life to look like this,” he said slowly, as if testing every word before sending out into the world. “A cozy lodge I can turn into a gourmet restaurant. A town with enough tourist traffic to support fine dining but not attract much competition at first. Friendly people who notice when you do or don’t show up. A gay population who makes me feel like I’m not weird or different. No offense, but a place that doesn’t live, eat, and breathe football…”
“None taken,” I murmured. “I get it. I’d love to have my very own snowboard mountain and time to get a puppy. And all the Nutella crepes and coffee I can stomach.” I winked at him.
“I’ve been saving up for my own restaurant for seven years now, and I think I’m finally ready. No, scratch that. I know I am. I was ready three years ago.”
I didn’t want to hear the answer, but I asked the question anyway. “Then why did you stay?”
Mikey shrugged. “Same reason you kept me on long after you needed a chef.”
“For your egg surprise?”
He punched me lightly, so I grabbed his fist and yanked him in close for a kiss. After a while of wrestling and exchanging lazy kisses, I got up the nerve to ask him.
