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Chapter Twenty-two
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And so this is whereour story ends. At the beginning. At the start of our lives together. You can’t really say it’s the end, though, because our story is far from over.
The closing line to Alec’s serial is one I could read a hundred times over. It’s his version of our happy ending. He shows up at my apartment, tells me he’s done living without me, then pulls me into his arms and kisses me, telling me he’ll never let me go again. And even though none of it has actually happened, the way he paints the picture makes me want everything he said and so much more.
But the truth of the matter is, our circumstances haven’t changed. He still lives in Missouri and I’m here in New York. We still have so much time and distance between us. A past riddled with mistakes and almosts.
“Hey, Hope. Would you mind helping Louie with prep today?” asks my boss, Marco, sticking his head out of the back office as I pass.
“Yeah, of course.” I force a smile, the weight Alec’s article still heavy on my mind.
It went live this morning, and even though every part of me wanted to pick up the phone and call him, for some reason I didn’t.
“You okay?” Marco hesitates in the doorway.
“Yeah, fine,” I lie.
I met Marco in Italy. His family owns a vineyard outside of Piedmont. His grandfather actually provided our introduction and while I didn’t feel like I made the best impression, he offered me a job, so I guess it couldn’t have been that bad.
I don’t know him very well, but he’s every bit as charming as the other members of his family. He’s also one of the most talented chefs I’ve ever met. He’s proved as much in the few short days I’ve been working with him.
“You sure? You look a little peaked,” he observes, his accent thick.
“Just didn’t sleep well.” That partisthe truth.
I tossed and turned all night long, unable to shut my mind off. I’ve read Alec’s words so many times they’re most likely etched into my brain. They’ve absolutely consumed me. And not just because they are about me, but because they are some of the most beautiful words I’ve ever read.
I knew Alec was talented—I’ve always known. But I didn’t know he was capable of what he wrote in that serial. Such love and pain. Able to translate his deepest emotions from his mind to the page.
“It’s going to be a busy one tonight. You sure you’re up for it.”
“I’m sure.” I smile again.
“Okay. Well, get to it then.”
“You got it.” I nod to Marco before heading in the direction of the prepping stations.
Working in New York City has always been my dream. Where actors go to Los Angeles to try and make it big, chefs from all over the world travel to New York City in hopes of landing a job even half as fantastic as the one I have found myself in. And while this was always the goal, something is missing.
I don’t have to look very far to know what that is.Alec. Alec is missing.
I’ve spent so long denying myself, fighting my own heart in an effort to do the right thing. Now I’m not sure what the right thing is.
Like most dinner shifts, the night is over before I’ve realized it’s begun. The kitchen is such a fast-paced whirlwind that one minute you’re preparing for the dinner rush and the next you’re closing down your station and wondering where the hell the last five hours have gone.
I love it. I love everything about it. I love learning from some of the best in the business. I love the excitement I feel as the orders pile into the kitchen. I love how in my element I feel. I’ve never felt more at home than in a kitchen.
But that’s not entirely true, either. There’s one place that feels more like home than anywhere else in the world...
After my shift, I catch a taxi back to my apartment. Normally I would walk the ten blocks but tonight I’m too exhausted. All I want to do is go home, crawl under my covers, and try to forget about the one person that never seems to leave my mind.
When the car pulls up outside of my building, I pay the driver and quickly slip out, my legs so heavy it feels like cinder blocks are tied around my ankles.
The three flights of stairs to my apartment takes twice as long as it normally would. I can’t seem to get my body to cooperate, and honestly, I don’t care that much. It’s not like I have anyone to rush home to. No one waiting to greet me when I walk inside. No one to kiss me. No one to ask me how my day was.
I’m completely and utterly alone. And I did it to myself.
