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That made him frown at his conflicted feelings. Was it that he’d wanted to be the one to end it? Was it all about his ego?
Cole thought about that. Searching within himself for his truth. In the end, he shook his head.
His lingering doubt: had getting an executive chef position at a Cress restaurant been Jillian’s real motivation to work as their private chef or to get involved with him.
Did she use me?
His anger resurfaced.
Balling and releasing his hand at the tension in his body that fought for release, Cole reentered the guest bedroom. He crossed the hardwood floor with bare feet to leave the suite and walk down the darkened hallway to the kitchen in search of a late-night snack.
“Deeper, Gabe. Go deeper.”
Cole froze at Monica’s words echoing in the hall.
The door to the master suite was slightly ajar, and it was clear Gabe and Monica were having a late-night snack of their own. His stomach grumbled, but he didn’t dare walk past their door. Turning, he returned to his suite and closed the door securely behind him, resigning himself to sleep off his hunger.
Long after settling beneath the covers in the cloak of darkness, he realized it was not just food for which he yearned. His brother had found love; they shared their lives. Loving each other. Taking care of one another. Making love to each other.
As he lay in his bed with nothing but his anger at Jillian to clutch, he felt alone and hungry for a partner of his own. That was a discovery he hadn’t been aware of or ready to accept. For so long, he had rebelled against what was expected and ordinary. He had found comfort in being different.
As he buried his head against the pillow, the rebel was willing to admit that he had been wrong.
Six
One week later
“Jillian. Jillian? Something wrong?”
She heard the voice beside her as she stood there, but she was unable to speak. For her, time, and everything along with it, slowed as she looked across the distance with no doubt. Her body was sure of him, even when her eyes were not. Shock, pleasure, and fighting the urge to run to him with the fancy of a child left her spellbound.
Cole, she mouthed as she watched him work from his large navy-colored food truck that was a showpiece all its own.
As he handed someone their order, he raised his head as if he had heard her call his name—but that was impossible because it had been less than a whisper. His eyes widened at the sight of her. He was just as surprised as she was.
Did he also feel the pull to eat up the distance between them? The urge to be near her?
It nearly suffocated her.
“You okay, Jillian?”
“Yes,” she lied to her former first husband, hating the hand Warren placed at the small of her back as he stood beside her.
Cole’s expression changed. Hardened as he’d turned his head and focused on taking an order from the next person in a very long line of customers waiting to purchase his food.
“I’m glad we met up, Jillie,” Warren said, using her childhood nickname.
He would know it well. They had been high school sweethearts who had married right after graduation and then divorced a year later when marriage, college and finances had not mixed.
She looked up at him with a genuine smile. “Me, too, Dr. Long.”
When she’d been told that significant renovation would close the restaurant for two weeks, she had been more than happy to post on social media that she was headed home to the east coast. Warren had reached out to let her know that he had moved back from Texas. That he’d taken an esteemed position as an attending cardiothoracic surgeon in Manhattan.
A day enjoying good music and a bevy of good eats at a food truck rally in Prospect Park in Brooklyn had seemed the ideal place for a friendly reconnection. They’d spoken here and there over the years, often via social media, but both had long since released ideas of reconciliation and were just happy for friendship and nothing more.
“The only thing missing to make me feel like I’m home truly ispizza,” she stressed, ignoring the nervousness she felt at just what Cole thought of her being there with another man.
“It would be bagels for me,” Warren said, easing his black-framed glasses up on his nose as he looked around. “There’re still a good number of trucks on this side. I wish I wasn’t on duty tonight.”
