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Hearing him churn out orders and demand perfection has been part of my life since I started slinging dough in his kitchen at thirteen. If you think any of the Ashton kids got away with not knowing how to make the perfect plain pie, you’d be dead wrong. I can create cheesy, saucy heaven in my sleep these days, even if I’m a shit cook when it comes to anything else.
“Yes, Chef!” I hear the three other sous chefs call out.
Most would think that some Italian restaurant in Pennsylvania wouldn’t run like a Manhattan kitchen, and they’d also be dead wrong about that. My grandfather paid to put my father through culinary school, and Dad picked up a lot of his techniques and fancier dishes during that time. Not only are our fourth-generation pizzas the best thing on the menu, but customers rave about the Trofie al Pesto, Brodetto, and Cacio e Pepe. Not to mention my Nonna’s homemade tiramisu, gelato, and pastries.
Honestly, most nights, when I stay until dinner, I sneak into the kitchen to pilfer whatever dessert special Nonna made for the night. But I’m so stuffed from the lasagna one of the sous chefs made for family meal that I think my stomach would revolt if I even tried one more bite.
“Tia’s parents are out front. You probably want to lie low until they pay their check.” Alana raps on the doorway twice, as if delivering a message.
My computer screen has blurred before my eyes, and I’m so tired. I don’t need this headache.
“Why the hell do they still eat here?” I sigh, burying my forehead in my hands.
“Because it’s the best restaurant in town, even if you did screw their daughter out of a happily ever after. Oh, and them out of a venue deposit.” My sister smiles gleefully.
“You’d think that would be enough to make them steer clear of my parent’s restaurant.”
Alana shrugs. “Since Tia moved on and got married, I think the wound is scabbed over enough for them to venture back in for a penne vodka.”
Tia was my first fiancée, back when we had just graduated college, and I thought that was the next step. She was my second serious girlfriend after Delia, who had been my high school sweetheart.
Except, well,obviously, Tia and I never got married. A year after I proposed, and about a month before our wedding, I called it off. That theme seemed to follow me to this point, where I’m a twenty-eight-year-old bachelor with a reputation.
Two canceled weddings. Four serious relationships that all lasted over a year or more. I am the running joke of Hope Crest when it comes to my love life. People took bets on which woman would finally make me say the vows, much less actually walk down the aisle. You ever see that movie with Julia Roberts? Yeah, they compared me to her character.
But I just … none of them felt right. At first, I was all about these women, loved them, and wanted to make a life with them. It would feel right, until it didn’t. Through all four relationships, there would be some point where a lightbulb would blink on, and all at once, I’d know that I wasn’t meant to spend forever with her.
Some would say I spared those women from a loveless marriage, but the two slaps and a whole slew of shit from their respective families would say otherwise. I would say that I felt like an absolutely horrible person ending those relationships, all four—especially the engagements. But—and it’s not a good excuse for someone who just had their heart broken when they thought they’d be married—I didn’t know until I knew. Until the lightbulb went on, until I knew deep in my bones that while I’d stay loyal and steadfast, I wouldn’t be in love with them for the rest of my life.
And no one deserves that.
The most recent broken heart I doled out had been that of Erica’s, my second fiancée I’d split with six months ago. We’d been three months out from our wedding, so a little more lead time, when I realized she wasn’t the one. Erica and I had been together a year before I proposed, and I thought she was it. Thought my search was over. Except we moved in together, and it just …
Dissolved. I woke up one morning and realized that I loved her, but I wasn’t in love with her. I felt horrible and am still beating myself up for how it ended.
Love … it should be like what my grandparents had for fifty-six years. It should be like what my parents have, how my dad still looks at my mom like she’s the center of the universe even after three decades together. I’ve tried and swung out so many times, but I believe that she, whoever she is, is out there.
I just have to endure everyone in our small town making snide comments each time I enter a new romance to find her.
“I’m happy for her, she’s a great girl.”
“Still doesn’t make you feel less shitty, though.” Alana smiles sympathetically.
My family might give me crap about it, but they understand—somewhat. They wouldn’t want me to be unhappy either.
“Tips.” She empties a pile of cash onto my desk, changing the subject.
“Jesus, this was from lunch?”
Large sums of cash in the flesh don’t normally shock me. We run a restaurant, and I’ve seen people pay thousand-dollar checks in green money. But this number of tips from a lunch rush this late into the season is unusual.
“Have a bunch of tourists still around, and I had this video go viral on social media about how we make our sauce, sans the special stuff, of course. Had more at lunch, and out there now, than usual.”
I hold up a hand and she smacks it for a high-five. “Nice going. You’re killing it with those videos.”
“Thanks, bro. Liam said he’s stopping by later, but you should split this up and give it to the waitstaff. August looks like she could use it.” Alana bites at her nail; her tell when she’s anxious about something.
“As if I don’t always divvy it up ASAP. What’s going on with Augy?” Our best waitress, a senior at the high school, has someissuesat home.
