Dishing Up Love

by KD Robichaux

  I need to call my assistant to tell her to change my flight. I’ll stay here all day and night and wait for her to come home if I have to. If I had Erin’s phone number, I’d call over and over until she picks up and demand she come back right now, but alas, we never got around to that last night.

  “Curtis! Have you seen all the—” Rachel starts, but I cut her off.

  “I’m not worried about that right now. Can you change my flight from today to tomorrow evening sometime? I know I have appointments on Monday, but I need to stay in New Orleans as long as I can before then.” My knee bounces in anticipation. This was not how I envisioned my day would go after falling asleep next to the woman of my dreams.

  I hear her typing, and then anger fills me when she says, “I’m sorry, Curt. Everything is all booked up out of NOLA until Monday evening. There’s nothing to switch your flight to.”

  I slam my fist down on the kitchen counter, closing my eyes before lowering my head. I try to calm the unfamiliar feeling of panic as I think about being forced to leave without seeing Erin first, and then I tell Rachel, “Okay, no worries. I’ll be on my original flight.” I hang up without hearing any type of response.

  All I can do now is hope that Erin shows up before I have to leave for the airport. But as the minutes tick by, and a half-hour turns into an hour and then two, I realize she’s not coming back. While I wonder where she’s gone, where she could be staying on a Saturday to keep away from me, and exactly the reasons why she’s not here, why she ran, I also don’t blame her. Especially the more I check all of my social media outlets. Living a quiet life as a psychologist, a single woman in New Orleans, then all of a sudden having your face known worldwide and linked to one of America’s most “eligible bachelors,” as they call me, would make anyone want to hide.

  After going back upstairs and getting all the way dressed, I leave a note for her on the nightstand before locking her front door from the inside and pulling it shut. I take out my phone and snap a picture of her house number and then the street name then use my app to secure a Lyft. She had to put all her information down in the paperwork she filled out yesterday while filming the show, but I don’t want to risk anyone at the network telling me no if I asked for her address, since it’s private information. This way, they also can’t ask questions. I already feel like a complete idiot for not getting her number at any point during the night. Of course, I had expected to spend all of today and part of tomorrow with the woman who stole my heart in such an obscenely short period of time.

  But you know what they say when you assume anything.

  You make an ass out of u and me.

  I leave with enough time to go back to my hotel, grab my few things scattered around the room, and then book another Lyft to the airport. I sit there in the seat feeling lonelier than I’ve ever felt before, waking up and not seeing Erin’s beautiful face. Normally, I await my flights with excitement, looking forward and anticipating the meal I’m meant to prepare for the event I’m heading to. But this time, all I can do is look back, thinking about the woman I’m leaving behind.

  Everything inside me screams not to go, to wait her out and once she comes back home assure her everything will be okay. But I can’t, and it kills me, making me think about what the thoughts going through her head will be once she returns to her house. She’ll probably think I gave up easily, that I found her missing, got my ass dressed, and hightailed it out of there, trying to get out before she came back in order to avoid an awkward walk of shame situation. But she couldn’t be further from the truth.

  And I hope the note I left is fair warning enough to prepare her for what I have planned for us.

  Because she won’t be getting away that easily.

  Chapter 19

  Erin

  YOU CAN RUN, but hiding is futile.

  I’ll find you once again, sugar, and then I’ll never let you go.

  Everything will be all right.

  Because you’re mine.

  Love, Curtis

  I read the note over and over again Saturday night, after finding it on my nightstand. If anyone else had left me such an ominous message, I would’ve been on my way to the police department and filling out a restraining order, but as I read it once more in Curtis’s deep, hypnotic voice, I can’t help but be soothed by the words.

  I ran. I ran like a goddamn pussy. I woke up this morning with Curtis’s muscular limbs entangled with mine, and I was fully prepared to spend the day basking in this new hope of having a happily ever after with the man of my dreams. But then… I shimmied out from under him, my bladder screaming at me to take care of business, and I grabbed my phone off the bathroom floor where I’d left it after my call with Emmy. Before I even unlocked my screen, my notifications popped up, and my eyes widened at the hundreds… no thousands of comments and mentions and tags.

  Sally fucking Stewartson. The bane of my existence. If it hadn’t been for her pointing out she recognized me in one of the photos leaked to the tabloids, I would’ve remained the “mystery woman” he was with all night and I could’ve lived in denial for just a little while, getting to know Curtis a little bit better before chaos ensued.

  I would’ve been able to learn if it could be all worth the celebrity status, losing all my privacy. But as it is, I really don’t know much about him. Yes, I spilled all my deep, dark secrets to him, and I got to know his protective and loving nature, but really… I don’t know a thing about his past. I don’t know if we’d mesh well as a couple. One date and a night of hot sex does not a relationship make.

  I knew the moment he left. I know from my security cameras on the inside of the house and from the fancy doorbell Emmy’s husband installed, since I would be living alone more often than not, that he paced the kitchen and living room. I saw devastation on his face when I assume he tried to change his flight and was told he couldn’t. He wanted to wait for me. The hurt I saw in his expression nearly killed me and made me come running back home to him, but just then another slew of notifications hit my phone, reminding me why I couldn’t do this.

  Admittedly, I am not strong enough, with my medical history and past, to just get over what I’ve conditioned myself to believe—that I am not good enough, woman enough because I can’t have kids—all in one night. I don’t have the intestinal fortitude or the confidence in what Curtis and I felt so quickly in order to just ignore and blow off all the comments asking what makes me so special that one of America’s most eligible bachelors would choose me.

  What’s so great about me?

  What does he see in me?

  Yeah, she’s super pretty, but there’s gotta be something else if he spent all night with her. He’s never been seen making out like that before, just dinner dates, one comment reads. It’s a much nicer version of the ones stating things like, She don’t look good enough for his fine ass *side-eye emoji.

  It made me want to reply, I know. I know I’m not good enough for him. But he wouldn’t listen to me when I told him that!

  So I held strong and stayed away, to save us both unwanted pain in the future, when he’d realize he does want a family with children and was stuck with a woman who couldn’t give him that. Stuck until he left me for someone who could, at which time I’d be absolutely devastated after allowing myself to open myself up again.

  It’s just better this way.

  Reading his note one final time, I toss it into the drawer of my nightstand and slam it shut, forcing myself to forget about his words. He’ll forget about me soon enough. I sit on the edge of my bed and turn off notifications for all my social media accounts. If I ignore them, maybe they’ll just die off and I’ll be a nobody once again.

  With all the attention my pages are getting though, I might as well do a little bit of advertising while people are looking through my profiles. I turn on a saved episode of No Trespassing, pausing it when my best friend and her husband are on the screen with the title of the show across the bottom, and snap a selfie with the TV. I po
st the photo with the caption Miss you, bestie! Fantastic episode last night and can’t wait for the next one on Friday! @notrespassing @adventurechannel @RealEmmySavageman @RealDeanSavageman *TV emoji

  Before I even have a chance to close out the app, I have several comments, and I can’t resist taking a quick peek.

  jessYOGA: @hailienV Girl, look! She’s best friends with Emmy from that show you like! I bet that’s how they met.

  I snort. “You’d lose that bet, Jess,” I murmur, scrolling down.

  Loolian: OMG, how do you know all these famous people and I’ve never heard of you before?!

  I roll my eyes at that. As if celebrities are only friends with other celebrities.

  There are a ton of I love that show! comments that make me smile, making me even prouder of my best friend and her sweet husband. And I give a yip in accomplishment at the replies about I’ve never watched it. Looks cool though. I’ll have to give it a try, which have several responses from other fans saying things like Prepare for a binge-watch, or You’re in for a treat! If I were to try to Like each and every one of the comments coming in, I’d literally be here all night, so I resist, but I can’t help but to heart one that says I was never interested in history. Barely passed the subject in high school. But this show made me love it and now I can’t get enough! because I totally feel that in my soul and laugh out loud.

  The rest of the comments are actually rather sweet and uplifting.

  OMG you’re so pretty.

  I love your TV stand! I love farmhouse décor *heart eyes emoji

  I wish my messy buns looked like yours!

  And I can’t help but shake my head and chuckle at You’re a psychologist? But you’re so hot?! And Maybe I wouldn’t have skipped my therapy appointments if my doc looked like you. Which is a little worrisome, so I click on their profile and see he’s a former Marine. So I make my one and only reply, because it’s just not in me to not help someone who might need it.

  @Jarhead421 If you live near NOLA, please book an appointment and I’ll see you right away. If not, please don’t hesitate to find any help you may need. I also do phone and video chat sessions.

  That sparks another slew of comments, ranging from OMG, she’s so sweet! No wonder @ChefCurtisRockwell likes her! to Ooooh, she done did it now! People gonna be blowing her ass up at work trying to get to the hottie cook! And I grimace—I didn’t think about that.

  I close out the app, suddenly feeling overwhelmed once again. I go into the master bathroom and take a scalding bath, hoping to relax away all the tension inside my body. It’s starting to work, when my phone starts buzzing down on the tile floor. Since I turned off all the notifications for comments and such, I sit up, wondering what’s setting my phone off, and that’s when I realize I didn’t turn off the setting for private messages.

  I grab it up quickly, going into the app once more to turn those off too, ignoring all the new Follows and Likes and Comments, when I see in bold that the message is from one ChefCurtisRockwell himself, and my heart dives into the pit of my stomach.

  I’m an idiot. Of course he found me on social media. Why didn’t I think of the fact that we’ve been tagged in countless posts together all day? For some stupid reason, I thought I’d be safe from him being able to contact me, since I never gave him my phone number. I guess that’s just how frazzled I’ve been.

  I bite my lip, staring at the unopened message in my inbox. If I click on it, he’ll see that I’m active on the app and read it. God only knows what he’ll say then, after the note he left me.

  But try as I might, I can’t hold strong, and I give in to the urge to read it, because I cannot for the life of me get the devastated look on his face out of my head. I have to know he’s at least okay.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: Did you make it home okay? Please let me know you’re safe.

  My lip immediately trembles. I ran out on him, hid all day, leaving him upset before he finally left after waiting for me alone for hours, and instead of being mad at me, cussing me out for my bitch move, he messages to make sure I’m all right. Originally, I wasn’t planning to respond, expecting something much different, but I can’t do that to him.

  Me: Home safe, hiding in Emmy’s tub.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: FML.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: In order to not picture you naked, I’m now imagining you’re literally hiding in it, fully clothed, with a butcher knife in your hand, peeking out over the edge of the tub. *monkey with covered eyes emoji

  I sniff out a laugh, sinking down farther in the water.

  Me: Yes. That’s exactly what’s happening on my end right now. *laughing emoji

  ChefCurtisRockwell: Why are you hiding, sugar?

  What a loaded question. There are so many things he could be referring to. Hiding from the unexpected media attention. Hiding from the feelings I have inside me. Hiding from him. I choose to respond to the former.

  Me: In the span of twelve hours, I now have 126,435… no, make that 126,502 followers on Instagram. Yesterday? I had 2,330, and that was mostly my old high school buddies and nerdy cosplaying friends. THESE. ARE. NOT. MY. FRIENDS.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: You can turn your page private, baby. There’s a setting where you have to approve people to follow you.

  Me: I don’t want to do that though. I like to stay open and visible for my patients. It gains their trust, and they feel like they know me more and can open up to me more easily.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: There’s no one else like you, sugar. No one on this earth. You do know that most doctors and other professionals have their personal pages locked down tight, right?

  Me: I’m aware. That’s why I don’t post anything majorly personal. Just things I’m interested in and enjoy. Like my geek conventions and food, pics with my bestie. What I’m not used to is going to my tagged photos and seeing a fucking close up of me pushed up against a brick wall with my legs wrapped around a guy whose tongue is down my throat. That’s waaay more personal than I’ve ever gotten on social media!

  ChefCurtisRockwell: Aaaand I’m hard. Thanks for that.

  I let out a squawk of laughter, shaking my head.

  Me: Of course you are. *face palm emoji

  Me: I’m just going to start calling you Chef Rock-Hard from now on.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: LOL! Only for you, baby. Only for you.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: Also, this is weird.

  Me: What is?

  ChefCurtisRockwell: I don’t normally chat with anyone in my IMs.

  I laugh once more.

  Me: I can tell.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: How?

  Me: You called it an IM, old man. It’s no longer an “instant message.” The kids these days call it a DM, for “direct message.”

  Me: Come to think of it, does AOL even exist anymore? *thinking face emoji

  ChefCurtisRockwell: As a matter of fact, it does.

  Me: OMG do you still have your AOL account?? *laughing emoji

  ChefCurtisRockwell: I mean, I never deleted it. But I know AOL exists because I did an exclusive recipe and interview for them a little while back.

  And just like that, reality comes crashing down on me once more. For a split second, I forgot I was joking around with a celebrity. A person who is recognized wherever he goes. Which makes me wonder…

  Me: Last night, was that a rare occurrence? Like, are you normally bombarded with fans everywhere you go? I honestly thought the only people who recognized you were the students. No one else said anything. I think that’s why it was so shocking to see so many pictures of us.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: To be perfectly honest, that’s the first time I’ve ever gone out and not been completely aware of people sneaking pictures of me. Normally when I see someone trying to snap an incognito shot, I give them a goofy face or I approach them and let them take a selfie with me. They don’t come up and bombard me, because either they’re too polite, not wanting to bother me, or because they’re too shy. I love my fans, and it always struck me
as crazy to have fans for something I love doing so much… cooking. Like, how weird is that, for someone to be starstruck over you making food?

  Me: What’s funny to me is I’ve always assumed famous people can’t even walk out their front door without being hounded, like paparazzi style.

  ChefCurtisRockwell: It’s different everywhere. In California, around where I live, I get it more like what you thought. Out and about in other states, because we don’t announce where we’re shooting before it happens, it’s harder for people to make the connection. They’re more like “OMG you look just like that chef guy” instead of realizing it’s really me.

  Me: Interesting. I’m sure there’s something psychological behind that, but I just don’t have it in me to shrink it.

  There’s a pause. As if he’s thinking about what to say next. He’s clocked me as a runner, so he’s probably weighing every statement, every question, every joke in his mind, being careful not to say anything that could make me bolt again.

  I hate that this is what I’ve made him believe about me. I have patients like that, people who have more flight in them than fight. And I’ve worked for years to help them get past their issues in order to stand up and fight for what they want after years of holding themselves back for whatever reason. I want to be all the things he saw in me last night. Everything he pointed out, I want to grasp onto and shove all my fears away.

  All day today, I’ve been so down on myself, feeling sorry for myself, becoming this weak, fragile thing on the outside after I’ve worked so hard to make sure all those feelings stay hidden on the inside. I always thought that if I portrayed myself as this strong, single, independent woman who didn’t need anyone else, then I would eventually believe it myself. Mind over matter. If you believe it, then you can achieve it! But I guess I’ve just stayed in denial this whole time.