“Why are you helping me?”
He snorted. “You think I got something to gain?”
I lifted a shoulder—if he wouldn’t spell things out, neither would I.
“Maybe I do.” The thumb of one hand ran over the moleskin—as it turned out, a soft felt doughnut—protecting the blister on my palm. “You remind me of me. You know my dad, he didn’t want me to leave Paris to start my own place?”
“I didn’t know.”
His deep breath stretched his T-shirt tight across the expanse of his chest. “He’s okay with it now, but it was rough for a while.”
“Two Michelin stars only makes it okay?”
“Three would’ve been better.”
“You need to get on that, then.” And was I seriously sitting here, with my hands resting in Kai Belizaire’s, and joking?
“A chef’s only as good as his team.”
Once again, a lot was left unsaid, but nevertheless clearly spelled out. If you knew what to listen for.
“You really think I have that sort of potential?”
“Yeah.” Releasing one of my hands, he lifted his face to mine, brushing back a tendril of my hair that had escaped the tight French braid. “I’d really like to be part of your journey, Peyton. Show you all the possibilities.”
So much left unsaid. Yet nevertheless clearly spelled out.
My head was reeling with all that was said and unsaid and all the emotions rushing in and pulling with the strength of a powerful undertow, threatening to sweep me under. Feelings I’d kept tightly restrained all week and refused to allow myself to acknowledge they even existed because I was too busy trying to prove myself. Feelings I couldn’t allow to interfere with my end goals.
But...while the end goal hadn’t changed—and wouldn’t be changing—could how I got there be shifting? I didn’t know.
I just didn’t know.
What I did know was that Kai was leaning in a little closer and I was leaning in a little closer, my free hand coming to rest on his chest right over the piercing that had so intrigued me, while his breath ghosted along my cheek, drawing me ever closer. But in the instant before my eyes drifted completely shut, I caught a flash of movement from the edges of my vision.
“Eddie,” I breathed as I jerked back from Kai. He stood across the street, illuminated by a diminishing wash of light as the kitchen door slowly swung closed behind him. Frozen into immobility, I stared as he stood there a moment longer, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Nine
“I’m a worm.”
Claudia looked over her shoulder. “I’ve been telling you all week, I’m not going to disagree with you.” She returned her attention to the closet, riffling through the items haphazardly shoved in there. The beginning of any school year we started out with the best of intentions, but by May, it generally resembled a black hole of despair.
“Why are you even still speaking to me, then?”
“Because if you’re a worm, then Eddie’s a jackass.”
Would my stomach ever stop that horrible swooping sensation it experienced every time I heard his name? Saying it did horrible wrenching things to my heart, so I tried to utilize it as little as possible.
She looked over her shoulder again. “Is he still not returning your calls or texts?”
“I quit trying after Wednesday.”
“Nothing from him?”
“Not so much as a homing pigeon dropping off a note.”
She blew a strand of hair from her face with an impatient breath. “Jackass.”
I rolled over onto my side, clutching a pillow to my chest. “What he saw, though?” I tried not to think about how my speech patterns had taken on shades of Kai. Whom I’d heard from once since Saturday—a typically brusque text telling me to let him know what my decision was.
What was my decision?
While I wasn’t exactly sure, I had to admit I was leaning a particular direction.
“Admittedly not one of your better moves,” she said, the words clear, if a bit muffled by the depths of the closet.
“I can’t even say with any certainty nothing would have happened.”
Claudia sighed. “I so had a feeling about that guy.”
I hugged the pillow tighter and tried not to think about how Kai’s chest had felt beneath my hand. “Yeah, well, that only makes one of us.” Even after what had sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really happened, I still had trouble believing it. There were times the past week I’d almost convinced myself it was nothing more than a mirage brought on by utter exhaustion and prolonged exposure to sliced onion fumes.
Then I’d remember the feel of Kai’s chest beneath my hand—and the expression on Eddie’s face.
Rolling to a sitting position, I shoved a hand through my hair.
“Seriously, though, why aren’t you more mad at me about this? Eddie’s your cousin.”
“And you’re like a sister to me.” Hooking a pair of hangers over the closet door, she dropped onto the bed beside me. “Okay, first, not like Eddie’s been a saint in the past with girls—so it’s not such a bad thing for him to get dosed with a little of his own medicine—and second, it’s not like you actually did anything.” Her narrow amber gaze, so like Eddie’s, studied me. “You haven’t done anything, have you?”
“Claudia—” When I could unclench my teeth enough, I said, “When would I have had time to do anything? I was back here practically first thing Sunday morning.”
And spilling my guts to her Sunday night before she’d barely crossed the threshold, all alight with after-prom glow the likes of which should’ve made me crazy/stabbity jealous.
Instead, I was actually happy for her and David. Definitely guilty about Eddie. But I had to admit, overriding both was the incredible high from everything Kai had said about my professional future.
A door that had previously been merely cracked had been flung open wide for me this past week. I couldn’t help but feel a tingle of...anticipation.
“Come on, girl—you and I both know a lot more could’ve happened before Sunday morning.”
For the first time, I felt truly hurt and an honest burst of anger. “Jesus Christ, Claudia—how much of a cold bitch do you take me for? You really think I would’ve slept with Kai, not that I think that was actually an option, right after having Eddie see us nearly kiss?”
To my surprise, she didn’t get offended or defensive—just merely nodded. “Just wanted to make sure is all.”
“Why?” And I glanced at the closet. “And why in the hell do you have our prom dresses out?” Hers still covered in plastic from the dry cleaner’s. Mine still bearing the tags from the store.
“Because.” She heaved herself off the bed, and in the same smooth motion, pulled me up after her. “We are going out.”
“We’re what?” And when did she start talking like Kai?
“We’re going out.” She pulled my dress off the hanger and tossed it to me. “We’re not letting a perfectly good dress go to waste—and if you’re going to be spending the next however many years in a white jacket, whether it’s in Miami or New York, who knows when you’ll get to wear this.”
“I—”
“Don’t argue.”
“But—”
“Seriously, shut it, Peyton.”
“Claudia—”
“Didn’t I say to shut it?”
And she accused me of stubbornness.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine where we could go that we wouldn’t look wildly overdressed, even if it was a Saturday night—but, you know, there was no point in even bringing that up as an argument with Claudia. She was bound and determined that we were going out, and short of barricading myself in a bathroom stall, we were going out. So I slipped on the dress we’d
deemed perfect—seemed like a lifetime ago already—and the impossibly sky-high heels that were probably going to be the last truly expensive splurge I made for a long while and made up my face and left my hair falling long and loose around my shoulders.
There was a car waiting for us downstairs, Claudia clearly having been certain I’d acquiesce and also just as clearly wanting to make this a special night out.
Maybe not prom, but definitely special, and, you know, she was right—she was truly the sister I’d never had and I was going to miss her like crazy when she went off to Stanford in the fall. Guess the bittersweet endings that prom and graduation signified weren’t just about romantic relationships after all.
Sitting in the back of the town car as it sped toward Boston, we laughed and toasted each other with sparkling cider and I knew—no matter where our journeys took us, we were indelibly linked. We’d always be a part of each other’s lives.
I knew a lot of people made similar declarations on the eve of high-school or college graduations and they maybe even meant it, but this was different. It was a deep-seated sense of how things would be. I could see us, years down the line, still laughing and toasting each other. Who would be by our sides, if anyone, I couldn’t tell you—but Claudia and I, we’d be there.
The car pulled to a stop—an instant later, a valet had the door open, revealing the distinctive red-brick facade of the Revere.
“Ritzy,” I muttered as I took the valet’s hand and stepped from the car.
“No, that’s around the other side of the Commons,” Claudia shot back.
“Smart-ass.”
“And you are so gonna miss it when I’m not around.”
Despite my absolute certainty we’d remain in each other’s lives, I felt that pang of loss again. “Yeah...I am.”
“Me, too, hermana.”
Claudia looped her arm through mine, but rather than head, as I expected, toward Rustic, the hotel’s acclaimed restaurant, she instead made a beeline for the elevators.
“Claudia?”
“Patience, grasshopper.”
Not that I had much choice, with the grip she had on my arm and her determined strides that left me taking two for every one of hers. Damned long legs.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to see her hit the button that would take us up to Rooftop. I’d been there in the past for events and it was one of my favorite places in all of Boston, allowing for views of the Commons and the lights of Back Bay. I maybe wasn’t expecting to ever return to Boston to live, but that didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate my hometown. Who knew? Maybe one day I’d return to open my own restaurant.
One day.
When the elevator doors slid open, Claudia surprised me yet again—instead of heading toward the already crowded restaurant/lounge area, she instead veered off to the area reserved for private parties, where one final surprise waited.
“Eddie.”
And David, too, both of them decked out in tuxes and waiting with flowers while behind them, the candles in hurricane-glass lamps flickered on a pair of exquisitely set tables placed around an area clearly meant to evoke a dance floor.
“We wanted you to have a prom,” Claudia whispered, even as she met David’s gaze and blushed. And so did he. Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’d think they’d be so over that already, but there they were, staring at each other like they were happily stranded on their own little island.
Which left...
“Eddie.”
I pulled away from Claudia and approached where he stood, tall and handsome in a sharp dark gray tux with a black shirt and no tie. Not traditional, but somehow completely perfect for him. Stopping a few feet away from him, I waited for him to make the next move because honestly, after a week of no contact, I wasn’t sure what he was doing here at all.
Taking the hint, along with a sharp elbow from David, he crossed to me, hands clutched around a clear plastic florist’s box. Inside, I saw the most perfect single calla lily—not white, as I was accustomed to seeing, but rather a deep purplish black. Like his tux, not traditional, but an unerringly perfect complement to my pale aquamarine beaded cocktail dress—the dress both Claudia and I had known was absolutely perfect.
“You look beautiful,” he finally said.
Lips pressed together, I nodded.
“Uh...this is for you.” He fumbled with the box, finally wrestling it open, and removed the flower. “Do you want me to or do you—” He turned it over, revealing the elastic band.
Still unable to speak, I merely extended my hand, palm down, indicating he could slip the corsage onto my wrist. With a clear sigh of relief, he set the box aside and took my hand in his.
Tough to say whose hands were clammier with sweat.
Even after he’d adjusted the corsage, he kept hold of my hand—not too tight, as if giving me the option to retreat. Or pull it free in order to slug him a good one.
I kept my hand in his. Not that slugging him wasn’t tempting.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
“I think maybe that should be my line. It would have been my line if you’d given me a chance to explain.” I looked down at our hands.
“Why are you here, Eddie?”
“We wanted to give you a prom.”
“Bullshit.” Now I pulled free and wandered over to the roof’s edge. “That can’t be the only thing.”
“It’s not.” He joined me at the roof’s edge, resting his arms on the smooth metal railing. “Claudia says there’s nothing going on with you and the chef dude.”
“I would have told you the same if you’d actually answered any of my calls. Or texts. Or emails.”
He winced and leaned back far enough to grab the railing with his hands, knuckles turning white.
“Why did you show up there last week anyway?”
He turned his head and met my gaze. “I wanted to give you some support. I knew you had to be upset with your parents.”
I sighed. “More resigned than anything.”
“Claudia said they definitely reneged on their promise.”
I nodded, fist of fear over what my future might hold twisting low and painful in my gut.
“She said, too, you might have...other options.”
I nodded, but chose not to elaborate, because I sensed this was more of a conversational gambit for himself.
“I think...” He swallowed, hard enough I could see his Adam’s apple moving nervously up and down the tanned column of this throat. “I think maybe you need to seriously consider those options—especially if they’ll open more doors for you professionally.”
I studied him for a long moment. “I’m guessing this has something to do with what you wanted to tell me last week, doesn’t it?”
Color rising in his face, he nodded.
For the first time since the elevator doors had slid open and I’d seen him standing there, I felt the urge to reach out and touch him. My fingertips skimmed along the wash of red streaking along his cheekbones before dropping down to take his hand in mine.
“What’s up, Eddie?” The same words I’d said to him weeks earlier when he’d first hinted at something going on.
Even so, it took him a few seconds of staring out over the Commons before he finally said, “It looks like I’m getting drafted in June.”
“Drafted?” I repeated. “As in...baseball?”
“Yeah.”
“But...I had no idea you even wanted to play professionally.”
Wide shoulders rose beneath the fine wool of his tux. “I had no idea I had a chance in hell.”
“Why not? You’re a fantastic player.”
“I’m a good player. David’s always been the fantastic player.”
But David, who’d long been lauded as one of the top players in
the country, was forgoing a sure top pick in the draft for an academic scholarship to Stanford and a career in astrophysics. Which was neither here nor there with respect to Eddie.
“You’ve been on all the same teams as David. Made a lot of the same all-star lists.”
“As second team, while he’s been first.”
“Only because his cumulative stats are better, but your fielding percentage is a good fifteen points higher than his and your slugging percentage a few points higher. Plus, you can play every position in the infield and emergency catch, as well.”
Eddie’s grin was wide and very white in the flickering candlelight. “Six months ago you could care less about baseball and now listen to you.”
“Eh, the math of it was always easy—I just needed a good reason to be interested.” His hand tightened on mine at my teasing. Breathing a little easier, I asked, “Why didn’t you ever say you wanted to play professionally?”
“With David around, who was going to take me seriously?” he said without any anger toward David, just stated as fact. A fact that I guessed was probably pretty well-founded.
“I long ago quit thinking it was a possibility, so I decided to just have fun as long as it lasted. Figured I’d get my last hurrahs playing at UM before I settled into being an adult and working for the family business.”
His thumb traced a pattern over my knuckles. “Then a couple of the scouts who were checking David out made a point of coming up to me. Asked what my future plans were— finally I asked one of them if he thought I really had a shot and he said yes. I’ll probably start in a developmental league and have to work my ass off, and even then there’s no guarantee, but...it’s more of a shot than I ever imagined having.”
His gaze looked out over the city, oddly enough, in the direction of Fenway Park—as if he just instinctively knew.
“I wanted to talk to you about it. I mean, I knew you’d made your decision about going to school in Miami at least in part because of us—but then I realized, I couldn’t let that dictate my decision.” Dark and apologetic, his gaze found mine.
“I really want to do this, Peyton. I know it’s a hell of a risk and not fair to you, but if I don’t do this, I’ll live my whole life wondering.”
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