by Chantal Mer
If we didn’t have a terrible, horrible history, I’d ask him out.
But we do have history, and I can’t imagine him ever being able to look at me without thinking about the day I ruined his life. That is not a foundation on which to build a relationship. I’m not sure why I’m thinking about relationships. I date, but nothing serious, and I’m always quiet about it. My relationship is with my restaurant.
Back to my predicament. I’m standing on Isaiah’s stoop, looking at his beautiful face, wanting to take those full lips. Wanting to feel his firm ass— Yes, I’ve checked it out several times. Wanting to know the unleashed power of his body. And trying to figure out the best way to decline his offer to come up to his condo without ruining the tentative friendship?—working relationship?—we’re developing.
“I can’t make coffee as good as you. Hell, I can’t make anything as good as you, but I have a sleeve of Chips Ahoy cookies and beer in the fridge.” His fingers find the edge of my coat and tug.
He always seems to find a way to touch me. The first time he did it, I was surprised and prepared for him to sucker punch me. But the sucker punch never came, and I find myself looking forward to and anticipating his touch.
“Hmmm. As intriguing as the offer of chocolate chip cookies and beer is, I think it’s best for both of us if I go.”
“Ash.” He steps closer, so I’m sandwiched between him and the railing.
The wind picks up and licks my cheek. Isaiah burrows his bare hands in his coat pockets.
“Where are your gloves?”
“I lost another pair.”
A protectiveness I haven’t felt with anyone other than my sisters plunders me. Before I even think about it, I’m removing my gloves, putting them on his hands.
He’s laughing, and the sound fills me with more of the fluffy feeling. I want to stay all night just to hear his laugh.
“I don’t need your gloves, you’ll need them.” He pushes my chest but makes no effort to remove the gloves.
“I have another pair in the car.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I repeat, and we stare at each other. Then, his head tilts ever so slightly to the side like he’s thinking about kissing me. That’s when I come to my senses. I step down one step, then another. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He looks like he’s going to argue, but he nods and says, “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
I jog to my car, and once safely inside, I release the breath I’ve been holding.
This is not good.
The last thing I want to do is endanger Isaiah’s charity and all of the good work he’s done. I need to step back.
Starting my Prius, I select the voice-operated feature and send a text to Alejandro. He can oversee the catering gig, and I’ll take care of all things restaurant for Valentine’s Day. The less time with Isaiah, the better.
For both of us.
CHAPTER TEN
Isaiah
My hands are warm in the fleece-lined leather gloves Ash gave me last night, and I’m far too excited for a nine o’clock meeting about catering. When I enter the coffee shop where Ash and I agreed to meet, there’s a gaggle of hipster-looking college kids clustered around a laptop, a young mom with a kid toddling around and another in a stroller, and a line, four-deep, for coffee.
But no Ash.
As I step into line, a Latino man with defined cheekbones, thick lashes, and the tip of a tattoo swirling out from the neck of his Henley approaches. “Isaiah?”
“Yes.”
He smiles and hands me one of the coffees he’s holding. “I’m Alejandro Vargas, Ash’s sous chef. He asked that I meet with you to go over the details for the February fourteenth event.”
Pointing his chin toward an empty table by the window, he leads the way. I follow, then settle into the seat across from him.
I hide the disappointment of not seeing Ash and bring the plastic lidded cardboard cup to my lips. When the delicate sweetness coats my tongue, I close my eyes and let the hot liquid warm me from within. “Damn, that’s good coffee.”
“Ash told me to get you that blend.”
Inside my chest, my organs speed and spin, knowing Ash told his sous chef what kind of coffee I’d like. “Did something come up for him?”
Alejandro’s easy smile falters. “He decided it’d be better if I coordinated the event with you and was your contact.”
The way he says it like he’s frustrated puts me on edge. I lean back putting some distance between us. “I know this is all last minute, and if you don’t want to take the job, that’s fine. I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone.”
Shit. Where the heck am I going to find another catering company on short notice AND on Valentine’s Day?
Alejandro sits forward, taking back the space I created. “I don’t want to take the job.” When I go to stand, he motions for me to wait. “I don’t want the job because I know Ash is running scared.”
The wooden surface of the chair hits my butt as I fall back into it.
White teeth gleam, and Alejandro continues, “Thought that would get your attention.” He glances at the menu board behind me. “You want to get a scone or something? They have great scones here. So light and fluffy, I can’t figure out how they get them so fluffy.” His eyes narrow, and he rubs the back of his neck like he’s trying to solve some complicated problem, but I’m stuck on the Ash running scared comment.
“Why do you say Ash is scared?”
His eyes dart to the display case, and he chews on his bottom lip. “So, no scone?”
“What? I don’t care.” My heart is beating like it’s the final minutes of a close game, in which I’ve played all sixty minutes. “What about Ash?”
Finally, he drags his eyes away from the scones and back to me. “I’ve known Ash for a long time, and I’m one of the few people who knew who he was before he became Chef Ash.” Alejandro scans the pedestrians bundled in their hats, scarves, and boots, hurrying past the coffee shop, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “He’s been hiding for a long time. The guilt he feels for what he did to you weighs him down.”
I sit up straighter. “I was a complete asshole. If he had said the shit I said to him, I would have done the same thing.”
“Look, I don’t have time to get into the minutia of what happened. All I know is he regrets ruining your career and causing you any lingering effects from the concussion. And now, the man doesn’t think he deserves to be happy.”
“But I’m actually glad what happened, happened. It forced me to look at myself and my behavior. It gave me the courage to come out, to be true to who I am.” No matter how many times I’ve said these words, I still get choked up. Acknowledging that I was a crude asshole who was terrified to admit to his father, and himself, who he was, is always hard to do.
Elbows on the table, Alejandro stares me down. “I’m going to be blunt, Isaiah. I love Ash like a brother. He took a chance on me when others refused. Most of our staff are people who needed someone to believe in them, someone to give them an opportunity. And he’s the one who did. So, I need to know what you want from him.”
Something about Alejandro’s protectiveness of Ash makes me grin, which makes Alejandro’s mouth curve down.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s being true to who I am and being honest about my feelings. So, that’s what I do when I answer the frowning guy in front of me. “I want to know Ash. Know the man he is now. And I want him to know the man I’ve become.”
Alejandro smacks the table and I jump. “I knew it. Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m going to make up some shit that I can’t work with you. I won’t work with you. You’re too difficult. And you call Ash and tell him the same thing about me.”
“Um, why?”
“Because that’s the only way we can coax him out of hiding.”
“If he’s not comfortable being around me, I don’t want to force him.” Though the thought of not seeing Ash is a shot to the gut.
“Isaiah, in all of the years I’ve known Ash, I have never seen him smile as freely as he has after every meeting with you. He’s into you, but he’s scared shitless.”
My fingers beat against the cardboard coffee cup at the same unsteady rhythm as my chest. “You think he likes me?”
Alejandro’s eyes roll back. “Yeah, he passed me a note in study hall. God, I thought dudes getting together would be easier.”
I laugh. “In fairness, Ash and I have a lot of history to get past.”
“True. And we’re going to have to help my too solemn friend forgive himself.” Alejandro is practically glowing but the glow dims a fraction. “Do you forgive him?”
I nod. “Years ago.”
And he’s luminous again. “Good. So, let’s figure out a plan.”
An hour later, I’m headed to Triple Ice, my thumbs tapping my phone.
Isaiah: I’m not working with your sous chef. He doesn’t have the vision I want.
Ash: What happened?
Isaiah: I’ll tell you when you meet me at the venue. I’ll be there in twenty.
Ash: I’m sure when Alejandro sees the facility, you two will gel.
Alejandro was right. Ash was using avoidance tactics.
Isaiah: Fine. I’ll find another caterer.
Ash: It’ll take me thirty minutes to get there. Do not look for another caterer. We’ll work this out.
I smile and tuck my phone into my pocket.
That was almost too easy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ash
I’m pissed.
Steam fuming from my ears, seeing red, pissed.
Something I haven’t felt since my hockey days.
Alejandro came back from meeting with Isaiah talking about what an egotistical, pretentious asshole he is. It doesn’t make sense. First, Alejandro is the most non-judgmental person I’ve ever met and likes everyone.
Second, I can’t reconcile the things he’s saying about Isaiah, who apologized to me, the guy who landed a dirty hit on him, causing a career-ending injury. Isaiah, who is risking his charity by having me associated with it in any way.
And don’t give me that BS about him not being able to find anyone on such short notice. Any number of caterers would have been willing and able to provide what he needed.
I touch the brakes and wave the red pickup in. I don’t know if I’m more pissed that I have to see Isaiah when I’m trying to avoid him, or that Alejandro was spewing such nonsense about him.
When I pull into a spot on the far end of the parking lot at Triple Ice, my body is taut. I’m not sure if it’s because of the dream I had about Isaiah last night and what it would have been like had I stayed rather than escaping to the solitude of my home. Or if it’s because this is the first time I’ve been at a rink since cleaning out my locker in the Hellfire’s facility.
I roll my neck, the pop, pop, pop relieving some of tension.
One leg out of the car, my phone rings and I can’t help but smile. “Hey, Soph.”
My baby sister, who still lives in Friendship, is my favorite person in the world. If it hadn’t been for wanting to set a good example for her, I would have let the anger escape long before it did with Isaiah. And even when I’d disappointed my parents, my team, my fans, myself, Sophie never wavered in her support and love.
“Thad is closing the office.” And that folks, is Sophie. No salutation. No how are you? She just talks like we’re already in the middle of a conversation.
“When?” I’m not surprised Thad Tanner, my sister’s employer, and all-around nice guy, is closing his office. The last time I spoke to Sophie, she mentioned that Thad and his longtime best friend, Julia Hughes-Humphries, had finally started dating. Julia lives in Philadelphia on the opposite side of Pennsylvania from Friendship, and it was only a matter of time before the two of them decided the five-hour commute was too much.
“He’s going to move to Philly but said I can work remotely. I don’t know if I want to do that. Having a job is one of the main reasons I leave the house.” Her sigh is on the dramatic side, but I don’t call her on it.
My sister is a bit of an eccentric. She loves animals and feeds the strays in the neighborhood, catching them and getting them spayed or neutered. She’s quiet and skittish around most people and doesn’t go out much, but none of that is why people whisper about her. She has a cat named Mr. Peabody, who she takes for walks.
In a cat stroller.
And she dresses Mr. Peabody up for various holidays.
It’s cute, and she has quite an Instagram following. Still, my parents are constantly worried that she’s one cat outfit shy of being the Crazy Cat Lady.
“You take Mr. Peabody out every day,” I offer.
She chuckles. “But if I’m not forced to get dressed for work, I may be walking her in my pajamas and bedhead at three in the afternoon.”
Did I mention that Mr. Peabody is a girl?
My sister groans. “What am I going to do, Ash? I liked working for Thad. Most of what I did could be done online and via email, and the only people I regularly interacted with in person were Thad and his friend Xander.”
“Not to mention Thad is hot,” I tease because I know Soph has had a massive crush on her employer for years.
“He is sooo pretty and such a sweetheart.” She releases a quiet sigh. “Julia’s so lucky.”
I laugh, picturing her gazing out the window overlooking the little league baseball field stroking Mr. Peabody, wishing a handsome stranger would ride into town and sweep her off her feet. Eight years younger than me, Sophie is still young enough to be a romantic. I swear to God if she makes me watch one more adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, I will hide all of Mr. Peabody’s holiday outfits.
“So, what are you going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d have some suggestions.”
“I can always use help here.” I’ve been trying to get my sister to move to Chicago since she was in high school and started applying to colleges.
“I don’t want to leave Mom and Dad. They’re getting older…” We’ve had this conversation too many times to count. When Serena died, my parents placed Sophie in a protective bubble. I think if they could have, they would have wrapped her in bubble wrap and never let her leave the house. She went from this loud, crazy kid who challenged and asserted herself, to a quiet, shy girl who jumped when a door slammed. Mr. Peabody was one of the few glimpses of the girl I knew before our sister killed herself and changed our lives forever.
“Then, I guess you have two choices. Continue working for Thad remotely, or find another job in Friendship.”
“You suck in the help department.” The sarcastic whip of her comment was much like she was when she was seven, and I can’t help but smile. “Since you’re useless, how are things with you? I saw a story about you on ESPN the other night.”
I close the car door and trek across the parking lot. “The restaurant has been slammed. Everyone’s trying to sneak a peek of the notorious Asher Delacroix.”
“At least it’s good for business.” She doesn’t need to say anything else for me to know she’s plotting how she can work this on the restaurant’s social media accounts, which I pay her to manage.
I swipe my hand over my mouth and blow out, watching the puff of steam hang for two seconds before dissipating into nothing. “But for how long?” The crunch of the salt scattered across the parking lot under my booted feet amplifies one of my many concerns. Concerns that I can only express to my sister. “What happens when people decide I haven’t paid for my actions? What if they stop coming altogether? I have people who depend on the paycheck they get from me. Who have families. Who needed a second chance and may have a hard time finding a job someplace else.”
“Asher, you’re a different person. You’ve worked hard to create an awesome restaurant, and you’ve done so much to help the community.”
“What if that’s not enough? It’s not like I’ve really s
uffered for what I did. Not like Isaiah has.” I pause at the entrance, my fingers clutching the phone at my ear like it’s my lifeline. I should turn around and leave. Tell Isaiah I’ll find and pay for someone else to cater.
“Why’d you say his name like that?”
“What? Whose name?” Playing dumb is my only chance out of this conversation.
“The guy you were talking about, Isaiah.”
Shit, she’s already picked up the scent. My throat is suddenly scratchy and dry. Getting anything past Sophie is next to impossible. “How’d I say his name?”
“Like he’s Gran’s triple-layered chocolate cake with that chocolate frosting of hers that I still cannot replicate. No matter how many times she’s shown me how to make it.”
“Now I’m going to have to come home soon, just to have Gran’s cake.” It really is the best cake ever. Sadly, I don’t think any of us will ever be able to do justice to the frosting recipe. “Gran has some kind of voodoo magic or made promises to the devil for that frosting.”
“It’s the best, but don’t change the subject. What’s going on with you and Isaiah. And don’t say nothing because I saw he was at the bachelor auction. I know you had to run into him.” She sounds like she knows but is asking for confirmation.
Okay, so I usually talk to my baby sister about everything.
Everything but my love life.
Not that I’ve had much of one. And not that Isaiah is anything other than a client.
Why would I think about my love life and him together?
I unzip my coat and loosen my scarf, letting the freezing air penetrate through my layers and cool my neck. “I’ve got to go, Soph. I’m meeting a client about a catering job, and I’m at the venue right now.”
“What happened at the auction, Ash?” This is a demand, not a question, even if she posed it as one.
I know my sister well enough to know she will harass me until I spill it. And when I say harass, I mean waking me in the middle of the night with a call, sending a singing telegram to the restaurant with some pithy song about wanting to know, or the worst, telling our mom I’m hiding something. She’s done it all and more. Best to go with the rip-it-off-like-a-Band-Aid approach.