Love Simmers

by Jules Deplume

  “For being rude. You did come home to help us. I appreciate that. I know you put your own work on hold to be here so I wanted to let you know that I’m…grateful.” His apology sounded like a practiced speech. Like he’d come prepared to say those words to my face. I bet he’d spent all day psyching himself up to say them. Nate could be painfully stubborn when he made a decision. I knew that the apology had most likely been an effort for him given our history. Maybe it was the wine but I decided to be a bigger person as well.

  “I’m sorry too,” I said, his confused expression quickly turning to shock once he realised where I was going with my apology. “We had an amazing night together at prom and I never acknowledged it. I never acknowledged us. I just left and I’m sorry. That was a really immature thing to do.” I stood up a little straighter under his intense stare, wondering what was going through his mind right now. I wished I had apologized to him years ago. I should have but instead I’d hoped that if I ignored the problem it would go away. I’d learnt over the last few days that problems didn’t just evaporate. Instead they’d simmered.

  “Do you want a ride home?” He said softly, his expression slightly warmer than I’d seen in a long time.

  “I’m going to walk. I could use some fresh air.” I gave him a friendly smile and took a few steps away from him.

  “Some other time.”

  He got back into his car. The moment between us disappearing as quickly and unexpectedly as it had started.

  I never knew where I stood with Nate. Never knew what to expect from him or even what I wanted from him. That was the problem I guess.

  Nate and I had been many things to each other at different stages in our life. If I was lucky, maybe we could be friends again. At the very least, simply for the sake of the restaurant and Ollie.

  Chapter Three

  “Logan, I’m the head chef, not you!” Ollie shouted in exasperation, slamming the pot down on the kitchen counter.

  “All I’m saying is that I have more experience in menu planning than you,” I screamed, shoulder checking him on my way past to get to the pantry. It hurt me much more than him given our height difference.

  “Experience? You have a cooking show. You don’t run a restaurant.” He dodged the orange I threw at his head without much effort. We played dodge ball a lot as children so it was no surprise. “Do you even do the cooking on the show or is there a ghost chef?”

  “How dare you!” I said in outrage, “my cooking show is an international hit that has spawned three best-selling cookbooks. If you read one you would know I specifically address menu planning in Chapter One! How could you not read my books?” I was hurt. I had sent them all copies, signed of course, of my cookbooks and from what I gathered no one had read them. Not even our mother.

  “Let’s agree to disagree you two,” Nate said from the far wall he was leaning against watching us fight. He knew from past experience our fights didn't end well. That was likely why he was on the other side of the room from us. He knew better than to be in the middle of our fights. He’d learnt that lesson the hard way at twelve when he’d taken a stray baseball to the head. The bruise had been ugly.

  “Fine. Your restaurant, your decision,” I conceded, mostly because I liked the sound of his menu more than mine. I just wanted him to admit that I did have some expertise in the area. That my opinion did count. Obviously it did not. All I was good for was stocking shelves according Ollie and Nate.

  “Glad that’s sorted,” he replied dismissively, as if my expertise was so trivial he had forgotten about it already. Ollie didn’t see us as professional equals. He was a chef. I was a sell out in his opinion. It drove me insane. You would have thought one of me was enough. It wasn’t fair that I had to compete with the male version of myself.

  “We have four days till we open. The menu needs to be finalized now. We’ve got potential staff interviews starting in ten minutes,” Nate said as he walked over to us, pulling out a dozen resumes from a file in his hand. Nate didn’t go anywhere without his A4 sized file. I don’t know what was in there that he couldn’t just have on his iPhone but I was starting to want one. It did give him a certain air of importance.

  “Fun. I love interviewing people.” I picked up a handful of the resumes and began flicking through.

  “Fine, but you don’t ask them any questions. I’ve heard the type of questions you ask guests on your show,” Nate said.

  I frowned in response. What was he implying about the questions I asked?

  “I ask great questions. I get people to open up and feel comfortable. There’s a reason my show is a success!” Neither of them seemed to appreciate that success in my industry depended on your personality. They seemed to think I was a joke.

  “Have you ever been turned on by a piece of food?” Ollie did his best impersonation of me as Nate laughed. It was embarrassing for us both that his impersonation of me was so accurate.

  “Have you ever during sex started thinking about what you want for dinner?” Nate quoted another line from my show this time while Ollie laughed beside him.

  I blushed lightly before starting to join in the laughter. You could never take yourself too seriously when this is what you had to come home to. I don’t think they’d ever be impressed by me.

  “It’s good for ratings,” I mumbled lamely, barely even trying to defend myself against their mockery. I had no defence, not when they were armed with footage of me saying those very things. I was a sell-out. The evidence all pointed to that conclusion.

  Once the laughter finally subsided we headed out to the dining area to wait for the staff interviews to begin.

  I was forced to take a seat in the corner. They paid no attention to my cries ‘nobody puts baby in the corner’. At least I amused myself. Life would be depressing if I didn’t.

  Still smiling when the first person arrived for their interview, I watched in fascination as Nate and Ollie’s demeanour became serious and professional as they asked the ‘appropriate’ questions I apparently failed to ask on my show.

  “How much experience do you have in start-up kitchens?” Nate asked Quinn West, potential chef. I liked Quinn so far. His laid-back surfer nature was refreshing. I could tell Nate wasn't finding him so refreshing.

  “None. I’ve only worked for established kitchens. What’s the dif?” Quinn looked genuinely confused, I laughed quietly though Nate obviously heard. He gave me a reproachful look. I noticed Ollie tense up at Quinn’s use of ‘dif’. Personally, I would avoid hipster abbreviations in a job interview but Quinn obviously disagreed.

  “The difference is a start up kitchen requires much more compromise and flexibility in order to get the business off the ground. We need to be able to change the menu and dishes quickly depending on what’s going over well and what isn’t,” Ollie answered the question in a brisk and assertive tone that caught me by surprise. When I’d left home Ollie had been a hot-headed and reckless young man. Now, watching him in his work environment he was different; mature, responsible, I was seeing a side of him that I hadn’t even realised existed. It made me wonder what else I had missed out on while I was gone. A lot had changed in recent years and I was only now realizing I hadn’t been around to witness the progress.

  “Sounds like most kitchens I’ve worked in honestly,” Quinn said.

  I knew from the look that passed between Nate and Ollie they weren’t impressed.

  If I learnt anything over the course of the next hour it was that those two were difficult to impress. Potential staff entered and then left, still unemployed. If they weren’t careful there’d be no one left in town to hire. Chester was a small place.

  I left sometime during the second hour to give a phone interview with a national food magazine. Even though I was on holiday, the constant requirement that I self-promote remained. Apparently, if I didn't tweet or appear in magazines weekly people would forget my name according to my agent. It was exhausting. There were only so many variations of ‘watch my show tonight’
I could come up with to tweet and I refused to even step into the world of selfies and belfies and whatever ilfies would be the next trend.

  “What’s next on the agenda for Logan Blake?” The journalist asked as I lounged on the couch in my brother’s living room. I’d put on my yoga pants and poured a glass of wine already. It was the only way to get through another interviewer asking the exact same questions as the last.

  “Well, I’ve got another cook book out in three months and the show’s new season airs in the fall.” I marked two things off the checklist in front of me that my publicist had sent. All the things I needed to bring up in this interview had been neatly compiled for me as if I couldn’t remember them on my own. I scrunched the piece of paper up into a small ball.

  “I hear you’re opening a restaurant as well according to a source in your hometown,” she pried and I almost groaned in irritation. Nate and Ollie had given me an epic lecture about how I was not under any circumstances to mention their restaurant in connection with my brand.

  “My brother and a friend are opening a business. My involvement in the place is limited to proud sister,” I replied honestly.

  The journalist asked a few more trivial questions before the call ended and I rested my head on the couch in relief. When I started out as a TV chef I had loved every second in the spotlight. Now, a little older and a lot wiser, the novelty was wearing off. Between the constant scrutiny and the stress of needing to regularly get my name in the magazines it was no longer about the food but rather the branding. I’d been in the business three years and I was feeling burnt out. I was starting to worry about the rest of my life. I wanted to keep cooking, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep doing it in the spotlight though. It would be nice for it to be about the food again, like it was for Ollie.

  After a few more sips of wine I burrowed into the old leather couch and drifted off into the peaceful void of a deep sleep.

  Chapter Four

  “Sleeping beauty, you hungry?” Nate gently woke me with a flick on the nose. I tried to bite his finger when he attempted to flick me again. He pulled away with a brief smile. After my overdue apology, he’d been slowly thawing towards me. It was nice.

  “What time is it?” I asked with a yawn as I rolled off the couch and over to the table Nate had set for two.

  “Six. Ollie’s still at the restaurant working on the menu.” Nate pulled a chair back for me before settling himself across the table from me. “We ended up hiring four people.”

  “When I left I thought it would just be the two of you come opening night,” I said, looking down at the meal in front of me.

  I took a moment to admire the beautifully presented plate of steak and hand-made fries, the smell alone enough to make my mouth water.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked as I dug into the meal before me. The only thing I loved more than a free meal was a really good home cooked dinner and Nate knew how to cook, probably better than me.

  “There isn’t one. I came home. You were curled into a little ball asleep on the couch. I thought I’d feed you,” he shrugged his shoulders.

  I dipped a piece of steak into the red wine jus he’d made, putting the food in my mouth I started chewing, my eyes widening in shock as it dawned on me what I was tasting.

  “This is my recipe!” I pointed an accusatory finger at the sauce.

  I swallowed my mouthful and marched into the kitchen. Opening the cabinets, I went around the kitchen methodically until finally, at the back where they kept the pots and pans, I found a copy of my book. A worn and well-loved copy of my book. My heart almost burst with joy. Someone had read my book!

  I waltzed back into the dining room triumphantly, laughing at the bashful look on Nate’s handsome face.

  “You love my book. You cherish it, admit it,” I teased him, taking another bite of the delicious food while I watched Nate try and come up with an answer that would deflect my allegations.

  “Love is a strong word.” He looked down at his plate as he spoke, obviously not wanting to see the smirk on my face.

  “Do you watch my show as well? You and Ollie did seem to be able to quote it extensively.” I flicked through the pages of the book, noticing the turned down corners and cooking stains on the pages. All evidence that he used it regularly. I turned over to the back cover, staring in shock at the bio picture of me that was defaced with horns on the top of my head.

  “What type of person draws on a book?” I shouted at him, “It’s a hardcover!”

  “I was pissed about Tommy,” he clarified quickly, “you breaking up with him.”

  “You didn’t have to take it out on the book,” I whispered in pain, vowing to never again send anymore of my cookbooks home. They weren’t appreciated here.

  “Why did you start dating him?” He asked and I could sense the hesitation in his voice, as though it was a question he didn’t really want to ask. Nate wasn’t an emotional type of man. He wasn’t good at communicating. He was quiet, thoughtful and well…brooding. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel. He just didn’t discuss what he felt very often. After all, he did come from a long line of Anglo-Saxons.

  “I was lonely and he reminded me of home,” I replied honestly, though in my head I also thought ‘he reminded me of you.’ I couldn’t say those words aloud. I didn’t want to deal with the realisation of how much I had missed Nate. It would only make it harder to leave again.

  “Are you not happy in the city?” He said quietly, avoiding eye contact while he savoured his last bite of steak.

  “I am, at times.” I gazed at his face in the rapidly fading light of day, admiring his five o-clock stubble and ruggedly handsome features. If you were being technical about it you could say I was fawning. Like a fan girl at Comic Con who’s just spotted Loki.

  “And at other times?” He pushed.

  I knew what he wanted me say but I didn’t want to admit it aloud.

  “I miss home, a lot.”

  “We miss you here,” his voice was hoarse. It was both soothing and unsettling to me. It calmed me and excited me.

  “I’m sorry about Tommy. I should’ve checked to see if you would be okay with it,” I conceded to my error of judgment. If I had a sister and Nate had started dating her I would have been pissed to say the least. It wasn’t logical or rational given the fact that Nate and I hadn’t been together in years but it was inherently human. Seeing someone you once cared for move on was difficult enough without another family member being involved.

  “I’m not your keeper.” He looked away.

  “You’re my friend, one of my oldest friends. So, you know, bros before hoes.” I smiled at his chuckle, his laughter making me happy. “Though I guess in this case, since Tommy’s actually your bro, I’m the ho.”

  “I watch your show,” he admitted with a cringe, as though he were admitting he enjoyed dressing up like a French maid on a routine basis. My show was not that bad. “I like seeing you.”

  “What happened to us? We’ve known each other our whole life.” I knew the answer to my own question. I had happened, my own stupidity. Sometimes you look back on the actions of your past and you literally want to die from embarrassment. I had been so impatient, desperately wanting fame and fortune to the point that I had placed those ambitions above everything else. I had left my family and friends behind in order to achieve my goals. I thought that success would make me happy. I know now that my definition of success had been wrong because it definitely did not mean fame and fortune. Success meant happiness. It meant that you were content professionally and personally. Right now, I was neither of those things.

  “You left.” Nate was brutally honest to a fault. He’d never been anything but honest to me. Once, when I was fourteen, I’d asked him if he liked the dress I was wearing. He’d said he’d seen me look better in sweats. I’d thrown away the dress and ignored him for a week. Then I’d seen a picture of myself wearing the dress a month earlier. I’d looked ridiculous. He’d simply told me a trut
h that no one else had the balls to. I never got angry with him for being honest again. Either you wanted an honest answer or you didn’t ask the question.

  “People leave,” I countered his point. It was life, people grew up and sometimes they left home.

  “People drift apart.” He picked up the plates from the table and walked to the kitchen.

  I didn’t say anything else. What was there to say? He was right. We had drifted apart. And now I just hoped it wasn’t too late to bring us back together. After all, he was my first.

  Chapter Five

  I was stocking the bar at Sails the next day when I noticed a man standing at the window with a camera, probably a photographer looking for a story to sell. Unfortunately, before I could deal with it myself, Ollie and Nate noticed as well.

  “What’s he doing here?” Nate gave me an accusing look as he headed for the front door. I watched the photographer’s eyes widen with alarm as all six foot three of pissed off Nate headed his way. He bolted before Nate even stepped outside.

  “Leave it,” I grabbed Nate’s arm. I didn’t want the bad press that chasing down a paparazzi would bring.

  Ollie’s phone rang at that moment, his face darkening as he listened to whatever the caller said.

  “What? She said what? Thanks Charlie.”

  He moved quickly over to his laptop, Nate following to see the cause of Ollie’s anger.

  Ollie turned the laptop to face me so I could read the screen. I was left breathless when I saw the headline.

  ‘BLAKE’S NEW BUSINESS?’ it read with an exterior picture of Sails.

  I groaned in despair and counted down 3 2 1 in my head. Right on cue the shouting began.

  “We asked you not to mention our business in any interview, Logan! I told you I didn’t want your name associated with Sails. I didn’t want publicity generated from your brand. You promised that nothing like this would happen,” Ollie’s words came out so quickly that it was hard to follow along. He talked really fast when he was angry.