‘A date?’ she whispered.
He nodded, drew nearer until her warmth was felt in his own body. His attention focused on her lips. He really, really wanted to kiss her right now. Should he? ‘Yes, a date. You and me, spending the day together.’
She smiled, but then it slowly disappeared from her face. Her entire demeanour changed: her stance was rigid, her frown deep, and something else he couldn’t quite place dimmed the shine of her eyes. His heart thumped; he stepped back.
Amy sighed. ‘Tom, before you start asking me out on dates, I need to tell you something first.’
Tom stilled, watching her edgy movements. ‘Do you want to come back inside?’
She shook her head. ‘Let’s just sit here. It’s a nice night out. Although, another beer might be essential.’
Tom reluctantly let her hand go and went back inside for a beer, his heart racing. Had he pushed too fast? He knew they had only a short time together before he was back at work and she had to leave Alpine Ridge, but he thought he had sensed she was interested in something temporary.
He uncapped the beers before heading back out.
She glanced up at him from the top step, and he handed her a bottle.
‘Thanks,’ she said with a short smile.
He took a seat beside her and peered out into the darkness. ‘So, what’s up?’
After a long gulp of her beer, she sighed. ‘It’s a long story.’
Tom gazed up into the darkened sky dotted with twinkling stars. ‘I’ve the time.’ A complete falsehood. Time was the one thing they didn’t have.
Chapter 8
Amy blew out a long breath as she sat on the step beside Tom. The air was cool against her arms and cheeks. The night was still, only the distant hum of crickets disrupted the quiet.
Her tummy was a tangle of nerves and sickliness coiled up her throat. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t suppress this visceral reaction each time she thought or spoke about the restaurant.
But it was time Tom knew about the last twelve months and the current predicament it had left her in.
She tried to smile bravely, but it wavered on her lips. Tom caught the pretence because he frowned as he watched her, waiting.
‘Ever since I was ten, cooking with my grandpa, I wanted my own restaurant. I went to culinary school as soon as I finished high school, despite the decision embarrassing my parents. As you know already.’
‘A little,’ he said.
‘The passion was so strong, and I had this almost blinding belief that I would be successful, whether my parents felt the same or not.’ She picked at the label on the bottle of beer. ‘I landed a great apprenticeship with Markus McMann, and I stayed with him for another year after my apprenticeship finished. I set off overseas after that. Spent the first year in Paris, working at the most amazing pastry shops. I learned all about classical cooking techniques and recipes. After that, I went to Vienna. Then a year in London before I came home.’
He arched a brow. ‘Wow.’
She laughed. ‘In Vienna, I was so privileged to work in a boutique pastry shop that had been in business for over a hundred years. It was a gorgeous place with gold gilding on the plasterwork, and big brocaded cushioned chairs in the dining room. The waiters were treated like princes all dressed in their tuxedos. I cooked strudels and tortes and learned a two-hundred-year-old vanilla sauce recipe.’ She bounced against his shoulder and smiled. ‘Vanilla sauce is really just custard, but you didn’t dare call it that over there.’
‘Sounds rewarding. Professionally,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I blossomed. My confidence soared as my knowledge grew. They were some of the hardest but the most incredible, eye-opening three years of my life. I learned all these amazing little tricks and tips and cooked recipes I never would have if I’d stayed in Australia.’
‘So what happened when you came home?’ he asked before taking a drink of beer.
‘I worked at a couple of places, a few months each, but I wasn’t feeling it. I think I still had the travel bug and would’ve been restless anywhere.’ She lowered her gaze to her beer, placed it on the ground between them.
Her voice was soft when she spoke again. ‘I landed a job with Ronaldo Perez. He had just launched Perez Patisserie, which was quite a ground-breaking restaurant at the time. I was beyond happy. Who wouldn’t be? He started me at the bottom again and made me work up through the ranks.’ She shook her head. ‘I worked my arse off for five years for that man.’ The anger in her stomach flared and spread to her limbs—a tight, burning sensation.
Tom’s eyes widened. ‘What happened?’
Amy glanced away from him and breathed deeply, trying to gather some calm.
‘The last couple of years, I ran that place. I designed and tested the recipes. I worked around the clock … for him. Sure, he paid me well but in the end, I was putting in all the effort, and he was taking all the glory. In my final year, he earned his second hat.’
‘Would he have earned that without you?’
She shrugged and went to shake her head but stopped. No, she would tell the truth as she saw it. She’d hidden it already for too long, protecting Ronaldo’s never ending ego, never wanting to overstep her place, or appear too cocky. But she owed the man nothing now. ‘No. He wouldn’t have. And I think he, quietly, knew that. Not that he’d ever admit it.’
Tom nodded.
‘I always intended to put in five solid years, save my butt off, then open my own restaurant. But when I handed in my notice, you’d think I’d slit his throat.’
‘Surely, he couldn’t have expected you stay working for him forever.’
She shrugged. ‘I think he did. He was real old-school like that. Women had their place, and that was beneath him. He wasn’t going to spend five years so-called training me only to have me leave and use all his knowledge for my own profits.’
Tom shook his head, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
‘He tried to bully me into staying, but, by then, I wanted out more than ever. And when he knew he couldn’t keep me there, that’s when …’ She stopped, shook her head as the memory felt like a lance in her brain. ‘He was vile. I never knew anyone could be so evil.’
She couldn’t miss how rigid Tom’s body was beside her now. His eyes were burning with rage.
‘When he found out I was leaving to open my own restaurant, he threatened to destroy me. As though my skills and creativity were his sole property. So, over the next year, that’s what he did. He systematically destroyed me.’
Tom rubbed his chin. His breaths were loud. ‘How?’
‘He’d gone to private school with a couple of influential critics and was buddy-buddy with a few big-time chefs in the city. They helped him out—smashing me on opening night. And then it was a good old-fashioned pile on, more critics, patrons, reviewers, doing all they could to soil my name.
‘You should have read the reviews, Tom. If that’s what you’d call them. Especially the ones online. They were personal attacks. The vulgarity. I tried to defend myself publicly and even that was twisted as though I was trying to find excuses. I was called hysterical. I went to the police; they were no help. And I kept pushing and pushing, hoping he’d forget about it and back down, but he didn’t until he’d achieved what he set out to do.’
Her hands were trembling with fury. She slid them under her thighs to keep them still.
Tom’s mouth flapped open as he shook his head. ‘Why? Why the hell would he do all this?’
She sighed. ‘He wanted to prove that it was me who needed him and not the other way around. He thought he owned me, Tom. And when he realised he didn’t, it cut him. His own reputation waned because he couldn’t keep his restaurant running at the level I had it at. He lost a hat. And I think all that just kept the fire to ruin me burning. A lowly young woman had bruised his ego, and he was never going to let me forget it.’
Tom wiped his palms again and again on his jeans. A tic beat in his jaw. ‘I want to �
�� fucking kill him,’ he hissed.
She laughed sardonically. ‘That thought has crossed my mind a million times in the past year. But you can’t even begin to understand the power these guys wield. It blew my naive mind. I still don’t believe it at times.
‘I’ve been a chef for over ten years. I know the difference between great and mediocre. There was nothing wrong with my food. Yes, it was cutting edge. I won’t deny that. And maybe that turned certain clientele away. Maybe it didn’t. I don’t know.
‘Maybe the restaurant wasn’t positioned in the right location. Maybe I could have failed anyway. I’ll never know now. But I do know that every mouthful I put on a plate was delicious.’
‘I’m certain it would have been,’ Tom said. ‘I’d expect nothing else from you.’
A sad smile lingered on her lips. ‘I was so battle worn in the end. I couldn’t even rely on my own intuition. I kept thinking that if my desserts were good enough, then that should scream louder than Ronaldo ever could, that it should save me, but it didn’t.’
She shook her head with that same weariness she felt when closing the doors for the final time on her restaurant. ‘It got to the point where I couldn’t take pride in what I made. I second-guessed every recipe. After doing something for eleven years, going from loving it to detesting it within the space of twelve months feels like a part of me has died.’
‘Of course. I can understand that.’
‘All I’ve ever wanted is to earn my own hat in my own restaurant. It’s been the dream that has kept me going all this time. But it has never felt more distant than it does now. Can you imagine how that feels? To work doggedly for a decade towards a goal just to be crushed so close to the finish line? Shattering. I feel like a chicken with its head chopped off, like I’m running in circles but can’t see where I’m going.’
Amy breathed in deeply, threw her hands up and let them fall into her lap. ‘But I can’t change what happened. Which is easier said than done. But I’m trying.’
‘You’re stronger than me,’ he said.
‘Don’t get me wrong, the injustice of it all makes me so angry. And sometimes very, very sad. Who does Ronaldo think he is to destroy me like that?’
‘He’s a weak, sick little man,’ Tom said with venom dripping from each word. ‘Why couldn’t I be one of these guys that knows someone who could break his legs?’
‘Because that someone would be best buddies with Ronaldo and would take your knees out the second you asked.’
Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer until her head was against his chest. She nestled into the comfort he wielded. His heart was thumping fast under her ear, and his next inhale was loud.
‘I’m sorry, Amy. I’m sorry you ever had to deal with someone like that. Or go through something so horrible. I just can’t believe Rachel never told Mitch about this. Or if she had, he had kept it well under wraps.’
‘Rachel is the best at keeping secrets. She would never have betrayed my trust. Even to Mitch.’
Tom sighed, rubbed her shoulder. ‘So what now? Where does your career go from here?’
‘Even though I am so damn far away from feeling comfortable in a kitchen, I will need to get a job in a kitchen and earn some decent money. But it won’t ever be in Melbourne. Ronaldo made sure of that. I’m going to have to head somewhere else. Then … then I’ll reassess where I am.’
‘It just feels so … unfair.’
‘There’s more, Tom.’
He sat up straighter, arched a brow.
‘As a business man, I’m sure you’d understand how much money goes in to running a business, let alone setting up one from scratch.’
He nodded.
She tensed her arms in front of her trying to loosen up some of the tension. This wasn’t easy to admit, but he had to know. ‘I’m in a lot of debt. Once I sell the restaurant that should clear out a bit of it, but I’m in deep. And the only reason I’m telling you this is because—’ she stopped, looked away, ‘—I sense you like me.’ She glanced at him, a brow raised.
He smiled a little shyly. ‘I do.’
Her smile grew then dimmed until it was replaced by a frown. ‘I’m attracted to you too.’ And she truly was, but … ‘It’s important you know about my situation, so you know why I can’t be dragging you into this mess. I’ve got a lot to work out. I’d only complicate your life too.’ It burned her tongue to say that, but it was the truth.
Tom stared out into the darkness, bottle of beer twisting between his hands. For a long moment he didn’t say anything.
She remained still, waiting for his reaction.
He finally faced her, opened his mouth to speak, but when he didn’t say anything, Amy’s stomach sank.
‘Besides, with your schedule and throw in the fact that I’ll most likely be in an entirely different state—this, us, could never work,’ she said, scrambling for words. ‘Not in a million years. I just wanted to be upfront with you from the get-go.’
Tom took a long swallow of beer and placed the bottle beside him. When he met her gaze, he smiled warmly, but he held tension in his features. ‘I appreciate your honesty, Amy. I know it wasn’t easy for you to tell me all that.’
‘No, it wasn’t. It’s hard enough admitting it all to myself. I still haven’t told my parents—I keep trying to find the right time and the right words, but I can’t. They will be so incredibly disappointed, you just don’t even know. I feel bad enough about myself at the moment, I don’t need that thrown on top.’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself—you had a lot of injustice working against you.’
‘I know, but still. It’s hard not to take the failure personally. I’m still working through it all. And that’s what I need to be focusing on this weekend—a plan of some type.’
She really did like Tom and would love to spend the weekend with him. But her life was in tatters, and it was not fair to drag him into her mess, even temporarily, when everything was still so uncertain.
‘Well, that conversation didn’t go as I planned,’ he said with a light-hearted chuckle.
She was grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. ‘I’m sorry, Tom.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t be. It’s just the way it is.’
‘Yeah, I guess it is.’ Amy reached for the car keys in her pocket. ‘Thank you so much for a great night, but I better get home.’
‘Sure,’ he said, lifting to his feet and wiping his palms on his jeans.
She didn’t want it to be awkward between them now, but the air around them had already changed, grown denser. ‘I’ll drop in Sunday morning before you leave.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
She gave a short wave as she left via the front stairs and headed to her car.
If this was the right decision, why did she feel so deflated?
When Amy arrived back home, she dropped her keys on the dining table on her way through to the lounge room. She flopped down onto the couch, exhausted. It had been a huge week. And a tough ending to what was actually a really great night with Tom.
She reached for her phone in her handbag and checked her screen. A couple of missed calls from Rachel and a few more from unknown numbers. A missed call from her parents. Her stomach lurched seeing their name written upon the screen—that return phone call could wait. She wasn’t in the mood to lie about her state of affairs.
Amy called her message bank and switched on the speakerphone.
‘Amy.’ It was Rachel. ‘The baby looks like she’ll be born tonight.’ Amy sobered and sat up straighter. ‘No medication seems to be helping. I feel … I don’t feel right, Amy. I’m scared. Now, I know this will sound unreasonable, but just humour me.
‘It’s for my piece of mind, so I can get through this. But if anything were to happen, I need you to be there for Mitch and the baby. I know that’s a big ask, but I just need to know they’ll be looked after … The shop is yours if that’s what it ta
kes to keep you there.’
Amy’s heart was thundering in her chest. Was this some morbid joke? No, it couldn’t be. The fear in Rachel’s voice couldn’t be denied. A small, frightened chuckle sounded through the phone.
‘I’m being silly. But it will make me feel better knowing … Enough of that. Everything’s going to be fine. But just in case, I love you so much, Amy Jenkins.’
Amy snapped the phone up and dialled Rachel’s number, but it went straight to message bank. Amy hung up and looked at the time. Quarter to ten. Perhaps she was asleep or in labour. Amy had no idea how these things worked.
She called Rachel again, but it went to message bank. She threw the phone onto the couch. Anger stormed through her, chased by fear. Rachel needed her, and she hadn’t been here.
Lights shone outside. Gravel and sticks sounded under tyres then ground to a quick stop. A car door banged. Footsteps running up the stairs. The door burst open. Amy jumped to her feet to see Tom, face contorted, tears running down his cheeks.
Amy stared at him. Her heart was galloping. Head was light.
‘I had to tell you face to face,’ he managed. He strode into the lounge room and gripped her hand. ‘Sit down. I …’ he broke off when his voice cracked, and tears started again. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, but his breath was shaky. ‘I’ve bad news.’
Amy sat down, eyes wide. She was shaking her head, to ward off what was coming. A strange sound echoed around her, like a sharp ringing. Her chest was so tight, she couldn’t breathe. Deep down, she knew what was coming, but she didn’t want to hear it.
All she wanted was for time to go back to about twenty minutes ago when the biggest concern she had was if she should date Tom or not. Not this. No news that could make a grown man cry like he was a small boy was wanted.
All time slowed down. She was thinking too fast, all the scenarios. It was taking too long for Tom to speak. She was grateful, because the longer it took to know, the more it wasn’t real and solid and ugly.
Bittersweet Page 9