“This is
your
job, not Nunzio’s. That’s why you’re the Executive Chef. You have to show up.”
His sea-green eyes darken. He leans so close to my face. “I had a family emergency. Maybe if you took two seconds to consider someone other than yourself—”
“Why do you think I’m even here? I
was
thinking of you.”
I shut my eyes. I wish I hadn’t admitted that but sometimes my mouth doesn’t cooperate with my brain. What am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t just show up at a guy’s house just to confront him. I don’t let him permeate my thoughts when I’m supposed to be planning my future. Guys come and guys go, but my life is my own. That’s been my motto as long as I can remember.
“Look James, don’t listen to what Felicity said. You’re a good guy. Your food—minus the foam stuff—is delicious. I should have told you the minute it touched my lips. I need you—I need you to show up.”
When his eyes lighten to that brilliant green, my stomach does high kicks. “I’ll show up.”
“Good.” I realize that my fiery need for an explanation is gone. I have to find a new way to get James to open up. “I’d better go.”
What I actually want to do is jump on top of his torso and lick his face. But in this instance, I know there’s only so much rejection I can take before I crawl into a ball and hide.
Dear Lucky,
Make better choices.
Love,
Yourself.
“Lucky?”
“James?”
“Have you eaten yet?”
I shake my head. I barely ate at the restaurant and got too side-tracked to eat the Indian food at home.
“Let’s go somewhere.” He grabs his leather jacket from the table beside the front door.
This would be a good time to ask about the mug shot. But if the roles were reserved, knowing what I know of James, he would retreat even further. If I sound like I’m accusing him of things he’ll just get defensive. I like him. I need to do this on my own terms.
And before I can say no, I take James Hughes’s outstretched hand, and let him lead me somewhere I’ve never been before.
“Chef James Hughes eats from food trucks?”
In the chilly summer night James leads me to Copley Square. I haven’t spent much time around this area. The trees are lined up symmetrically and adorned with white Christmas lights. It gives everything a pretty glow. A young guy plays the guitar down the way, and his slightly off-key singing isn’t so bad.
James grabs me by the waist and pulls me close, narrowly missing a stream of cyclists with glow in the dark tape on their bikes. We get on line for Fugu 2. It’s the longest line. Off to the side, people are hunched over the Korean BBQ.
“When did Boston turn into New York Jr.?” I ask.
James frowns, letting me go. “Don’t say that. It’s not.”
“It’s familiar though. The buskers, the whole vibe.”
“Isn’t it better here? No garbage.”
Gah-bage.
“Less of a frenzy. Just a good time.”
“So you have been to New York,” I say.
James sighs. “What is this obsession you have with the places I’ve been?”
“So you’ve never read Dr. Seuss either? No wonder you’re so serious.”
I playfully dig my finger into his chest. He looks up at the sky, as if asking the universe for patience to deal with me. He smiles, despite himself.
“Look, James, I know things have been crazy and we didn’t get off to a good start. Yesterday wasn’t supposed to happen.”
He snaps his attention back to me. “The fight or…the other thing?”
Heat creeps up my skin remembering our kiss. “You mean our making out?”
The couple in front of us turns around and giggles. My remedy for embarrassment is facing it head on. James wasn’t expecting me to say that because he looks away again.
“Come on, we’re not in high school. We can talk about it. It was an emotionally charged evening. It was easy to take comfort in each other.”
James studies me, and I feel extremely exposed, like he should have a measuring tape and a stopwatch in hand. “You think I kissed you because I was upset?”
I shrug. Suddenly, I can’t face my embarrassment head on. It’s too much with him. This guy turns me around. On a good day my judgment is questionable. On a good day with James—it’s this.
“Lucky,” he says, closing the empty space on the line. “I kissed you because you’re—unexpected.”
“What?”
He grumbles. I recognize the confusion in his features. It’s like he’s trying to sort the words out in his head but it’s not working quite right.
“I mean, I wasn’t expecting to feel so protective of you.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
He smiles. I love the way one of his canines is a little crooked. “I know that. I can’t explain it. It’s like, you waltz into town and start putting out fires and yelling at people and taking charge of The Star. You act like you don’t care about anything, but you do. If you didn’t, you would have told your mother to go fuck herself. But you’re here, and I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t care. I’m glad that you are. I kissed you because you’re beautiful. Because when you look at me I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“Because we were going to be seen. Because we work together. Because I’m not go—”
“Uh—hate to break up your moment of truth,” the food truck guy says. We’re standing at the window, the line behind us watching with a combination of wide grins and exasperated sighs. James turns to face the guy and he’s flooded with recognition. “Oh hey, man. That was, like, beautiful. You wanna hurry up? I got customers.”
James chuckles and hands the guy some money. “Two braised pork belly steamed buns, and two BBQ beef tacos.”
I’m trying to process James’s words. Though I’m thankful for our interruption to give me time to think, I don’t know how to get back to the topic.
James likes me.
I like James.
It’s kindergarten logic, and it has me floating out of my body with sudden glee.
We find a bench to sit on beneath a lit up tree. The off-key guitar player sings most of the correct lyrics to Wonderwall. I prefer when things aren’t perfect. It makes them more memorable.
We dive into the incredible flavors of Korean BBQ. It’s spicy and sweet and juicy.
“This,” James says between bites, “is why I eat from food trucks.”
“So then why did you give me grief about your menu item?”
“Because The Star isn’t a food truck.”
I lick the sriracha off my lips. I throw our garbage into the nearest can and when I come back I sit closer to him. He takes off his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. “I’m still not so sure what The Star is supposed to be. Other than nice to look at.”
James looks down at his lap. I wish I hadn’t phrased it exactly in those terms. “I just want everything to taste this good. I want you to go back for seconds.”
Seconds. That’s exactly what I want. With my belly pleasantly warm with food, and my heart doing sprints in my chest, and the photo in my back pocket sounding an alarm.
“So let’s get seconds,” I say.
He looks up at me, and in that moment he knows I’m not talking a rice bowl. We lean in together, his lips searching for mine. His jacket falls off my shoulders, but it’s okay because his hands are there to make me warm again. He pushes my hair away from my face and holds me so I have nowhere to go. I wouldn’t go if he let me. I part my lips to let his tongue brush against mine. I answer every one of his licks just a little bit harder.
James pulls away first. He presses a sweet kiss on my jaw, my neck. “You taste delicious.”
I smirk, returning every one of his kisses. “I think I still have some bbq in my teeth.”
“You’re fucking weird,” he says.
“Some guy told me I was unexpected. I like that better.”
“I’m about to do something that I probably shouldn’t.” He presses his lips to mine and then lets go so I can respond.
“Was that it? Because I’ve already done that.” I press my hands on his abs and rub them back and forth.
“I’m going to ask you to dinner.”
“We did that, too.”
He holds my gaze and slowly, carefully, runs his fingers through my hair. “Tomorrow night. Say yes.”
There are a lot of things that I should say. Instead, I settled for a quick nod, and decide all I want to do right now is go in for thirds.
“Can I borrow some of your energy?” Felicity asks me. Training the new staff is draining. After getting in late last night, my lips swollen from James kisses, I slept like a rock. I even woke up without the urge to inject myself with coffee. But as the day fills with paperwork, construction, and unanswered calls to my mother, the energy wanes.
Felicity talks uniforms with the staff while I let my eyes wander towards the kitchen. James has been in there for the better part of the morning. When I came in, he was already here arguing with Nunzio about what order to serve the dishes. Who wants to eat soup in the middle of a meal? Pans rattle, as I’m sure the boys are settling things playground style.
Felicty’s kitten heels clip-clop their way back to my table. She squeezes her temples. “Those two need to stop making such a racket. Between them and the construction my head is about to burst.”
“Belle can make you a margarita,” I suggest.
“It’s ten in the morning.”
I shrug. “There’s orange juice and lime in it.”
Before she can judge my advice some more, James thunders out of the kitchen. He holds a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “Lucky! My office!”
Felicity sets her terrified eyes on me. I try my best to look bored.
“What’s the magic word?”
He grumbles. “Please.”
I follow him down the hall that leads to the offices. We make a right at the supply closet and then a left at the storage room. Surrounded by stacks and stacks of alcohol, James grabs me around my waist and sits me on a box tower of tequila. I’ve always fancied myself more of a whiskey girl.
He dives in for a kiss and I pull him in by his open chef’s jacket. I want to tell him that I missed his mouth on mine, that I dreamt about his body pressing the breath out of mine. I want to, but I don’t. Instead I show him. I rub the growing bulge in his pants. He puts each hand on my ass and slides me forward until the heat of my center is pressed right against his. My leggings quickly soak through.
The best thing we could do is have sex. The dumbest thing we could do is have sex with everyone standing right outside.
One of us has to be the bigger person, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me. I slide my hands down his chest and unbutton his jeans. I tug on the zipper slowly, taking pleasure in the way his breath is ragged against my ear.
Then his hands seize my wrists. He pulls them around his neck and kisses me hard. I bask in the sea-green of his eyes, the freshly shaved jaw that feels soft against my skin.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Yes, it is.”
“We should go back before Felicity comes looking for you.”
“Tease.” I hop off the boxes. As soon as I turn around James slaps my ass. I turn, grab his package in my hand. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Then when I’m sure he’s going to have painfully blue balls, I press a kiss to his pink lips, and head back first. I stop by my mother’s office (temporarily mine) and apply some Chapstick. I let my body return to its regular state of boredom and apathy. It’s hard as hell. James sets something awake in me that I didn’t know what there. It’s exciting and strange, and even though a part of me is telling me to be careful, the rest of me is reminding me that it feels so good.
As I pass James’s closed office door, I realize he’s still in there. I’m tempted to slam the door open. I’ve always wanted to sweep things off a desk and have a passionate tumble. Surely it can’t be very comfortable, but at least it’ll be entertaining. Then, I notice he’s talking to someone.
Curiosity, my old friend. Haven’t you done enough?
I tell myself to keep walking. The reason the door isn’t open is because he wants privacy.
“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” James says forcefully. “No, everyone’s here. Just—meet me at the kitchen entrance. Don’t worry, I’ll bring it out. Give me ten.”
I dash down the hall and back to the dining room. Ten minutes to do what? It’s times like these that I wish I could read people’s minds. It’s the one superpower I’d pick. It would certainly solve lots of misunderstandings…or, you know, create a whole bunch of new ones.
“What’s wrong?” Felicity says. She looks back in the direction of the offices.
“Uh—” My senses are dulled and confused from kissing and eavesdropping. I don’t have enough energy to lie. “James is just in a weird mood. There’s nothing wrong with his menu.”
Felicity giggles. “Chefs are such divas.”
“I need a breather,” I say.
Lie lie lie.
“Be right back.”
She doesn’t even doubt me. I go out the front door. Men and women walk past me toting coffee trays and briefcases. Guys in hard hats park across the street at the construction site of a new high rise. I stop when I get to the corner that marks The Star’s alley, where James parks his Harley and the local staff park their bicycles. A million unlikely scenarios run through my head. James is a terrorist spy, he works for the CIA, he smuggles cocaine in our $52 a plate filet mignon—
When a new crowd of people walk past, I chance a glance around the corner. James shakes hands with someone. I lean back and stand against the wall. If I were a smoker I’d have an excuse to be out here by the metal ashtray. Instead I start flipping through my phone. I have drunken texts from Bradley, and zero calls from my mother. She’d better get back here in time for the tasting or I’ll—I’ll—keep doing what I’m doing, I guess.
The man James was with walks out of the alley. I recognize him instantly. It’s James’s brother. He doesn’t look back, only crosses the street to an old parked truck. There’s a small package wedged under his armpit. I’d bet anything that’s what James what bringing out. They sure as hell aren’t meeting in our garbage alley to hug it out like bros. Why on earth wouldn’t he just come inside? James doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to be embarrassed about his family. No, maybe just his past. I have the mug shot to prove it, and more questions than ever before.