Page 28 of Best I Never Had

I’m in the middle of simultaneously deciding the best way to destroy Matteo’s wedding invitation, barrel fire sitting at the top of my list, while attaching a SpongeBob GIF in an email to José when my cell phone buzzes on my desk with a new alert. I pick it up to see Carmen’s name pop up with a new text message.

Carmen: Just confirming, we’re still going apple picking this weekend?

I sigh. It’s an annual tradition that we started with Matteo and David, the four of us piling into David’s Subaru and driving the two-hour drive outside of the city to spend the day eating carnival-style foods and picking bushels of apples. Carmen looks forward to it every year. I had all but forgotten about it until Carmen reminded me in passing a couple of weeks ago. It’s one of the few times in the year that she plans her schedule around so she can get a day off and enjoy our little double date. Well, now a trio with me being the third wheel.

Me: Of course.

She texts back immediately with a smiley face emoji. As I’m frowning at my phone screen, I’m interrupted by the low growl coming from my hungry stomach, reminding me that lunchtime is approaching. I stand from my chair and walk the short trek to José’s office, looking for something to distract me from this weekend’s wistful getaway. When I walk through his open office door, he looks up from his monitor, not at all surprised by this usual interaction between us.

“What are we doing for lunch today?” I ask, silently hoping he’s in the mood to make the trek to SoHo for spam musubi and pineapple coleslaw.

“Oh,” José says, his voice deflated. “Jason’s taking me out. He’s showing a brownstone to a client in the area so he’s meeting me after.”

“Aw,” I respond, not bothering to hide my disappointment.

“Sorry,mami,” he says with a wink. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

I give an understanding nod in José’s direction before walking back to my office. I guess I could have a solo lunch ordered in today…But with the slight damper this weekend’s plans put on my mood, I need something to lift my spirits.

When the sudden hankering for something sweet and tarty and lemony hits in the deep pockets of my hippocampus—something Carmen informed me one random night about cravings and brain chemistry—I know where I’m going for lunch.

When I walk through the doors at Pour Toujours, I’m greeted by a hostess. She moves efficiently, reaching for a menu with a polite smile as I tell her it’ll be a party for one. Once I’m shown to my seat, I turn to face her before sitting on the long, cushioned bench against the wall.

“Um, is Hayden here?”

She pauses for a second and smiles wider as she watches me slink into my seat. “He is. I’ll let him know he has a visitor.”

“Oh,” I protest. “If he’s busy, it’s okay.”

She nods one last time before walking away. I’m scanning the menu, glancing over the words in French with added flourishes, when I’m interrupted by the scraping of a chair against the hard floor. When I look up, I see Hayden’s face. His smile is so wide and bright, telling me just how happy he is to see me, as he takes the open seat in front of me.

“You’re alive,” he says through his smile.

“Of course I am,” I say, shyly hunching forward in my seat as I lower the menu.

“Well,” he says, linking his fingers together on top of the covered tabletop. “I haven’t heard so much as a whisper from you since the bar, so I thought maybe you were abductedby aliens.”

“Not yet, but keeping my fingers crossed.” I raise a hand with my index and middle fingers overlapping each other. “So what’s good here? I hear the chef is pretty good at his day job,” I tease, leaning slightly forward. Hayden inches closer, mirroring my movements. Instead of answering my question, he plucks the menu from my hands and stands from his seat.

“I gotchu,” he says, winking with a knowing smile before he walks away. I smile back and wait patiently, leaning against the wall behind me. My fingertips graze against the glass goblet filled with water, the condensation already wrapping around the clear surface.

The restaurant isn’t too busy, but there’s the usual lunch rush traffic. People eating in pairs, much like José and I do on a regular basis, chatting work talk over a quick meal that includes warm bread and hard butter.

When I finally see Hayden’s eyes meet mine through the saloon-style swinging doors, his face lights up with an eager smile. He walks through careful steps while balancing two plates in his hand. When he approaches my table at the same time I’m draping my napkin on my lap, he lowers the plates with a look that’s blended between pride and modesty.

“Coq au vin and ratatouille,” he claims as he watches me eye the food in awe. “And I have dessert coming your way once you’re finished.”

“This looks amazing,” I say softly as a pool of saliva collects on the inside of my cheeks. “So…ratatouille is a real thing?” I ask, my curiosity trumping the need to ask such a silly question.

“Of course it is.”

I smile bashfully, shrugging a shoulder as I lower my face. “I just thought that it was a made-up thing that cartoon rat made in the movie.”

He laughs, and his shoulders bounce. “Enjoy your lunch,” he says, the laughter in his eyes twinkling as he turns to walk away.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m halfway through one of the most delicious creations of braised chicken I’ve ever had, alongside a large, heaped serving of warm, summery vegetables to perfectly balance the whole meal. I can’tbelieve I’ve gone this long thinking that ratatouille was a made-up dish. The way the savory juices squeeze out of each bite makes me crave the next time I get to enjoy a meal cooked by Hayden.

I’m polishing off the last of my meal while making a mental note to visit Hayden’s restaurant more often when he reappears from behind the kitchen doors. I’ve been devouring my food so hungrily that I’ve all but forgotten that Hayden is still in the same building. The only thing present in my existence is the food I just inhaled. And now, the lemon tarts that brought me into the restaurant in the first place as Hayden places a neatly cut slice in front of me.

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