Page 52 of Tall, Dark, & Ginger

“That’s a lot.”

He nods, slightly smiling. “Have you ever…” He pauses, his brow creasing as he seemingly tries to puzzle out his thoughts. “I’m not sure how to word it.”

“You don’t have to be perfect with me. Just say it and we’ll figure it out.”

He searches my eyes, his warm breath fanning across my face. “Sometimes I think I want something, but then I’m scared it’s just old habits, you know?”

“Something like what Indy and Salem have?”

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nodding. “They’re so in love you can feel it. And like, yeah, I want that too, but that kind of love is rare, I think. So then it’s just chasing fantasies, isn’t it?”

I shrug, realizing our thoughts were mirroring each other down in the kitchen. “What they have is unique to them, but really amazing love can’t be that rare. I’ve seen it happen three times now right in my own friend circle. I think the key is that we recognize that we can’t make it happen. It just does, whether we’re trying or not. That’s what I’ve learned from my friends, anyway.”

Wren nods, still holding my gaze. “And in the meantime, we just go with the flow? When it happens, it happens?”

“That’s my theory.”

“Yeah. Good theory.” He blows out a breath. “Movie?”

I’m grateful for the change of topic, because now I’m wondering if we could fall in love, and if we did what that would even look like. That’s a challenge for another day though. Today, we’re watching movies.

TWENTY

WREN

Runningmy hand over the kitchen surfaces to ensure they’re clean, I blow out a long breath filled with exhaustion. The last three weeks have been beyond any of our expectations, and we’ve all been working a shit ton of hours. It doesn’t help that my right-hand man has been dealing with a sick baby at home and is so tired he almost burned the kitchen down, so I had to send him home. Now the kitchen is finally closed, and all that’s holding me up is dwindling adrenaline and the promise of a late-night romp with the sexiest man in Willow Bay. That is, if I can stay awake long enough to get off.

I excuse the kitchen staff, letting them know their first round is on me if they want to grab a drink at the bar, and then I head to the bathroom to splash my face. When I come out, dragging my tired ass to the bar, I automatically search the place for Ridley, finding him at a table chatting up a group of women. I can tell from their expressions that they think he’s hot, that his attention means something, and a tight, possessive feeling spreads through me, startling me.

I’m not a possessive guy. Insecure, sure, but possessive? Nope. Maybe I’ve got it wrong though and that’s not the right word for the way my stomach twists and my insides heat. Maybeit’s a different form of possessiveness. Not that I own him, but the sweet pleasure of knowing that when the lights go out and all the people fade away, his attention is mine.

I finish my walk to the bar, slipping onto the rarely used stool next to the order station. Florian notices me, holding up a finger in acknowledgment. I pass the time glancing around the busy establishment, noting the people still finishing dishes we prepared, and my heart swells with new pride.

Trent complained all the time that I was wasting my time chasing after executive positions. My résumé wasn’t good enough, he said. My food didn’t stand out enough. I started to believe him for a while, until the day I stumbled upon the ad for Moby’s, a new casual dining bar in a quiet suburb. Something in my gut told me to go for it, and now I’ve reached the first goal of my career. The ultimate goal is opening my own place, of course, but I’m years away from that. I don’t know shit about running the front of house.

“Buy you a drink, handsome?”

I smile, turning to my left to see Ridley standing over me. “Hey.”

“You look wrecked. You okay?”

The sweetness in his tone stirs the hopeless romantic in me that I’m working hard on keeping at bay. While I wouldn’t describe Ridley as remotely romantic, he’s thoughtful, and after years of love bombing, I’ll take thoughtful over empty gestures any day.

“I’m not sure I’m even awake right now.”

He chuckles. “You’re awake. I can skip out and escort you home?”

“I can make it alone.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to.” He glances up and looks around. “In fact, I’ll go too. I’ve been here since opening.”

“You don’t have to leave on my account.”

“You’re right. What a terrible hardship to end my twelve-hour workday.”

I laugh softly. “Fair.”

“Be right back.”

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