Page 3 of The Hang Up

“Are you a chef here?” I asked before things could get awkward. More awkward.

“Chef in training. I’m in culinary school.”

I hadn’t known, but it didn’t surprise me. Brock was an amazing cook. Memories of Brock cooking for me, taking care of me when no one else would, bombarded me. That was another thing I couldn’t dwell on.

“Good for you.” God, I was an idiot. I could feel Mitch watching us, but I ignored him. “I hope it’s going well.”

“Yes. I…um…” He motioned toward the kitchen. “I need to get back.”

“Of course. Good to see you again.”

He took off, weaving through the tables. Customers stopped him to chat, and at one point, I heard his laugh, familiar and yet not, and hated the way my body reacted to the sound. When he reached the entryway to the kitchen, he glanced back. As our eyes met, my heart stopped—the world stopped—and everything and nothing was conveyed in that brief moment before he disappeared through the doors.

The world crashed into focus around me. The sound of forks clinking and scraping against plates. Murmured voices. A high-pitched laugh and soft music spilling from hidden speakers.

“He’s pretty.”

I blinked at Mitch, trying to get my bearings, and dropped back into my seat. “What?”

“Who’s your friend? And is he single?”

The growl escaped my throat before I could stop it, and Mitch’s eyebrows rose.

“I’m learning so many things today.”

“No. Just…no.”

He grinned, and I wondered if there was any way out of this conversation. “No, what?” he asked, his eyes straying toward the kitchen and back to me. “Not pretty? Not your friend? Not single?”

“Stop, Mitch.” I tried to focus on my assistant and not the anger I’d seen in Brock’s eyes. He still hated me. “I…know him.”

“You don’t say.”

“I mean, not just in passing.” I sighed.Get it together, Joshua.“Brock is Sean’s roommate.”

“Your son, Sean? The one who pretends you don’t exist? Wow. That explains the look he gave you.”

It really didn’t. Not completely. But I wasn’t going there. “Can we focus on the meeting next week with—”

“You know what it doesn’t explain?” he asked, cutting off my attempt to get back on track. “The look you gave him.”

“Mitch…” I rubbed my forehead, hoping he’d heed the warning in my tone, but knowing he wouldn’t.

“None of my friends’ dads ever looked at me like that.” His eyes sparkled in amusement.

“It’s not—” I shook my head and went in a different direction. “I’m not—”

He waved a hand at me dismissively. “That moment has passed. You showed your cards. And,Joshua, you never show your cards. But who can blame you? That boy is gorgeous. Stellar ass.”

This time, I held in the growl. Barely.

“I mean, I always thought he was cute,” Mitch said, going on despite my moody silence or, more likely, because of it, “but grown-up Brock? Wow. That boy has filled out. I barely recognized him.”

“What? When did you meet Brock?” I thought of the few times Mitch had been at my house. Had Brock been there?

“Five or six years ago. At the hospital. He was sitting with you—I mean, you were out of it at the time.”

Right. The heart attack. “Brock was with me when it happened—not like that, you perv. Stop grinning at me. It was a family dinner. Except…” There hadn’t been much family there. Victoria had left me the night before. Cassandra had had to work late. “Everyone was gone except for Sean and Brock. Then Sean started a fight,” I said, rubbing my knuckles against my sternum. “And I—doesn’t matter. He stormed out.”

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