Page 45 of Perfect Pairing
“My dad is your boss,” she reminded me. “I called his assistant.”
“You didn’t have to do this. In fact, I wish you hadn’t. I toldyou I don’t care about my birthday.”
“WellIdo,” she protested. “You deserve to be celebrated, Ez. Today and every day. I’ll happily stay up into the early hours of the morning every night and pay an ungodly amount in express shipping every day if that’s what it takes to remind you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I said quietly.
Brie scoffed. “No, Ez. You deserveeverything.”
APRIL
The winery opened backup at the beginning of April, which meant my and Ezra’s constant contact waned significantly as he got back into a working routine while also caring for Hansen. I knew they weren’t busy yet, but those days were coming. I supposed I’d better get used to it.
And it wasn’t like I wasn’t busy with my own stuff. My apprenticeship took a lot of my time, particularly early morning hours when Bryce and I went into her bakery to prep for the day, usually until late into the afternoon. Ezra and I worked opposite shifts, and I hated it.
I was learning a lot from Bryce, and I was so grateful to be under her tutelage, but…I was ready to go home. Less than three months stood between me and my return to Apple Blossom Bay, and they couldn’t pass fast enough.
One night in late April, I found myself on the phone with Ezra yet again. After the distance earlier in the month, he’d taken to calling me after putting Hansen to bed each night. Sometimes, we’d get on FaceTime and cook together, or we’d chat while wewound down before going to sleep.
Other times, like tonight, I was in bed, exhausted from a day on my feet in front of the ovens as Bryce and I made desserts for a Chicago Fire Department fundraiser.
“If you could be anywhere in the world right now,” he asked me suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence we’d found ourselves in, “where would it be?”
With you.
“Paris or Rome,” I said. “Somewhere with really good treats.”
I could practically hear Ezra’s eye roll as he said, “You and your sweets.”
“You love my sweets,” I quipped.
The silence that greeted me from the other end of the line was so complete, I swore he’d hung up on me. I even went so far as to pull the phone away from my ear to check.
“I do,” he croaked at last.
I knew we weren’t talking about actual food anymore, but I also knew it was dangerous territory.
“Have you traveled overseas?” I asked, steering the conversation into safer territory.
“I have,” he said slowly, as though reluctant to let his previous words go, but then he seemed to perk up. “I’ve been to all the culinary hotspots, of course, though I really think you could argue anywhere in the world is a culinary hotspot. I traveled some in my early twenties after I finished my culinary program for some more life experience. Dad and I scraped together every penny we could to make it happen, and I’ll forever be grateful for everything he gave up to give me that opportunity.”
Knowing Rik had raised Ezra by himself, I could guess thatwasn’t the only time he’d sacrificed in the name of making his son’s dreams a reality.
I loved hearing about Ezra’s life, loved the soothing sound of his voice. My entire body sank deeper into my bed, my body relaxing as his words washed over me. It wasn’t only his voice I loved, though. I enjoyed listening to Ezra’s stories because his life experience was so vastly different from mine—mainly the fact that hehadlife experience.
Sure, I’d gone to culinary school far away from home and chosen to take on this apprenticeship, but it wasn’t the same. I’d left the country as a child, been to Macedonia where my father’s ancestors hailed from and visited all the other Grecian tourist traps, but I’d never done anything like what Ezra had.
I’d never been totally alone. The first time I felt like I’d made that leap of independence was moving to Chicago. I hadn’t known anyone here, and I still mostly kept to myself, thanks to endless hours in the kitchen at Bryce’s bakery.
Ezra told me about learning the proper pasta techniques in Italy, how to prepare the perfect macaron in Paris, and all about making paella in Spain. I couldn’t see him, but his words were animated, and I could hear the smile in them as he extolled all his adventures.
“Do you miss it?”
He sighed heavily. “Sometimes. I miss leaving my flat in the morning and not knowing what the day would bring. I miss waking up in Germany and being able to fall asleep in Hungary or Poland or Austria. Life was slower, and being on my own, making my way through all that foreign territory by myself, really changed me as a person. But I’m content with where my lifeended up, and I’d give up all memories of that trip for Hansen a million times over.”
“Bold claim,” I mused, though I wasn’t surprised. That little boy was the light of his father’s life, and anyone who spent even a few minutes in Ezra’s presence knew it.
“I mean…you’ve met him,” Ezra said with a chuckle. “You know he’s the best.”
