Page 82 of Lovestruck at Sundown
“And how do you expect me to do that?” I asked, grabbing his length again.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing,” he said, cupping my cheek. “You know I’ll deal with you later, either way.” He shot me one of his naughty smirks that landed in my core, making my insides heat with desire.
I swallowed past the dryness in my throat.
“Not opposed either,” I replied with a soft laugh. “But at this point”—I increased the pace, and a soft groan escaped his throat—“thisis the only way we’ll be able to zip you back up.”
The sun wassetting as we toured the farm with William’s friend, Chef Jan Parker, a few members of his staff, and the rest of the guests. We’d eaten so much that stretching our legs before heading back was a welcome idea. The tasting menu was fresh and exquisite, and one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my entire life.
After the tour, Jan pulled him aside to talk. I thanked him for the hospitality and excused myself after letting William know I’d wait for him in the car.
I pulled out my phone from my backpack, which was bustling with messages from my friends. Dozens of photos of William and me kissing outside of Parsons were splashed all over the most well-known gossip and entertainment magazine sites. As expected, they didn’t waste any time posting those photos now that they had visual confirmation of our relationship.
A warm, tingling feeling tugged at my stomach. Nerves. Even if the press had already published a few articles about us being together, they were nothing but speculation. But it was official now, and I would be lying if I said that waiting to see the public’s reaction to their favorite celebrity being officially off the market wasn’t unsettling.
William got in the car with a wrinkled brow.
I searched for his gaze, but he was avoiding eye contact. “What’s wrong?” I asked sweetly, tilting my head and sliding my phone back into my backpack.
He turned the key in the ignition, and I rubbed my cold hands together to warm them up, waiting for him to say something. The evening was getting chilly.
He backed up in the parking lot and drove away in silence.
“William?” I knew he trusted me, but he remained somewhat reserved on certain topics, and I also knew it wasn’t hard for him to put up thick walls around his mind sometimes. “You’re making me nervous. Please, talk to me.”
He shook his head as if to drag himself out of his thoughts. “No, baby. I’m sorry,” he said, offering me a hint of a smile. “Jan’s insistent on me accepting his offer to open a restaurant with the same farm-to-table concept in the Hamptons. He knows I own a fairly big piece of land there where we could potentially create the farm and build the restaurant.”
My hands flew to cover my mouth. “Oh, my God!” That sounded beyond exciting and exactly like the type of project William would absolutely love to partake in. So why did he seem sad and on edge instead?
“I can’t do it,” he said, his tone low and dark as if mumbling to himself. “He wants me to design the entire concept and menu with him, which changes every season. It’s not only a lot of work, but the investment of both time and money is high. And even if I have no issue with the latter, I can’t say the same about the former.”
“But you love cooking,” I said, confused. “I’m sure you can manage to go in for a few meetings from time to time and have someone you trust in charge of—”
“I’m up to my neck with actingcommitments,” he cut me off, angrily switching gears to go even faster. I knew his anger wasn’t being directed at me, but I hated seeing him like this, especially when we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. The day had been perfect so far, but at the same time, all I cared about was that he could sort out his feelings about this matter.
“I can’t accept his offer if I won’t be able to put my entire heart into it,” he continued. “Besides, I’m not even a real chef. It’s pathetic.” His tone was sour, and I was beginning to understand where his uneasiness was coming from.
“You love cooking,” I reminded him. “Who cares if you didn’t graduate? All you had left to do before earning your title was hand in your final project. So, even if you’re not a chef on paper, you have all the necessary skills and qualifications. Not to mention the experience, considering you haven’t stopped cooking all these years.”
“Astrid was right,” he muttered under his breath and sighed after a long moment of silence.
I regarded him with concern. “Who’s Astrid?” This was the first time he had ever mentioned that name.
“She’s … my ex.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “We dated back in high school. It might sound silly, but she once pointed out my inability to stick to my choices and commit, and her comment stuck with me through the years. She was mostly unhappy that I’d promised her to attend culinary school at Gothenburg University since she had been accepted to the Music Programme there. But I ended up going to Stockholm University at the last minute. We broke up. It was messy. And we haven’t seen or talked to each other since.”
I took a deep breath and remained silent in case there was anything else he wanted to add. Knowing how William was prone to shutting himself out made it even easier to dissuade myself from saying the things I wanted to say and listen to himinstead. Sometimes, we just have to let people talk.
“When I dropped out of culinary school to pursue acting full-time, I was once again reminded of her words, and it stung,” he admitted. “It made me feel like a failure, like she was right, and I would always find an excuse to leave things unfinished.”
You’ve finished plenty of things, William, I wanted to say. But he already knew that, and he was allowed to feel however he wanted to feel. And me stating the obvious was probably not what he wanted to hear. He needed to vent, and I would gladly be the one who sat there to listen.
It seemed to me that he was being too hard on himself. He did what he felt was right at the time, and if that meant changing his mind at the last minute, so be it. I didn’t think he should’ve been feeling guilty about putting himself first. Why did he think he had to give up his plans to adjust to Astrid’s? Plus, this happened years ago, for crying out loud. Chances are high that she doesn’t even remember having said that. She was probably mad about the sudden change of plans.
“The university has reached out several times,” he said as my phone vibrated inside my backpack. “They’ve expressed their interest in offering me the title in a sort of honorary manner. All I have to do is fly over there, sign the papers, and I will have my diploma and officially become a chef.”
William took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. My ID caller showed Aaron’s name, but I sent it to voicemail. I didn’t want to interrupt William. “But I can’t accept the title that way. It would only make me feel like a fraud. I don’t want it to be handed over to me, as much as they are dying to add my name to their alumni list.”
My phone vibrated again.
