Page 36 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
“Ain’t that a loaded subject,” she sighed, placing her knife down and leaning against the counter. “He just left one morning and never returned. My mom stepped in like a warrior and filled that void. He’s not part of my life anymore.”
Gunner moved in closer, erasing the gap between them. “Do you even know where he ended up?” he asked hesitantly, his voice tinged with remorse.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care. I have so many incredible people in my life now that I refuse to waste my energy on someone who chose not to do right by me.”
“Strong and resilient,” he murmured, his words earnest yet conflicted. “A real fighter.”
“My mom is a fighter,” she whispered, reaching for another onion with hands that trembled slightly. “She was one of the reasons I survived my toughest battle back in Atlanta.”
“Tell me about that,” Gunner urged gently.
She hesitated, her chopping rhythm faltering as she spoke. “Just another disappointing jerk, if I’m being honest. I thought I’d found a mentor, but he turned out to be a sleaze who only wanted to get in my pants. When I said no, he wasn’t too pleased.”
“Did he fire you for refusing?” Gunner asked, barely able to control the fury in his voice.
“He did,” she affirmed, bitterness lacing her admission. “Then he tried to sully my reputation in the restaurant world, but I fought back—legally.”
Gunner nodded slowly, weighing his conflicting emotions. “You stood up for yourself, Aubrey. That takes real courage, even if it came at a high cost.”
“I will get a settlement from it, but winning never felt entirely sweet after all that,” she admitted, her gaze locking with his. “It’s a bittersweet victory.”
“Sweet because you prevailed, bitter because it had to happen,” he concluded softly. “But you’re here now—stronger for it, aren’t you?”
She exhaled, the weight of her past and the present seeming to seep out with the breath. “I am, but I’m still trying to figure out where I belong in all of this.”
“Tell me, what did you love most about being a chef?” Gunner asked gently, hoping to help her remember all the good within the bad. That had helped him in his own journey of forgiveness.
“It’s the way flavors come together to tell a story… How one dish can stir up memories and emotions,” she replied in a measured, heartfelt tone.
“Sounds like music to me,” Gunner mused.
“Food is my music,” she confessed with a conflicted smile. “It’s how I express everything I am—even when that expression is full of contradictions.”
“Then let’s keep cooking,” he suggested warmly. “Together.”
She returned his smile, and he could see her eyes flickering with both hope and hesitance. “Together.”
He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her, and placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “Just in case you haven’t heard it, you bring that special feeling—that meaning—to the people in Timber Falls. You know that, right?”
She leaned back into him, her voice soft and emotional. “Yeah, I know.”
“It might not be as grand as the stage you had in Atlanta, but it’s important,” he said, pressing another soft kiss on her shoulder. “I’m sorry for the men who let you down. And I’m even more sorry that I was once one of them.”
She turned in his embrace, looking up at him with bright yet conflicted eyes. “You’re not like them,” she said.
“I hurt you,” he admitted quietly, the remorse in his voice palpable.
“But you’re here, making all that pain seem to fade away,” she murmured, gently cupping his face with her trembling hands. “That means everything to me. Don’t lump yourself in with those others—you’re nothing like them.”
“I’m still sorry,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers, the admission heavy with regret.
She squeezed his face, drawing his lips to hers in a tender kiss. “And that only proves my point: you really are nothing like them.”
Eleven
Weeks had flown by in a whirl of chilly wedding planning days and warm evenings at the bar and nights tucked into Gunner’s arms. There hadn’t been a night they’d spent apart since the movie night, and every single day was better than the last.
Standing behind the bar early in the morning, waiting for Gunner’s friend to set up with the band to audition for the wedding, Aubrey watched the amber liquid swirl hypnotically in the glass as she added a splash of bitters. The familiar scents of oak and citrus wafted up, tickling her nose as she jotted down measurements in her dog-eared notepad.
