“No,” she says, quietly. “I just figured I would wait for you and we could walk to our cars together. The streets are pretty dark this time of night.”
I look down the street, toward the parking lot located off the side of the building where we’re parked. It isn’t far but Natalie is telling the truth about the lighting. Other than the glowing of the business signs and streetlights, it is quite dark. There aren’t many cars driving at this time of night. Not only are the restaurants closed, it’s also past the time when bars normally close. The street is eerily quiet.
“Sure,” I tell her, hoping the drive home won’t take long.
We begin walking down the sidewalk and I feel the need to fill the silence with small talk. I’m glancing down alleyways and street corners, hoping not to find anyone following us. “Do you feel comfortable closing on your own now?”
“Yeah," Natalie says, turning her head to face me. She keeps walking, her steps light and slow. “You’re a great mentor.”
“Nah,” I scoff. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing.”
“Stop it. You’re an incredible chef. You deserve to be where you are. You shouldn’t question your talent.”
I smile, feeling my cheeks warm at her compliment. I’m not used to them and it feels foreign. I could be a chef for another forty years and never understand how people could say I’m that good. Like I said, most chefs are quick to brag, I’m not.
Once we reach our cars, I stop in front of mine, only parked a few spots over from hers.
I unlock my car, the lights bouncing off the brick wall of the building. “Well, drive safe tonight. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Thanks for walking with me.”
“No problem.” I sigh.
“Goodnight, Logan.” Natalie smiles, her white teeth reflecting in the shadow of the yellow light hanging over us. I return her smile then turn around to open my car door.
I have it halfway open when a hand reaches out, stopping me. Natalie’s hand clutches on to the sleeve of my chef jacket, turning me around to face her. Before I have a chance to understand what she’s doing, her mouth is on mine. She pushes me back, pressing her hips against mine. The car door slams shut, and she opens her mouth, attempting to slide her tongue between my pressed lips. I lift my hands, pushing at her shoulders.
She breaks away from me, stumbling backward. Her back lands against the car behind her.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask her. The pulse in my neck quickens as the blood drains from my head. I clench my fists, anger brewing inside me.
“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”
“What in the hell gave you that idea?” I’m yelling. The street and parking lot are silent aside from my booming voice. I can’t help it. This was wrong on so many levels.
Natalie looks down at the ground, pouting her lips. I feel sick.
“Well,” she says, her chest moving rapidly. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together and you were clearly flirting with me. I thought you liked me.”
“You think that I’ve been flirting with you?” I ask, knitting my eyebrows. “I was being nice because you’re new here. I’m fucking married, Natalie. You knew that. Not to mention, I’m your boss.” I point to my chest then wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. Her lipstick is smeared across my lips, the stickiness clinging to me like fresh glue. It tastes like cotton candy. Sickly sweet. I can’t get rid of it.
I wipe the back of my hand against my pants, hoping it will somehow make it disappear. The gloss disappears but the color remains stained on my skin.
My teeth grind against each other as I clench my jaw tighter.
“I don’t understand,” Natalie says. “From what I’ve been able to tell, it doesn’t seem like you’re exactly happy in your marriage.”
“How on earth would you know I’m not happy in my marriage?”
Natalie twists her mouth, darting her eyes to the ground. “I could just tell.”
I take a step backward, my back hitting the side of my car. I point to Natalie. “This was never going to happen, and my marriage is none of your business. From now on, stay away from me and stay away from my wife.” Natalie’s kiss has made me lose all faith in her and her intentions. Here I was, thinking she was a fresh out of college chef, hoping to bolster her career. Instead, she’s been spending her time thinking we had some kind of relationship outside our work.
Natalie steps forward, her eyes spread wide. “Please don’t fire me over this. It was a misunderstanding.” She shifts her eyes to the side for a brief second, looking down at the ground.
It doesn’t feel right. Natalie’s leaving a piece of her story out, but I’m too angry to care about her reasons.
I rub my palms against my eyes, frustrated. They feel swollen and tired. My thoughts are all over the place, a mess of what to do. I lower my hands and stare at Natalie. “I don’t know.” I throw my hands up. “I don’t know how to deal with this right now.” I turn around, opening my car door once again. Her hand stops me, again.
I jerk my arm back. “Don’t,” I grit out.
“Please,” she begs, tears lining her eyes. “You really don’t understand. I didn’t expect to fall in love with this job. I need it.”
I stare into her eyes, more confused than when she had kissed me. “What do you mean you didn’t expect to love it? This is your career.”
She looks different now. Her face has transformed into a mixture of fear and innocence. I don’t buy it. “Just, please, Logan. Everything I told you about me was true. I can’t lose my
