The next two hours fly by. It was a fairly busy night and I was glad to see the last of the reservations finally starting to come in. Max had popped into the kitchen, relieving me from the line. Ever since he offered me the partner position, he’s been more willing to split the time between actual cooking and office work. Once I’m cleaned up, I leave the restaurant and head toward my car. Several feet in front of me, I spot Natalie.
Deciding that my need for answers outweighed my desire to talk to her, I jog, catching up to her.
“Natalie,” I say, falling into step with her.
She stops when she realizes it’s me, her eyes growing wide. Her hair is still tied back into a high ponytail, the end swaying with her movements. “Oh, Logan. Hi.”
“I’m sorry to stop you. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure.” She curls in on herself. I can tell she’s afraid to talk to me. It’s as if she’s a different person than the one I met. The one who had kissed me only several weeks ago. She’s shy and timid. “What is it?”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “I wanted to ask you about something you said the night you kissed me.”
Her eyebrows shoot across her forehead, the brown arches curving above her soft eyes. “Logan.” She shakes her head. “We don’t have to talk about it. Like I said, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it.” She sidesteps around me, continuing her walk. She keeps her head low and her hands wrapped around the strap of her purse.
I follow her, stopping her again. “Wait, Natalie. Please.”
She shakes her head, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Logan. I’ve kept to myself these past few weeks. I’ve kept my head down and done the work. I love working at Bistro, more than I thought I would, and I don’t want to lose my job. It’s not worth it. I think it’s best if we forget about the whole thing.”
“I get it, Natalie. You’re an excellent chef. You’ve proven yourself. That’s why I haven’t fired you. I know you want to forget the kiss, but I need to know why you keep saying you didn’t expect to love the job.”
Her eyebrows knit in confusion. “I don’t get what you mean.”
“When we first met, on the day we were doing inventory, you couldn’t stop talking about how you were looking forward to working here. You ran your whole resume off to me like every other chef does. Like a badge of honor. But that night, in the parking lot, you said you didn’t expect to love the job. For someone who was raving about working here, it doesn’t sound right for you to not expect to love it.”
Natalie moves her gaze, focusing on her feet. She keeps her hands wrapped around her purse, scratching at one of her fingernails. She looks nervous under the night sky. A car passes as she glances over her shoulder, twisting her mouth.
I hold my breath, waiting for an answer. She’s silent, words clearly resting on the tip of her tongue. When her eyes catch mine, I know my intuition is right. Fear is woven into her gaze. She opens her mouth then closes it several times before finally speaking.
“I think you’re reading too much into my words, Logan. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” The cool air brushes along my skin. Goose bumps scatter across the skin of my arms. I cross them across my chest, hoping Natalie will let me in, even just a fraction.
She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what I meant by it. This was my first real job out of college. I didn’t want to screw it up. That’s all.”
I shake my head and unravel my arms. I still don’t believe her. There was hesitation in her voice. Unconvincing. “I don’t think that’s it, Natalie.”
“What do you want me to say, Logan?” she yells, stepping back, holding out her arms in surrender. “Just leave it alone, okay?”
I jerk my head back, stunned at her reaction. Her fear is magnified, moving across her body.
“I’m sorry.” I step forward, reaching my hand out. She steps back even farther, her chin quivering.
“No,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She crosses her arms over her chest, curling herself in. “I—” She swallows. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. I should go home.”
She moves around me again, passing me. I grab on to her arm, pulling her to a stop.
She freezes, her gaze unmoving. “Logan, please,” she whispers. A tear spills down her cheek. “Just stop.”
I let go, loosening my fingers. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she says, cutting me off. She turns her head, looking up to me. Her eyes are lined with tears and I can’t understand why. There’s pain mixed with the fear. “I know you didn’t. And I didn’t mean to hurt you and your wife. Please, just leave it alone.”
She pulls her arm away, never breaking her eyes away from mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With her arms crossed over her middle, she walks the last several feet to her car.
I stay where I am, letting her go. Raking my fingers through my hair, I push it back and breathe out a heavy sigh. What just happened?
On the way home, I can’t get Natalie’s reaction out of my head. What did she mean by not meaning to hurt me and Lena?
I walk into the kitchen, finding Lena standing in front of the stove. There’s a large cloud of gray-black smoke coming from the oven as she opens it and bends over.
“Oh, shit,” she hisses.
I step into the kitchen as she slides out a pan, the ingredients unrecognizable. Two white ramekins sit on top of the
