“What truth?”
I grip the chair tighter, and my stomach tenses at the memory. “I’m not sure if you’ve been to his restaurant in Tribeca, but it’s an open-concept kitchen theater, so I was able to watch him talking to the reviewer while I was basting her swordfish in butter. Let’s just say…they knew each other. And not just as friends.”
Ethan looks skeptical. “How do you know that?”
I pause for a moment, wondering if this is something Ethan wants to hear. “It was something he did when he walked away from her table, after he patted her on the shoulder.”
He looks confused as I pause. “Is that it? He patted her on the shoulder.”
“I wish. You see, her long hair was covering her shoulders. So, after he patted her shoulder, he…he sniffed his hand.”
Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Yeah, it was the same thing he used to do to me when we first started dating. Sometimes, we’d go out behind the restaurant during our break and—” I stop short when Ethan shakes his head, signaling me to skip this part. “Anyway, when we were dating, I asked him why he did this, and he said the smell of my hair made him feel close to me, as if I was right there with him.”
Ethan looks like he’s ready to crawl out of his skin. “So, he was cheating on you? That’s why you broke up?”
I shake my head. “No. Even if I thought the hand-sniffing was suspicious, it wasn’t proof. It was what he said to me when I confronted him about it.”
Ethan stands up straighter, steeling himself as he seems to understand we’re getting to the bad part of the story.
I take a long, deep breath before I continue. “I told myself I wouldn’t say anything about the sniffing thing until after the reviewer left. No sense in making a scene and ruining his chance for another one or two stars based on my possibly shaky suspicions. But Edward walked in to the kitchen as I was plating her swordfish, and I got distracted for a second as I imagined them having sex… And I dropped her fish on the floor.”
The discomfort in Ethan’s face turns to sympathy. “What did he do?”
I chuckle at the memory now. “He told me to wake the fuck up. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to the kitchen staff like that, but he’d never done it to me. And after what I’d just seen, I lost it. I went to hide in the walk-in cooler for a while to collect myself, but he followed me in there.”
Ethan uncrosses his arms and his stance softens as if he’s preparing to comfort me.
“He said he didn’t have time for me to have an emotional meltdown,” I continue. “He said I should act like I needed the job. I told him I didn’t need the job, that I’d gotten a job offer from that influencer who came in a couple weeks earlier.”
“Did you really have a job offer?” Ethan asks curiously.
I’m suddenly reminded of the internship offer I’ve been hiding from him, but now is not the time to bring that up.
I nod slowly. “Yeah, but it went up in smoke after they found out about what happened with Edward.”
“So, he was pissed you hid the job offer from him, and you were pissed he cheated on you? And that’s why you broke up.”
I shrug as if I don’t know the answer to this question, but I’m really just trying to give myself a moment to collect my thoughts, because we’re quickly approaching the difficult part. “We argued a bit more, but the only part of the argument that really stuck with me is what he said before I walked out. I told him I didn’t need the sous chef job, and he said I might not need the job, but I needed his validation like I needed air to breathe. He said, ‘Without me, you’re nothing.’”
“Fucking tosser,” Ethan whispers.
“That’s not it,” I continue. “After he said I was nothing, he said he would make certain of that. He definitely kept his promise… Anyway, then I said, ‘Well, not only do I quit, but now I’m breaking up with you.’ And his response was, ‘Good. Now I can stop pretending I enjoy shagging your fat arse.’”
The silence that follows is heavier than the proofing cabinet we loaded into Tino’s truck a few days ago. And the fury in Ethan’s eyes is unmistakably not directed at me.
“You stay here,” he says, reaching for the door handle.
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he replies impatiently, and his eyes fill with shame when he sees me physically flinch at his tone. “I’m sorry, just…please promise me you’ll stay here.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
“I know you don’t, but you promised me you’d let me handle Edward today,” he reminds me. “Besides, this is personal. This is my restaurant opening. This is between me and my twat brother. I don’t want you dragged into it. You understand?”
I nod as I realize he’s sparing me the reputation of being responsible for ruining his opening.
“Good,” he replies, his tone softer now. “Just stay here.”
The way he’s taking charge of the situation, and removing my agency, if I’m being honest, reminds me of the way he went caveman on me at the hotel a few days ago. I remember the British-caveman voice he used, and I find myself wishing he would whisper filthy caveman words in my ear.
“Yes, Chef. I stay here. You fight battle.”
His shoulders relax and a smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Be right back,
