“You need me?” I say, unable to hide my grin. “The great Ethan Thorne needs me?”
“Like a hole in the head,” he says, chuckling briefly at the glare I shoot in his direction. “I need your laugh. I need your beautiful smile,” he says, reaching up to brush his thumb across the ledge of my bottom lip. “I need your big heart. I need you as my partner, and not just in the kitchen. I need you everywhere. I need you more than anything and everything I’ve ever needed.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. Everywhere.”
My insides fill with warmth as all my doubts disintegrate into nothing. Ethan loves me more than he ever loved Priya.
My smile disappears, and I’m overwhelmed with guilt. Minka repeatedly pointed out to me how Ethan must have felt the same discomfort when thinking of Edward and me together.
“I’m sorry I didn’t—” I shake my head when he tries to interrupt me. “No, I need to apologize for this. I…I should have told you about the internship. It’s no excuse, but I was so afraid you’d fire me… But I’m so tired of being afraid.”
“I can relate to that,” he says with the most charming smile I’ve ever seen. “Come back to Forked, love… Come back to me… Paris can wait.”
I sigh and lean into his hand as he brushes a tear from my cheek. “I still have one question.”
His eyes are wild with hope now. “What?”
I take his free hand in both of mine and smile as I ask, “Fifty-one forty-nine split?”
He laughs softly as he shakes his head. “I’ll give you a hundred percent, if that’s what it takes.”
“Fifty-fifty sounds perfect.”
As his mouth falls over mine, I lose myself in the moment. I’m unaware if anyone is watching us, nor do I care. All I know is Ethan’s kiss is very much like his love: passionate and risky, but also tender and sweet, with zero bittersweet aftertaste.
Chapter 21
ETHAN
Thirteen years earlier
It’s been more than three days since I found out about my grandfather’s death. Three days since I booked an urgent flight to Bangladesh, which leaves tomorrow night. Three days since I sent an email to my development training instructor asking if I’ll be able to take the exam on food-borne illnesses before I leave for the airport. Three days and still no response.
It also doesn’t seem as if Garrett—Chef Garrett Evans prefers we call him by his first name—has checked his voicemail since the beginning of the term, seeing as his inbox always says it’s full and cannot accept messages. I’ve gotten bad vibes from Garrett almost from the get-go. Though I’m not looking forward to it, I have no choice but to visit his office on campus.
As I exit the tube at Oxford Circus and head in the direction of Chef Academy London, I think about how I came to choose this culinary school. I hesitated when I found out the campus was less than a year old. My hope was that the extraordinary reputation they’d acquired at their Italian location was an indication they’d worked out the kinks in the administrative aspect.
Acceptance to the advanced chef program requires all students successfully complete a rigorous seventy-five-hour development training course. The class requires HACCP—Hazard Analysis Critical Control Point—certification for food and fire safety as well as an extensive list of other requirements: knowledge of mise en place, knife skills, flavors, techniques and presentations. All this before I can even begin the chef program.
Honestly, I’m beginning to question my choice to seek a career in the culinary arts. I’m more interested in doing it than studying it. It doesn’t help that Edward decided, at the last minute, that he also wanted to pursue a career in cooking. But he insisted we attend different schools.
It’s almost as if he wants to turn our post-secondary education into a bloody competition.
It’s a good thing Priya agreed to join me at Chef Academy London, or I’d feel even more alone and uncertain about my career choice.
Priya and I have been together less than a year. She hasn’t even met Edward or my parents yet. So, when she offered to apply to Chef Academy a few months into our relationship, I realized how much she loves me.
Initially, knowing Priya’s decision would upset her parents, I refused her offer. Her parents are very traditional. They expect her to follow in her brother’s footsteps and become a barrister. Eventually, I realized I have no right to tell Priya what school she can and can’t apply to.
And neither do her parents.
Now, Priya and I are living together in London. Doing our coursework together. Cooking and doing the wash together. Afterward all the work is done, we engage in our favorite activity together.
The receptionist waves me through as I head to the corridor that leads to the administrative offices at Chef Academy London. Taking the hallway to the very end, I turn right and find the third door on the right for Garrett’s office. Making a fist, I raise my hand to knock on the door, but I stop myself when I realize the door is slightly ajar.
It looks as if someone hastily closed the door, not noticing the latch didn’t catch. If I knock on the door, that may push the door open, which could be an invasion of privacy. Living with a pushy mum like mine, I certainly know how mortifying it is to get caught having a wank.
I’m about to knock on the doorframe instead, when I hear a familiar sound coming from inside the office. My heart pounds in my skull as I shake my head. It can’t
