He grins a little, but it still looks different from the one I’m used to. “Just in this sphere of life. It wasn’t really until the New York Times ran an article about me. After that, I kinda blew up in the foodie world.” He says it like it’s the most casual thing.
I blink at him, trying not to let my mouth gape open so the man with the camera doesn’t catch it and turn me into a GIF.
“What was the article about?”
He shrugs. “How I’m the youngest chef in the world to earn three Michelin stars.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because, in the next moment, a short man in a shiny gray suit and a woman six inches taller than him walks up to our table and clasps Ryan on the shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t Ryan Henderson in the flesh. I’m surprised to see you tonight.”
Ryan doesn’t smile. His eyes slowly slide up to the man’s smug face before he looks back to me. “Noah, this is June, my girlfriend. She convinced me we should come.”
Again with the girlfriend! But this time, it doesn’t shock me so much. Instead, I feel a surge of pride.
Noah reminds me of a snake. His eyes are jet black when he looks at me—appraises me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely looking for something. “June, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet someone who has actual sway in Ryan’s life. We’ll have to talk later.” He winks at me, and then he and his date are directed to a table across the room.
I don’t know how to feel. The vibe is odd in here. Ryan seems oblivious, though. He’s a natural in this setting, and it shows in the confident set of his shoulders. It’s not that I feel insecure, but I certainly don’t feel comfortable here. Maybe it would be better if Ryan and I could actually talk, but we aren’t given a chance. Important person after important person works their way up to our table and monopolizes Ryan’s attention for the whole evening.
We are served the most delicious Columbian cuisine of pineapple empanadas and grilled plantains with braised beef, but Ryan is barely given a chance to take more than one bite of each food. Every journalist wants to know what he thinks of the dishes, and Ryan, wanting to help his friend, gives them all a praiseworthy quote.
Newer chefs shyly inch up to him and ask for his advice, and a few women boldly ask if he’s single. He always says no and directs their attention to me, but I wish he didn’t, because it makes me nervous to walk to the bathroom alone the rest of the evening.
After an hour and a half, I wish I could take Ryan up on his thirty-minute suggestion. I miss him even though I’ve been sitting across from him all night. Actually, no. I haven’t been sitting across from him all night. I’ve been sitting across from Ryan Henderson, the famous chef. I’m coming to realize there’s a big difference.
It’s not that Ryan is offensive in this state. In fact, if I were a random girl sitting at one of these tables, I’d be drooling too. It’s just that he’s more…refined. Serious. Poised. He wears his fame well, and for some reason, that unnerves me. He looks comfortable here under all the scrutiny. Almost like it’s where he belongs.
More than once, I catch myself watching him while he talks to someone important and wondering how he’s going to give all this up.
Is it terrible that I’m relieved he will give it up? That this sort of schmoozing won’t be a regular occurrence for us? Ryan looks beautiful and stoic and severe in this chef mask he wears, but I miss the Ryan with a teasing glint in his eye.
He tells me he wants to go congratulate David before we leave, and while he’s gone, I take my cloth napkin and fold it into a teeny-tiny square. I fold to keep myself from focusing on how adrift I feel in the center of this restaurant, among all the people wondering how I got so lucky to be Ryan’s date tonight.
I’m so focused on trying to turn my napkin into a swan that I almost don’t notice when Ryan’s seat gets taken. I look up into jet-black eyes. “So, June, right?” says the man I met earlier named Noah.
I nod and tuck my napkin into my lap. “Yep. And you’re Noah.”
He smiles and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, making himself comfortable, and me the exact opposite. “You know, earlier today, when Ryan came to look at the restaurant, I was confused about why he’d turn down the job.” Ah, so that’s who this guy is. “But now, looking at you, I can see it all perfectly.”
His words pinch me. “Oh?” I glance toward the kitchen and wish Ryan would come back out.
Noah gestures toward my face and down my body. “You’re gorgeous. And he’s clearly crazy about you. Those are the only two things in life that can persuade a man like Ryan to give up all his dreams.” Give up all his dreams. I look away from Noah, wishing I could turn away from his words just as easily.
Come back out, Ryan.
“It was all his decision. He said it wasn’t a good fit for him.” My voice sounds quiet.
Noah makes a scoffing, guttural noise from somewhere in his throat and leans back in his seat. “Well, of course he did. Good men like Ryan will give up everything for the women they care about. But what happens in five years when all those tingly little sparks fade?” I see what he’s doing. I’m not going to let his words affect me. I’m not. “Eh, but don’t mind me. I’m just bitter because he turned me down. This restaurant was going to be huge for both of us. An epic career changer. But that’s okay. I wish you guys the best of luck. Better than my luck, at least.”
I must give him some hint that I’m curious about his meaning, because as he’s standing from the table and adjusting his tie, he says, “I was married once to a woman I loved. But those sparks faded, and now, I regret waiting so long to launch my career. I hope that doesn’t happen for you and Ryan.”
Noah leaves the table, and when he’s gone, I pick up my napkin again and fold, fold, fold. My hands are trembling. Where is Ryan? I feel lightheaded. Come on, Ryan. I look toward the kitchen door again and will it to open. It doesn’t, and my whole body is shaking with energy now that I can’t contain. I bounce my knee to keep myself from doing something more drastic, but I feel the need to run bubbling through my veins.
I hate that weasel, Noah. He’s sleazy, and I’m not oblivious to it. But I also feel the truth in his words. Ryan is giving up too much for me. He’s going to regret it. When we fight, he’ll bring it up. If my company thrives, he’ll resent it.
I can’t do that to him. To me.
Before I fully realize it, I’m standing from the table and rushing toward the exit.
Chapter 30 Ryan
I come back from the kitchen and find June’s seat empty. Thinking she must be in the bathroom; I sit down and order another drink. People have been coming to the table all night, and now is no exception. I’m forced to smile and talk with a few people, but with every minute that goes by without June returning to the table, a sense of foreboding builds.
Finally getting a break in conversation, I text June to make sure she’s okay. I’m half expecting a text saying she’s sick, because of how long she’s been in there. Five more minutes pass and still no response.
Enough is enough.
I make my way to the women’s restroom and crack the door open. “June. You okay in here?” It feels uncomfortable calling out in a bathroom like this, but what else am I supposed to do?
“Uh, no one else is in here but me,” says a lady who is definitely not June.
I let the door close, feeling even more concerned now. If June is not in the bathroom, where is she?
As I’m turning a circle in the hallway and scraping my hand through my hair, Noah comes out of the men’s bathroom. “Why are you hovering outside of the ladies’ room?” he asks, smirking in a way I don’t appreciate.
“I thought June was in there.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, she left, like, thirty minutes ago. I assumed there was some sort of emergency with how quick she was moving out the door in those heels.”
“What?” My voice is so stern the walls rattle.
