Page 14 of Selfish Desires

The rhythm of the kitchen continued: the clanging of the pots and pans against the stove, the sizzle of the juicy burgers grilling, and the bustling chatter of the staff. But I was deaf to it all, trapped in my own world. My heart was entangled in a whirlpool of emotions, pulling me in directions I dreaded even pondering.

“Order up,” a voice called from somewhere nearby, snapping me back from my thoughts. I looked over at Jeremy, one of the other chefs, who was neatly stacking beef sliders on a platter.

“Coming,” I murmured, setting my dough aside and wiping my hands on my apron. Moving mechanically, I ladled some chunky tomato sauce onto a plate of spaghetti and meatballs before sliding it onto a heating lamp.

“I'll take that!” Marissa chimed in, swiftly grabbing the plate to deliver it to one of our lunch regulars. Her resolute look afterward spoke volumes. My decision was out in the open now—no more hiding.

As the hours passed and lunch service ended, the tension in the kitchen started to ease. Conversations picked up again, filling the air with light-hearted banter, while Marissa and I caught ourselves stealing glances at each other across the kitchen.

It wasn't until after the early bird dinner service that Marissa approached me again. As we tidied up for closing time, she gently touched my shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” The concern pooling in Marissa's dark orbs grounded me.

“Yeah. I'm fine. It's just a lot to process, you know? I force myself not to think about what happened, and when I can't escape it anymore, it all comes rushing back.”

“I think you need to go. It'll be fun. You'll get to meet Sadie. See old friends without forgetting about your new ones.” Marissa winked, shifting on her tired sneaker-clad feet.

“Don't worry. You'll never be replaced.” I tossed her a sheepish grin.

Her smile broadened, the warmth behind it melting some of the icy dread inside my chest. “That's what I like to hear, boss,” she replied playfully, giving my shoulder a light punch before unlacing her stained apron from the day and tossing it into the used linen bin. “I'll get ready to close up. Whenever you want, just go. I'll lock up.”

“Who's the boss here?” I asked, undoing my chef's coat and fanning it out.

“You are. Definitely you.” Marissa smiled, pushing the laundry bin off to the side. “Just remember, everything will be fine.”

I watched her go, her words echoing in my mind. I was terrified about going back, about opening that chapter of my life again. But maybe Marissa was right—maybe confronting those feelings was exactly what I needed to do.

Arriving at my cozy home about an hour later, I clicked on the lights, letting my skin bask in the warm house, and closed the door behind me. The comfort of home wrapped around me like a blanket as I peeled off the layers of clothes until I was in a black tank top with matching boy shorts. That was what I loved about New England weather transitioning from autumn to winter. It had a way of cocooning you, drawing you inward. The crackling fire in the hearth added to the cozy ambiance, casting a warm glow on the blanched hardwood floors and filling the room with a smoky scent.

I took a bottle of red wine from the rack, popped it open, and poured myself a generous glass. The liquid, rich and dark as love lost, swirled around in my glass like a crimson cyclone before I took a sip. The musky, full-bodied flavor of the wine filled my senses, echoing the complexity of emotions throbbing inside me.

The memories I had locked away all these years suddenly started flowing back. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him. His defined cheekbones and his smile that used to spread warmth in my chest only triggered spiky, iced daggers.

I moved toward the window, looking out onto the silent street painted white by the season's first flurry. As each snowflake fell from the sky, it seemed to carry a piece of my past. Every snowflake represented an unspoken word or an unresolved feeling between Vincent and me.

And so, I stood, lost in the maelstrom of my thoughts. Night fell, replacing the flurry with a blanket of untouched white. The street lamp glowed a golden glow like a watercolor painting taking life before my eyes.

The wine had long lost its charm. Even the crackling fire had quieted to a nearly silent hum. I sat down in my old rocker by the window, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. The combination of the wine and exhaustion lulled me into a strange state between sleep and wakefulness. Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers dialed Blair's number, and I waited.

“Wendy?” Blair answered on the third ring. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I swallowed. “I hope I didn't wake you.”

“Not at all.” Blair chuckled. “Sadie isn't the best sleeper, which means I don't sleep.”

“Aw, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I wouldn't trade it for anything.” Blair sighed, and I could picture her closing her eyes, tipping her head back. “So, what's up?”

“I want to come to Sadie's birthday.” The words fell off my tongue faster than I anticipated but were also freeing.

“Oh my God, yes!” Blair shouted. “Wendy, this is going to be great. You'll stay with us.” And then there was a crash.

“Are you okay?” I was laughing now because Blair definitely knocked something or herself over.

“Yeah. Just knocked my chair backward. Oh, Wendy. This is going to be so much fun,” Blair gushed.

“I might want to stay in my own hotel. It's been a while, so I may want to explore. I'll see.” I shrugged for no one to see. “But, I'm happy I'm doing this.”