Page 3 of Unconditionally With Me
“That would be hard to do in a city as well-developed as New York,” he counters.
“Huh? I don’t understand. What did Rachel leave me?”
“A building, Elle. She left you a piece of premier real estate here in Seattle.”
The last thing I remember before passing out is the bird flying away off my windowsill. I think I hit the ground before it passed my windows.
“Elle? Elle, are you there?”
* * *
“A building in Seattle.What the hell am I going to do with that?” I grumble as I make my way to the Parkhurst subway station. I woke up with three messages from Rob advising me to call him back, worrying about my health.
I quickly reassured him I was okay, but I needed to get ready to go to work. Not a lie, and maybe baking something would clear my head.
But on the hour-long ride from the Bronx to downtown Manhattan, all I could think was,What the hell am I going to do with a building in Seattle?
I decide to keep this to myself until I know more because right now, this is what’s real. This is my life. The people here in this city are all that I have left, and I’m not about to let them down.
I slip in the back door of the restaurant I’ve dedicated the last eight years of my life to and quickly stash my jacket and purse in my locker. I tuck my hair in a net and slip into a comforting white coat and hat before I transform from the shaken woman on the train to the executive pastry chef of one of the sexiest restaurants in the city. I call out to one of my best protégés, “Abby, what are you in the mood to delight our customers with tonight?”
She bites her lower lip in thought, flicking her tongue through her gold piercing a second before her face lightens. “Something dark and moody. Something with a hint of smoke that lingers on your tongue.”
I think for just a second before I grab her hand and drag her to the front of the house where our handsome bartender Baptiste is polishing glasses. He grins when he spies us both. “Ladies, what brings you to my bar so early in the day?”
I nudge Abby and have her repeat what she’s looking for. Baptiste purses his lips before bringing down two highballs and splashing some Dewar’s Illegal Smooth into them. “Try that. We can go deeper, but since you’re baking off the alcohol…” He clucks his tongue.
I hold up my glass to Abby and say, “To dark and moody.” Which suits my mood perfectly.
She taps hers against mine before we both take a drink.
The smoky taste is overlaid with vanilla and caramel with just a hint of citrus. My lips curve when I imagine it paired with the darkest of chocolate. Abby’s eyes widen—I’m certain as the alcohol hits her stomach. “Perfect.”
Then I hear Trina’s voice behind me. “For what?”
Abby anxiously asks, “Umm, are we in trouble?”
I snicker before waving my finger for another round. Baptiste, being the smart man he is, pulls down a third glass. Handing it to our executive chef, and my best friend, I weave a decadent image in her head. “Think dark and moody, think chocolate, think…”
“Tonight’s featured dessert?” Trina taps her glass against mine before she sips on the drink. Like me, she lets the whisky linger in her mouth before swallowing it. “Flambé?”
I shake my head. “Too obvious. I was thinking along the lines of a single-layer dense cake. Almost fudge.”
“Love it. Baptiste, you’ll deal with whatever Elle needs?”
“Got it.”
The three of us head back into the kitchen with Abby grinning. I’m about to excuse us when Trina stops me. “Are you okay?”
I’m about to wave off what I’m feeling, but we’ve been friends for too long. She probably could tell something was wrong the moment she laid eyes on me. “Not here.”
“Let’s do lunch tomorrow, then, unless you have plans with Julian?”
Trina’s mention of my longtime boyfriend—who happens to be her husband’s twin—causes me to trip. Unlike her and Jonas, Julian and I are different. Vastly. We’re not joined at the hip with the three perfect children. A swell of bitterness is quickly tamped down when I dredge up the fact we’ve been together for three years and we haven’t even discussed moving in together. “Nope, I’m free.”
She frowns, as if confused by my response—the oddness that I don’t live in my significant other’s back pocket the way she does—but doesn’t say any more. Instead, she squeezes my arm affectionately and leaves me to go do her job and me, mine. Which is what I really need right now.
I just really need to not think about everything that happened this afternoon. I need a lifeline somewhere. And work is one of the few places I know I can get it.
