Page 90 of Single-Minded
Daniel continues, “I don’t know. There were times when I stayed with her because I didn’t have the energy to leave her. Eventually, my father told me he was going to have to call the food editor at theTimes-Picayuneto let him know what happened at the restaurant the last time she exploded. He was obviously conflicted about it. I was angry at first, but I understood, of course. There was no way she wasn’t going to get fired. I can’t blame Chef—aside from the big scenes, and who knows what she would have written about our restaurants, or a new opening, if she was angry—she was really out of control by then.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He speaks slowly now, “She cried and told me it was only because she loved me so much and she knew she was losing me. I didn’t want her to lose her job. There was part of me that felt responsible. I asked my father not to call her boss, to give her another chance, and told him I’d leave town and open a restaurant outside New Orleans.”
“But you love New Orleans,” I say.
“I love my family more,” he says. “And I’d never risk our family legacy.”
“So you left?” I ask.
“It was okay. We’d been wanting to expand, and it got my family out of an awkward position, and allowed me to end the relationship. I felt suffocated, I had to get away from her.”
“What happened when you told her you were leaving?” I ask.
“Nothing, at first,” he says. “I just left. I changed my number. I traveled for a bit, was a guest chef for a time at a couple of different places—the Boudreaux family name does open a lot of doors. I thought that if I came right out and told her I was ending the relationship that she’d retaliate against my family’s restaurants. But if I just left, I figured she’d eventually move on. That all that anger would dissipate, that maybe she wouldn’t hate me as much.”
“So not exactly as planned,” I say.
“And then when Archer called me about the boat, I knew it was time to open my own restaurant. And I knew Sarasota was the place I wanted to do it.”
“Can you blame her for thinking the two of you were still together?” I ask, “I mean, since you never actually ended it.”
“It’s been a year and a half since I left. I haven’t spoken with her. Before I came here, I hadn’t stayed any one place for more than six months. But maybe I should have said something. I still don’t know if it would have made things worse, or preclude what happened the other day. But if I could go back and change something to prevent yesterday morning from happening like that, I would.”
“So what happened after I left?” I ask. I’m torn. I feel incredible sympathy for Daniel if what he’s saying is true. But I have no real way of knowing if it is. And that scares the hell out of me.
“I told her that you and I were seeing each other, that I didn’t love her anymore, that I was serious about you, and that I’d do anything to convince you of that.” My heart skips a beat at that revelation.
“What did she do?” I ask. I’m so confused. What would Sasha’s side of the story be? Did she really think after all that time, after everything that happened, that Daniel somehow belonged to her? If Sasha were a man, she’d probably be arrested for stalking. It was an uncommon act of kindness and generosity on Daniel’s part, to save her job and move away from the city he loved to protect his family’s restaurant legacy. But I’m unnerved by what seems like Sasha’s utter audacity, bursting right in, and I’m afraid there’s more to the story than he’s telling me. If I’m going to trust him at all, I have to trust him at his word, and that is terrifying and disconcertingly familiar. I’m not sure if I can do it.
Or if I should.
“She was upset,” he says. “But we talked for some time yesterday, and I think she understood. And even if she doesn’t, I’ve already moved forward.”
We stand there in the darkness, and he silently holds my hand. My mind is awhirl with my doubts and fears. Is he telling the truth? Is it foolish to leave myself vulnerable to any man? Is my heart overruling my brain because it knows better, or because it doesn’t?
“I’m so drawn to you, Daniel,” I say. “But I don’t know that I can trust you. And I just can’t survive another betrayal. I just can’t.”
He shakes his head, “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re so afraid of being hurt by love that you’re willing to sacrifice everything amazing that comes along with it?”
I know he’s right. I just don’t know if I’m willing to risk it.
“I know where your soft spots are,cher.I promise you can put your faith in me,” he says.
Steadfast.That was the word Daniel’s mother had used to describe him. It’s an unusual word, one of another time. And yet my instincts are telling me that it suits Daniel perfectly.
I think about how close Daniel is with his family, how clearly they adore and respect each other, how the black-and-white photo he mounted next to our table feels like a declaration, how with the exception of yesterday morning, I’ve never gotten a single inkling that Daniel is anything but the good man I believe him to be.
“Alex, I’m in love with you,” he says softly. And suddenly, there’s nothing I believe to be truer.
Maybe it’s the accent.
79
Things may not have worked out exactly how I planned, or even close to how I planned, but they still worked out pretty well, even without me being in charge of everything.
I’m happy, actually happy. My business has taken off, after all the effort I poured into it over the last year. I’ve built something lasting that sustained me though my stormiest days. It feels good. If nothing else, I’ve learned that I can depend on myself even when I can’t depend on anyone else. Even disasters can become triumphs.
