Page 3 of Needing You

“Really, Will? I’m just asking for a few minutes to talk—”

He took a step closer, and the air temperature between us spiked like he was made of fire. But to anyone watching, this conversation probably appeared perfectly amiable. His face had gone smooth, and he even shrugged, though I could still see the heat in his gaze. “We should have talked before you left. I don’t think there’s much to say at this point. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in a meeting with my brother.”

Without another word, Will Walker, my first love and the man who my son reminded me of more and more every day, slipped back into the kitchen and disappeared.

2

WILL

Yesterday’s meeting had been interrupted by Kate, so here I was, trying again to get my brother to see reason. If Eric would get his head out of his ass, he’d see I’m right. He stared at me, his lips pressed together in a thin line I’d come to recognize as his expression whenever I brought something up he didn’t like.

Not to be that guy, but which one of us had been cooking in restaurants for the last ten years? Which one of us had over a decade of culinary experience built up? Oh, that’s right,me.

So I tried one more time. “I’m not saying you need to change everything. Like I’ve mentioned, what, thirty times since I got back? I’m simply suggesting revamping things a little.”

He shifted his attention back to the paper in front of him, lifted his pencil—yes, an actual graphite-and-wood pencil—and scratched something down. Without looking up, he said, “Consider your opinion noted.”

Where I’d initially felt rage at his dismissal of me, today, I’d come in expecting this. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

I chuckled, not at all surprised that sturdy, reliable, dad-brother Eric couldn’t resist getting the last word in. As twins, we knew each other on a level we didn’t always understand, and I pushed his buttons like no one else. He was Brenna, Jake, and Sammy’s older brother, but with me? I had him by six minutes age-wise, and there was no way I’d let him boss me around like he bossed them around.

“I’ll be sure to remind you of how many times you put me off when the time comes for me to say ‘I told you so.’” I pulled his door open and sauntered out, ears perked to hear whatever parting comment he made.

He definitely made one, but he must’ve whispered it. I’d let him have it this time—let him think he’d won. I hadn’t succeeded in New York by giving up, and I wasn’t leaving Granite Springs. Eventually, he’d see reason and hire me to manage the kitchen at Walker’s brewery. Until then? I’d live my life.

And maybe I’d keep working on ideas for the future menu.

“Heading out?” Sammy asked from behind the bar.

“Am I hallucinating? Are you actually working right now?” It was four in the afternoon on a Friday. Normally, Sammy would be off doing… whatever he did, leaving the slowest shift with minimal tips to whatever poor schmuck he could enlist to take his place.

My sweet, idiot little brother grinned. “Sure am. I’m all responsible and shit.”

I snorted. “Right. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”

He saluted—again, idiot. But endearing. He was twenty-six but acted more like he was twenty. Sometimes I wondered if he’d stopped maturing at sixteen when our dad passed. Certainly, our world stopped spinning the same way it had before we lost him.

* * *

On Sunday,I pushed out into the bright August afternoon and squinted against the sun. August in Colorado was pretty magnificent, and though I still missed parts of my life in the city—mainly, having my own kitchen, my own apartment, and my life generally straightened out—I was genuinely glad to be home.

Home. Yes, as trite as it might sound, it did feel like home. Different in many ways but still home. Not that I feltathome here. I definitely felt welcomed by my mom and brothers—at least everyone but my crusty twin—but I wasn’t exactly a friendly local face anymore.

I’d busted the hell out of here when Dad passed, and I didn’t look back. I think I made it back for Christmas once, but I was always the new guy. Restaurants in New York don’t close for the holidays—people go there to celebrate. I worked my ass off for a decade until I finally hit the reality that I wasn’t actually happy. I had no life outside of cooking and fucking, and it’d been a while since I’d done the latter. Meaningless sex had lost its charm a few years earlier, and I hadn’t had time for a relationship.

I stroked a hand over my steering wheel in what had to be the assholiest move of all time, but shit, I loved this car. In my early days in New York, I’d invested with a friend, and it just happened the fucker was a genius. His startup hitbig. I’d lived fairly simply in New York because of my schedule, so I hadn’t spent any of that cash. Working in kitchens wasn’t exactly glamorous, high-paying work until you’re a celebrity, and while I’d made a decent name for myself, my wealth had come from my investing. Thank God, because otherwise, I’d be screwed here at week eight since leaving New York without a job.

Once I parked in front of the town’s only grocery store, I reviewed the list I’d made on my phone. I needed a few things for a recipe I wanted to try, and my mom had asked me to pick up some things for tonight’s family dinner as well.

Did I love living with my mother at the ripe age of nearly thirty? No.

But did I love doing this stuff for her after I’d abandoned the family for a decade? Shit yeah.

I grabbed a cart and loaded up the things she needed before making my way back to the produce section. I wanted to try out a zucchini dish before I suggested it as the vegetarian option for the pub menu. They had one sorry eggplant parmesan recipe that’d been in use for nearly two decades, and it wasdisgusting. Also, pardon my french, but eggplants can go fuck themselves.

Berries looked good, so I grabbed some of those. Maybe I’d make pavlovas with berries for dessert tonight. Sammy wouldn’t appreciate the skill behind the delicate, crispy exterior with its pillowy soft center, but if I told him to shut up and pretend it was nothing more than a fancy cake, he’d eat it.

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