Page 11 of Chef's Kiss

The sidewalk runs down our street to the town square, then along the promenade, before it turns to rocky coast path and winds up into the cliffs. I go even slower on the climb, teeth gritted against a stitch in my side, but for the first time in hours, my mind is blissfully blank.

Until Andre says, “You asked me what I thought of your letter.”

Oh my god.

My sneakers slam harder into the packed dirt, like I’m stomping on my beautiful neighbor’s stupid feet. Without meaning to, I put on a burst of speed. “What happened to our deal? If you brought me out here to reject meagain, I swear to god, Andre—”

“On this cliff path? With those rocks below?” He nudges my side, teasing, but it’s not funny. I glare out at the blue sky, willing away tears.

Does he really need to hammer it home? I get it, okay?

It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. He’s a smart and talented chef and a walking slice of human perfection and I’m… fine. I get by. You know: I try to be a nice person, and I’m not horrible to look at, and I draw well enough to get paid for it but ultimately I am average in all ways. It was always a reach.

“I’m in a sports bra, you ass. I’m emotionally vulnerable. This isn’t fair.”

“I’m not rejecting you, Faith.”

Thatshuts me up. I chew over his words as we climb higher and higher above the town, the long grass beside the path swishing in the wind. I don’t speak again. Don’t trust myself.

Out in the distance, a mile or so further along the cliffs, the traveling circus have set up their big top tent. It’s stripey and bright, surrounded by smaller tents and trailers, and at the sight of it, something pinches in my chest.

Longing.

Longing to be somewhere far, far away.

I could go. It shouldn’t always be Stephen leavingmebehind. I could run away from this mess and start over somewhere fresh, somewhere I’ve never humiliated myself or fallen in unrequited love with my neighbor.

Sounds pretty nice.

“We could go if you like,” Andre says, following my gaze to the far-off tent.

I stumble, one sneaker scuffing the rocky ground. “What? Forever?”

Andre’s head jerks around to stare at me. The rest of his body keeps jogging with perfect form, because of course it does. “For one night, to see the show. What are you talking about? Where would you go forever?”

I shake my head, acting like I’m too winded to reply. Hey, I don’t have to pretend very hard. This coast path is steep as hell, and I am no athlete.

“Faith,” Andre says. He’s not buying it.

I shrug.

“Faith.What did you mean by that?”

If I had more oxygen, I’d blow out a big, exasperated sigh. As it is, I only manage a tiny puff, then fling an arm at the bright cluster of tents in the distance.

“They take people on.” My words are choppy, forced out between breaths. “You can join up with them for a while and travel around—Stephen was talking about it, trying to figure out an angle for a film. Apparently you don’t even need to juggle or whatever, so long as you work hard and help out somehow.”

I wet my lips, each pounding step rattling my shin bones, and stare at the big stripey tent.

I’d work hard. No problem.

“Forever,” Andre says, and his voice is hard. He’s pissed off, though god knows why. “You’re going to run away with the circus forever.”

“Notforeverforever.” If he can tease, so can I. I nudge his toned side as we jog along the cliff path, the waves crashing against rocks below. The ground has leveled out, and we’re high up on the grassy cliffs. “Come on, I’d make a great clown. Picture the wig and you’ll see it too.”

No laugh. Not even a twitch.

“You can’t just run away.” Andre scowls straight ahead, his strides getting longer. I push my aching body to keep up. “It was one bad night, Faith. One single bad night.”

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