At the Wall Street investment banking firm where Alex has worked for the past few months, the motto seems to be Work hard and play harder. I thought people in the restaurant industry were drinkers, but we’ve got nothing on those finance guys who toil until all hours and then drop hundreds of dollars a night at bougie bars with tufted leather seats and cigar rooms in back. None of that is really Alex’s scene, but he’s new at the firm and sometimes has to play the game.
“Alex is such a good guy,” Kasumi muses, mirroring my thoughts. “I’m surprised he can spend so much time with those douchey finance-bros.”
“I’m sorry about Zach hitting on you at the party,” I say. Zach, the host of the New Year’s party, just happens to be the guy who caused Alex’s and my big breakup. Except I remind myself that technically I was the cause of our big breakup when I allowed myself to be baited into a very public argument with Zach in front of Alex and all of his coworkers. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I won’t let that happen again.
Before we can discuss the party anymore, Xavier bursts into the room. “Sadie,” he roars. “Where were you?”
“Um.” I look around wildly. Kasumi grabs a bag of plums that have been at the restaurant this whole time and shoves it across the table. “Plums!” I swing the bag in Xavier’s direction. “The plums never arrived, and I know how you wanted stone fruit galettes on the menu today, so I ran to the Food Bazaar and grabbed some.”
Xavier eyes the bag, probably looking for some way to find fault with it, and when he can’t, he levels a glare at me. “Fine. Get to work rolling out the dough, and don’t make it too thick.”
I don’t need Xavier to tell me how to do my job. I may be a mess in other areas of my life, but I make a beautiful p?te brisée and can roll the dough perfectly thin with one hand tied behind my back. I was at the top of my class in culinary school before I spent four years as a prep cook at Jean-Georges. When I took this assistant job at Xavier’s, I was lured by the opportunity to make a name for myself and, eventually, work my way up to executive pastry chef.
Xavier flounces out of the room to go berate the bar staff, and Kasumi shakes her head at the door he just exited. “What a dick.”
I’m about to echo the sentiment because there’s nothing I love more than a good old-fashioned Xavier-bashing. But at the last second, something stops me. This is my second chance. My opportunity to fix my mistakes and stop repeating the same old patterns. I don’t want to start out trash-talking my boss, even if he deserves it. So instead, I just give her a shrug. “I’m sure he’s stressed. It’s been a busy week with the holidays and everything.”
Kasumi’s mouth drops open. “Did you just… defend Xavier?”
“No.” Avoiding her eyes, I open a drawer and study the contents. “Of course not.” I choose a rolling pin and pastry cutter, lining them up on the prep table in perfect parallel formation. “It’s just that… well… I was the one who was late.”
I don’t need to look up to know she’s gaping at me, and I can’t blame her. I’d be gaping at me, too. But if I let Xavier get to me, I’ll only regret it. Believe me, I’ve been there, and I’m not going back.
Instead, I keep my head down and focus on making the perfect dough.
Chapter 7
My stone fruit galettes turn out deliciously flaky with crusts rolled to perfection and the fruit just the right blend of tart and sweet. Though Xavier won’t deign to admit I did a great job, the servers report that he was happy to stroll around the dining room collecting compliments and credit for my work.
By the time I hang up my apron and head out, my body feels like it’s been run through the restaurant’s industrial-grade dishwasher and wrung out to dry. The barista job I’d been working at Higher Grounds was always pretty chill except for the occasional morning and evening rush, and my back and feet aren’t prepared to be thrown back into the chaos of a hectic restaurant kitchen.
I limp home in a daze, trying to ignore the blister on my heel from the chef’s clogs I technically haven’t worn in months. When I finally arrive at the front door of the building, I look through my purse for my apartment key, digging around in the side pockets for the purple unicorn keychain I picked up on impulse at the drugstore when I moved in. I can’t find it anywhere, and I’m so tired I want to cry.
A shadow falls over me, and I squint into the late-afternoon sun to find Jacob standing on the sidewalk. “Sadie? What are you doing here?” He pushes his glasses higher on his nose, and my face flames. Out here on the street, and in broad daylight, I can’t believe that I actually reached up and brazenly took those glasses off his face so I could—
“I lost my key,” I blurt out. At least he’s here to let me in. All I want to do is climb into the bathtub and—Wait a minute.
It’s the memory of the bathtub that brings me back to reality. Jacob isn’t going to let me into the apartment. Because I don’t live here. I was so exhausted that my feet must’ve automatically turned off Bedford Avenue in the direction of Jacob’s building. In the direction I’ve been used to walking for the past few months. What was I thinking? My place is actually ten blocks from here.
“Were you hoping to find Owen?” Jacob asks. “Does he have a spare key to your place?”
I nod stupidly. “Um, yeah, that’s exactly why I’m here.”
“I don’t have any plans to see him today, but if you want to call him, you’re welcome to come in and wait.”
For a second, I am so tempted to take him up on his offer. This building, his apartment, it was my home for months. Inexplicably, I long for my little bedroom, the bright, spacious living room, and that plaid blanket on the couch.
Except that I never lived here. It was never my apartment, or my bedroom, and I’ve never been wrapped up in that plaid blanket. I never reached over and took those glasses off Jacob’s face, or kissed him, or even had a conversation with him of any substance at all. I need to go home. My actual home. Ten blocks from here.
My hand closes around the key to my apartment, in the pocket where I tucked it this morning. It’s attached to a lone silver ring, no purple unicorn in sight. “Oh, look! Never mind. I found my key after all.” I hold it up.
“Oh,” Jacob says, his voice dropping. “Great.” I’m sure he’s relieved he doesn’t have to wait with me until my brother comes to the rescue. The slump in his shoulders is entirely my imagination.
I’m about to say goodbye and turn to leave, when something comes over me, and I stop right in front of him. It must be my complete shock and exhaustion because I blurt out, “How was your New Year’s, Jacob?”
His eyebrows rise, and of course he’s surprised that I asked. We’re not friendly. We don’t chitchat. He’s my brother’s friend and I’m his best friend’s sister, and that’s all we are to each other. It’s all we’ve ever been.
Well, except that one time.
That one time technically he knows nothing about.
“Uh,” he finally stammers. “It was quiet. I have a deadline for a project, so I mostly worked.” He pauses for a minute as if he’s waiting for me to give him the punch line. Otherwise, why would I be talking to him like this? When I don’t say anything, he cocks his head and, in a slightly wary voice, asks, “How was your New Year’s, Sadie?”