Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
It made me want to grab her arm and pull her onto my lap and hold her close. The longing was deep and sharp, a grappling hook lodged in my heart.
This felt like more than strings.
EIGHTEEN
ari
Dash ended up staying at Moe’s until my shift was over. He sat at the counter like one of the regulars, chatting with old Gus and Larry for hours. It made me smile every time I looked over at him.
They told anyone who’d listen about the piece Hugo Martin had written about me. Between the three of them and the rest of the Moe’s staff, my ego was having its best day ever. Even my mother seemed genuinely excited for me, proudly emailing the link to all her friends and even printing it out on the rickety old HP LaserJet in the office. The article—along with the accompanying photo of me—now hung on the bulletin board right by the diner’s entrance.
Would it change my life? Probably not. But it was a step forward, and I’d take it.
Eventually, the diner cleared out and I locked the front door. My mother had run home to check on my dad and would come back to open for the dinner shift.
“Hey,” I said, dumping out the last of the coffee from the pot. “I just have a few things to do in the office and then I want to run home and change out of my uniform before we go to the airport.”
“I can wait and follow you back.”
“Okay.” I smiled at him. “Don’t get into any trouble out here.”
In the office, I removed my apron and set it aside. I’d just sat down at the desk to look at some inventory notes when I heard my phone buzzing in my purse. Reaching into my bag, I glanced at the number but didn’t recognize it. It had a New York area code. Media maybe? Someone who’d seen Hugo Martin’s piece?
“Hello?”
“So you still answer the phone when I call.”
“Excuse me? Who is this?”
“Oh, that’s right, you blocked me, like a toddler having a tantrum. But I have a new number.”
I froze. “Niall?”
“Good of you to remember my voice, considering the fact that you didn’t even think to mention me in your little Hugo Martin interview.”
“You saw it?”
“Yeah. One of the line cooks showed it to me. Imagine my surprise when there was no mention of the mentor who hand-chose you to be his protégé and taught you everything you know.”
My mouth was dry, and my gut instinct was to stay silent and take it. Or even hang up. But somehow, from somewhere, I found the moxie to talk back. “You didn’t teach me anything but self-doubt. And what would you even want to take credit for? My boring ideas? My average technique? My unsophisticated palate? All you ever did was tear me down.”
“That’s how it’s done, Chef. That’s how you learn. Although you were never a very good student. It’s nice your family has a tired little tourist trap that can employ you to flip burgers for people who don’t know any better. God knows you wouldn’t have found work in any kitchen that matters.”
My stomach clenched in that horrible way it used to when he’d belittle me. “Fuck you, Niall! I don’t care what you say about me, but don’t ever insult my family or our restaurant. Why did you call me anyway? Was it just to ruin today for me? Is it that you can’t stand to see me do well?”
“I called to congratulate you. It’s your ingratitude that’s turning this into something else.”
“Don’t ever call me again, Niall. I’m—” But I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence because the phone was yanked out of my hand. I looked up in surprise to see Dash standing there like an angry god, his face mottled with fury, the phone to his ear.
“Listen, motherfucker. If you ever contact Ari again, I will fucking burn your restaurant to the ground.”
Too stunned to move, I watched his scowl grow more menacing.
“Yeah? Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a fucking nobody. Stay away from her.” He jabbed at the screen, ending the call, then yelled into it one more time. “Fucker!”
“Dash.” I grabbed his wrist. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” His chest was still puffed up. “That asshole doesn’t get to call you and upset you. Not on my watch.”
“You don’t have to watch me, Dash. I’m a big girl. I’m fine.”
His shoulders slumped, and he crouched down next to the chair. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. When I heard his name, I just snapped. I figured he was calling because he’d seen the post about you and wanted to make it about himself.”
“You were right. But I could have handled it. I’m not the same person I was last year. That said . . .” I smiled. “Thanks for standing up for me. That was an excellent display of emotion. Where did it come from?”