December at Xavier’s is always a busy time of the year with private parties and holiday gatherings, and this year, I’m working overtime to make sure everything is perfect. I’m expecting the announcement about the executive pastry chef any day now, and I need that job. My parents are still mad about the scene I caused at Thanksgiving, and I can’t go home this Christmas and tell them I lost the promotion, too.
That’s why it’s after eleven o’clock at night, the rest of the staff has gone home, and I’m still at Xavier’s prepping pastries for the Christmas parties that start a couple of days from now. After weighing and measuring out my dry ingredients into lidded containers, I carefully label each one so all I have to do is add them later to the mixer with eggs, milk, and butter. I’m stacking them in the pantry, just about ready to head home, when Xavier appears in the doorway. I jump about a hundred feet in the air, knocking into my tower of Tupperware, but I manage to straighten it just before it topples.
“Oh my gosh, you scared me.” I press a hand to my heart. “I didn’t know anyone else was still here.”
“I was doing some paperwork in the office.” His gaze slowly sweeps down to my feet and then back up.
I cross my arms over my chest. The kitchen was hot from the ovens and woodfire grill burning all day, so I’d ditched my chef’s coat a while ago, and now I’m standing here in a tank top and leggings. I definitely would’ve stayed covered up if I’d known anyone else was here. We’re not even allowed to wear chef’s coats without the name of the restaurant embroidered on the pocket. Is Xavier annoyed that I’m out of uniform? In the lead-up to this promotion, I’ve been extra careful not to do anything that could be viewed as unprofessional, and I really hope I’m not screwing this up when I’m working so hard to do everything right.
“You’re here late,” Xavier finally says.
“Yeah, I’m getting some ingredients prepped for the holiday.” I flash him an overly bright smile and give one of the canisters a shake. “Just trying to be prepared.”
Xavier takes a couple of steps into the pantry so he can read the labels I’ve taped to the sides of the containers.
“Very good. I appreciate your hard work.”
Whew. He’s not mad. Still, with Xavier’s roller-coaster moods, it could have gone either way. “Just doing what I can for the good of the restaurant.” It can’t hurt to suck up a little more.
Xavier takes another step toward me, and I’m aware that he’s standing awfully close. It’s a narrow space, and two people don’t usually come in here at the same time. Despite the heat in the kitchen, goose bumps pop up on my arms. I try to inch backward without it looking obvious.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be making the announcement about our new executive pastry chef next week,” he says with a smile. “I think you’ll be very happy to hear the news.”
For a moment, I forget the awkwardness of the two of us crammed into this closet. It’s happening next week. “Oh wow, thank you. You know I’ll always work hard, and I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.” He reaches toward me, and I think he’s going to shake my hand, to make it official. But instead, his fingers lightly brush my arm from my elbow to my shoulder and back again. My eyes widen and my body stiffens like vanilla meringue.
“You had a little flour there,” he explains. Except it’s not really an explanation at all, because the flour is gone and his cold, clammy fingers are still pressed against my rapidly heating skin.
Is he—?
This isn’t—?
Is it?
No, I’m sure he doesn’t mean it the way I think he does. I’m overly sensitive because of Rob. If I make a big deal out of this, it will embarrass us both.
And then Xavier’s hand slowly wraps around my upper arm and his mouth inches closer to mine. I want to pull away, but it’s like I’m frozen here.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “We can keep this between us.”
And—thank God—his voice knocks me out of my stupor. I push past him, and my shoulder lands squarely in his chest. Xavier goes careening backward from the force of it, directly into my carefully portioned canisters of dry ingredients. They tumble off the shelf and crash to the floor. The lids pop off, and flour billows through the air like an East Coast snowstorm. Xavier slips in the smooth powder and grabs on to the shelf to keep from falling over.
And I run. Out of the pantry, across the kitchen, and into the break room. I grab my purse and my coat and keep going, straight through the restaurant and out the front door. On Bedford Avenue, I nearly crash into a group of people walking past on the sidewalk, probably heading for one of the bars. They’re joking and laughing together, and I’m jealous of how carefree they are.
“Whoa, girl. You okay?” one of them asks, and I nod, extracting myself from their group and heading in the opposite direction.
I turn the corner onto a side street, and a gust of wind blows through my thin black tank top. Suddenly, I’m shivering uncontrollably, and icy tears stream down my cheeks. But I feel strangely detached from my body, like the whole sordid episode happened to someone else.
I stop in front of one of the brownstones lining the street and pull on my coat. The house is dark, the occupants probably asleep, and I’m jealous of them, too. My apartment is only eight blocks away, but now that Xavier’s is behind me, my legs have turned into jelly. I sink down on the front step of the house and dig into my purse for my phone. I try my brother, but he’s usually in bed most weeknights by ten thirty. I know he’d come in a second if I could reach him, but when his voicemail clicks on, I hang up.
The cold, damp step beneath me is seeping through my thin leggings, and the bitter wind is picking up speed. I should get up and go home, but I’m crying too hard now. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
And then I remember Jacob and his late-night café Americanos. If he’s working on a project, he could still be awake. The teeny-tiny bit of pride that’s left in me insists that I absolutely should not dial Jacob’s number, but rock bottom wins out, and I hit the button next to his name.
He picks up on the first ring. “Sadie, is everything okay?”
The concern in his voice has my heart folding up. I can’t imagine what he must think with me calling him so late like this. “Yes,” I whisper because I don’t want to worry him. Except this is Jacob, and I can be at my worst with Jacob. “Actually, no.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “Can you come?”
“Where are you?” I hear thumping on his end, a door opening and slamming, a key jingling.
I tell him the cross streets.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” His voice sounds worried. Urgent. “Stay on the phone, okay?”
“Okay.”