“Avery, I’m doing very well at L’Ombre.”
“Ah!” He pointed at my nose, and I moved back an inch. “Notice you did not deny hating it here! I know you are doing well, but if you’re honest, Charlie, and I hope you will be honest … ” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Felix is never going to retire. Or at least he won’t before you’re forty years old, maybe forty-five, and then, honestly, will you even want his job anymore?”
“How do you know about Felix?” I asked, feeling at once very provincial and very exposed.
Avery shrugged. “I’ve done my research. Third and most important,” he ticked the number off on his hand, “you want a life. You need a life. You’re here too much, Charlie. You work, what? Fourteen-, fifteen-hour shifts? Six days a week?”
I pursed my lips and refrained from commenting. The guy hadn’t laid eyes on me for almost a decade, and suddenly he was my life coach?
“You have no life. You have no friends. You haven’t had a date for two full years, Charlie.”
“What kind of research do you do? Who are your sources?” I sat tall on that Ukrainian linen. “I do have friends and I do have a life. And, I might add, I’m a little bit offended by your comments!” I was trying to stand my ground, but my protests sounded pathetic, even to me.
“Look, I’m sure you do have friends and a wildly active social life.” Avery’s eye twinkled. “But, you have to admit, it’s tough to see any of those friends when you work all the time.” He moved forward in his chair so our knees were touching. “I’m the executive chef of a new restaurant in Seattle. I need a young, vibrant, inspired pastry chef at Thrill, and I. Want. You.” He used one tan finger to Punctuate. His. Words.
We were quiet a moment. I could hear the insistent hum of traffic beyond the front door, and I was aware of a silenced vacuum cleaner, the final note of a maintenance crew that obviously wanted to close up for the night. After a pause, I cleared my throat.
“Avery, I’m flattered by your proposal.”
“Good. You deserve to be flattered. You are completely undervalued here, Charlie. It’s time you get the recognition and the responsibility you have earned. You should be head pastry chef, and you know it.”
To my horror, I felt myself grow teary. Felix had never said such nice things to me. Felix thought I was overvalued, that the Savor piece had been a fluke and that I had more years to put in before I worked my way out of the hole he had neatly dug for me. I hated to admit that Avery was right—I had been in indentured servitude for far too long.
But move? To Seattle?
I sobered. “Thank you for the kind words, Avery, but I have no interest in moving. Manhattan is the place I want to be and need to be. Seattle is out of the question.”
“Why?” Avery demanded. “Your bestie, Manda, lives in Seattle, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Mountains, oceans, fresh air, outdoor markets, hiking, skiing, culture, relaxed vibe, Starbucks … what’s not to love?”
“Well, actually, Starbucks’s bakery selections are abysmal and—”
“Charlie, you’ll love the Pacific Northwest. All people who are smart and creative and driven love the Pacific Northwest. It’s a law of the universe. Obey the law and come work for me. Here’s the salary I can offer you to start. As the restaurant grows, this number goes up.”
He scribbled a number on the back of a business card and slid it across the table. My breath caught in my throat, and I must have stopped breathing for a second because I began to cough.
Avery laughed as he stood. He slapped me on the back twice and said, “Now, that’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for.” His phone vibrated, and he slid a finger across the screen. “Vic, hi. Yes. She’s here.” He looked at me while I used the edge of a napkin to blot my eyes. “She’s totally in. I’ll call you back in a minute.”
“Who was that?” I sipped some of Avery’s water and tried regaining my sense of decorum.
“A friend. You’ll meet him when you get out to Seattle.” He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.
“I’m not moving to Seattle,” I said, tucking the business card into my pocket. I moved to stand, but Avery blocked my exit from the table.
He tucked one wayward strand of my hair behind my ear and then whispered, his lips brushing my earlobe. “I don’t know if you remember this about me, but I’m used to getting what I want.”
A parade of shivers marched down my spine. I sat very still as he walked away. When the front door closed behind him, I waited in the quiet and the dark, watching with wide eyes as the light shifted and the night fell.
4