She rolled her eyes. “Enough with the modesty, Molly. You deserve this. We should definitely celebrate. Drinks? Dinner? Strip club?”
My shoulders slumped, knocking my purse strap loose. “I wish. A strip club is obviously in order.” I hoped she knew I was joking about that. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if she was being serious. Although with her lavender hair and septum piercing it was hard to picture her surrounded by oiled up, half-naked men thrusting their crotches in her face. I shook my head, ridding my imagination of that terrifying mental picture. “But I’m supposed to go over the menu for Vera’s engagement party. Wyatt’s going to kill me.”
“Oh, that’s better!” She waggled her eyebrows. “Celebrate with Wyatt. Celebrate real hard.”
I threw my planner into my purse and snorted. “What is wrong with you?”
Her eyebrows jumped to her hairline. “What is wrong with you? Have you not seen Wyatt?” She fanned her face, being dramatic like usual. “He’s a hottie with a body. And you could use a body if you know what I mean.”
Shaking my head, I reminded her for the umpteenth time, “We’re just friends, Em. Seriously, just friends.”
Her mouth turned down in a frown. “Such a disappointment. Hot men are always wasted on you.”
I hitched my purse up again and ignored the heat of embarrassment painting my cheeks. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be you with your perfect boyfriend, perfect relationship, and perfect three-bedroom house.”
“And perfect dog,” she added. “You forgot the perfect dog.”
I stuck my tongue out at her. “And the perfect dog. In my limited experience, all the hot men that have been interested in me were also douchebags. I’d rather have someone nice than hot.”
“Hmmm…” she mused, considering her long-term boyfriend. “Alex is both of those things. But so is Wyatt.”
“And yet we’re only friends.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t push the topic. “Congratulations again! Happy hour tomorrow to celebrate?”
“Obvs.”
She blew me a kiss. I waved goodbye, and then practically sprinted to my car. My phone buzzed again, signaling an incoming text.
I hate you.
Wyatt really was just a friend. The I hate you text confirmed it. Or he had been prior to my making him wait for over an hour.
Chapter Two
I parked at Cycle Life, the bike shop my best friend’s brother, Vann, owned. I’d stupidly worn heels today and my feet ached as I hurried across the street to Lilou, one of the hippest restaurants in the city. It was the perfect spot for an engagement party for two of my very favorite people.
Especially since Vera and Killian had met there. Or technically, in the parking space where I’d just left my car. Basically, this area was very significant to their relationship and future wedded bliss.
Vera and Killian had hated each other at first. He’d been an arrogant asshole, and she’d been scared to trust anybody after her scumbag of an ex had spent years abusing her. My heart squeezed thinking about that time. Vera was so content now. She’d found a happily ever after that would last forever. But I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her every time I thought about her and Derrek together.
She still wore the scars from her relationship with him. Even if Killian was amazing and thoughtful and kind. I sometimes wondered if she would ever be completely over that time in her life. It was my goal to help her wholly move on. I was the biggest advocate for her happiness.
Which was why I’d volunteered to head up her surprise engagement party. Volunteering to oversee was not one of my brighter moments, but I wasn’t going to leave it in Vann’s hands. Her ultra-healthy brother would have hosted it on some mountain biking trail and served granola bars for appetizers.
Not that I was any better at food than him. Vera and Killian were the master chefs. I told people I loved burnt toast because I was physically incapable of making it any other way.
And that’s why I enlisted our other good friend Wyatt to help me out with the menu. Plus, he’d somehow convinced his scary boss to let us host the event at Lilou, but only because the cranky restaurateur, Ezra Baptiste, was also Killian’s best friend.
Once I’d made it to the side door of Lilou, I typed out a quick text to Wyatt.
I’m here.
Then I paced back and forth for five minutes while I waited for him to open the door. My feet ached from wearing heels all day and a headache had formed around the base of my skull. Despite my Black Soul victory, I needed today to be over.
I thought about my earlier conversation with Emily. She loved to go out to celebrate work wins. But honestly, success stressed me out. I did not feel like the competent graphic designer I pretended to be. There was too much pressure to do whatever it took to get the best jobs. And then there was always that feeling of my work not stacking up to my coworkers. I had to prove myself in every single task and I couldn’t escape the pressure to always be interesting and innovative and unique.
I preferred to celebrate alone, with a bubble bath and bottle of wine. Or paintbrush in hand, in front of a blank canvas. The last thing I wanted to do was go out to a crowded bar and talk about all the ways I got lucky enough not to crash and burn. I’d much rather enjoy the excitement by bringing it to life in vibrant colors and paint-covered portraits and artistic expression.
The side door swung open and Kaya poked her blue-haired head out. “He’s so pissed at you.”
I ignored Wyatt’s edgy sous chef and her gloating. Her favorite thing in life was pissing off Wyatt, so me showing up an hour and a half late and right in the middle of hectic dinner service was probably the highlight of her day.
Stepping inside Lilou’s kitchen was like walking into a tornado. People were everywhere, working on prepping, cooking and plating all at once. Stainless steel surfaces were covered with dishes, and perfectly executed food, and oh so sharp knives. Wyatt stood in the middle of the flurry, tall chef hat covering his buzzed head, tattoos peeking up over the collar of his pristine chef’s jacket.
He had changed a lot in the last few months. When Vera and I first met him, he’d been more relaxed, way more laid back. He would always come visit us at Vera’s food truck that used to park at Cycle Life and together we’d gang up on Vera, always teasing her about Killian.
But since Killian had left Lilou to open a restaurant with Vera, Wyatt had stepped up as executive chef and lost his ability to chill. He was all drive, meticulous precision and serious career mode now.
To be fair, he basically worked every second of every day, so work mode was also life and survival mode. But I missed my friend that liked to joke around and steal food when Vera wasn’t looking.
“Wash your hands,” Wyatt barked at me.
I realized I was breaking a few health code rules by hanging out in a kitchen I did not belong in, so I decided not to argue with him. Or ask him to say please.