Line cook... anywhere but here.
Pastry assistant, Montana.
Hell’s Kitchen prep cook audition, why not?
I apply to job after job. Small towns. Big cities. Places I can’t even pronounce.
My inbox fills with auto replies: “Thank you for applying!”
“Your resume has been received.”
“We’ll be in touch soon.”
Maybe I don’t even want to leave. Maybe this is hormones and heartbreak and panic disguised as ambition.
But I need the option.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Knox
The kitchen’s quiet now.Too quiet.
The last clink of silverware is gone, the burners off, the lights dimmed. It should feel peaceful. But it doesn’t.
It feels like standing in the wreckage of something I can’t name.
Savannah’s perfume still lingers near Table Seven. Jasmine and something sweet I used to love, and now can’t breathe through. Her voice echoes in my skull. All those soft smiles and too casual touches, like she still owned the place. Owned me.
And Josie.
The look on her face when she saw us together.
Damn.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.
It gutted me.
But I didn’t want to show her any attention in front of Savannah. That woman doesn’t need any more ammo.
I’m still in the office, staring at the same half-filled prep sheet when Nova barges in like a woman on a mission.
“You’re lucky I didn’t drag her out by her extensions,” she says, tossing her phone on the desk in front of me. “What the hell, Knox.”
I glance down.
Eli’s latest post is splashed across the screen. One of those smarmy tabloid-style videos with music too loud and captions too eager to assume.
A freeze frame of Savannah touching my arm, me not pulling away fast enough.
#RekindledLove
#KnoxAndSavForever
#SilverPeakSighting
#PowerCoupleReunion
