He kissed me goodbye one last time,and I drove home with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. For the firsttime in a long time, I knew who I was, and I knew who the man I loved was.
Love.
Maybe it was only the beginning oflove. Maybe the roots were still shallow, and the feeling was still new andgreen, but it was love.
And it was love for a man I thoughtI would only ever hate. A man that was my complete opposite in every way andthe opposite of everything I thought I wanted.
Thank God for that.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The next three weeks passed instolen make-out sessions behindLilouand morningphone calls that lasted hours. For as much as I’d fought for a place in thefood industry, I was starting to hate being a chef.
Or at least, having the hours ofone. And Killian’s were worse.
We loved what wedid,butofficially hated working. I wanted a date. A real one that didn’t involveeither of us cooking. I wanted to laugh over dinner and cuddle during a movie,and then I wanted hours and hours to explore his body and finally—finally—take our relationship to thenext level.
I was ready. So. Ready.
Which honestly surprised me. Sexwith Derrek had been an obligation I fulfilled because I was scared of theconsequences if I didn’t. The intimate part of our relationship had beenanother aspect of my life to control, to assert dominance. It had been enoughto scare me away from sex for eternity.
And yet with Killian, I couldn’tseem to hold onto those same skeletons. The ghosts of that traumatic timeslipped through my fingers, bone turning to ash, tangible fear disappearing inthe wake of trust.Actual trust.
I didn’t fear Killian. I didn’t fearwhat he would turn sex into or how I would just become another object to use.
It was hard to believe. Especiallyafter so many years, convinced I didn’t need or want sex ever again. I had beenhappy to ignore that part of me, the part that wanted, desired and hoped. Thatwas easier than imagining opening myself up to a man again. So much easier thanletting myself be vulnerable not just physically, but emotionally as well.
Before Killian, the thought of intimacywith any man made me physically ill.
WithKillian? With Killian, I couldn’twait to discover what it would be like, whathewould be like. When we kissed, I only wanted to keep kissing.When he touched me, I only wanted him to keep touching me—to never stop.
Because of trust. Because he hadopened himself up to me first. Because he was honest and sincere and intentionalwith me and my heart. Because he had cultivated my confidence, gently at first,then deeper and deeper and deeper until I knew I trusted him. Icouldtrust him in everything. Includinga relationship.
He wasn’t Derrek.
He would never be Derrek.
And I would never be the girl thatdated Derrek. Never again.
“Hey, V,” Molly greeted as shestepped inside Foodie. She brought a cool breeze with her, and I stood frozenstill, trying to get the most of it.
The end of September had brought achange in the weather. The leaves on the trees had started changing color andbegan to crisp. The evening breeze now smelled like campfires and football. AndI wasn’t drenched in sweat by the end of every night. Still sweaty of course,just not completely soaked with it.
“Hey, Molls.” I spun to face my bestfriend as she put her stuff down and pulled her hair into a high ponytail,fiddling with her bangs so they didn’t get swept up with the rest. “Guesswhat?”
“What?” she asked around the hairtie in her mouth.
I held up the money pouch for her.“I’m going to pay you tonight!”
She blinked at me. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Becauseyou’re here practically every night and you deserve at least minimum wage.”
She snorted a laugh. “Well, asflattering as that sounds, no thank you. I don’t need money. I’m here because Iwant to be.”
“No way,” I argued. “I’m paying you.I’ve totally taken over your life since I’ve been back in town. I keep you fromyour other friends and fun Friday nights. You don’t even date anymore, and it’sbecause of me.”
“Please, I don’t have other friends.At least not ones that mean as much as you. And I don’t want to date. That hasnothing to do with you. I’m sick of dating boys playing dress up as men.” Shedropped her hands to her hips and held my gaze. “Plus, I don’t want to beanywhere else but here. That’s enough payment for me—that you’re here andyou’re happy. And that you’re far, far away from Chef Douchebag.”
