“Bye, Dillon,” he murmured.
My stomach flipped at the familiar way he said my name. “Bye, Vann.”
I hung up the phone and dropped it inside my desk drawer. I had a kitchen to run. I couldn’t be thinking about Vann Delane and his surprisingly good advice. Or his shockingly cute butt.
Slapping a hand over my mouth to hide my smile, I walked back to the kitchen, pushed up my sleeves and got to work.
Eight
I was fifteen minutes early,because I hated being late to anything—especially dates. I hated that awkward feeling of waiting around for the other person to show, so I never wanted anyone else to wait because of me.
And yet, by being early, what had I made sure would happen? I would be sitting at this trendy little coffee bar all by my lonesome while I waited for Matt Brennan the pastry chef to show.
True to his word, Benny had passed my name along to his friend Matt, who had reached out shortly after. We’d spent the last two weeks exchanging texts and had finally found a free Saturday morning to meet for coffee.
It hadn’t been easy. Our schedules were totally opposite. When Matt got off work, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, after a good twelve-hour shift, I was well in the middle of prep. And when I got off work, in the early hours of the morning, he was only hours away from waking up and heading in. Basically, if this casual conversation turned into an actual relationship, we would get to spend about four hours together every day. In the middle of the night.
So, coffee this morning sounded promising.
Still, it was hard to find a guy that understood the number of hours I had to work without questioning them. Matt understood the chef life. He lived it himself. Sure, logistically it would be difficult to spend real time together. But theoretically, we were already on common ground.
Right? At least that was what my eternally optimistic heart was trying to tell me.
Matt worked for an up and coming bakery that he swore wastheplace to get baked goods in Durham. Ezra used a pastry chef he’d worked with for years, so I didn’t know too much about the bakery scene, to be honest.
Pastries were outside my area of expertise—except for chocolate croissants, which were basically my favorite thing on the planet. Admittedly, I didn’t pay too much attention, other than to know if what my kitchen was putting out was good or not.
Nothing at Bianca was made in house. We cut pieces and plated them with all the pizazz to let you think we knew what we were doing. But nobody on my staff could recreate the magic Ezra’s girl managed.
I fidgeted in my seat and took a sip of my cooling latte. I shouldn’t have ordered so soon because now it was getting cold while I waited for Matt to arrive. But I preferred to pay for my own drinks, another reason I showed up early. Everything was better when I was in complete control of my beverages.
Taking in the dark browns and hunter greens of this cool spot, I couldn’t help but applaud his choice of meeting place. As far as first dates went, this was an excellent choice.
Not that I went on a lot of first dates. Or even met guys alone in public. But I was trying this whole take-charge-attitude thing at work and I was hoping I could apply some of it to the rest of my life and work out some of this heavy shit that always followed me around. If for no other reason, at least I could add a fun coffeeshop to my life.
I wanted to come back here with my laptop and work on Bianca’s fall menu. I would curl up in one of the round booths by the back windows and dream up the most delicious food Durham had ever seen. Plus, this place was more than just its décor. Their coffee was excellent.
Even lukewarm.
Dinking around on my phone while I waited for Matt to arrive, I confirmed my participation in Vera’s bachelorette party the following week and answered a few emails. Nerves swam around my stomach, jumping off high dives and executing synchronized swimming competitions.
The last few guys I’d loosely dated had been more of the same—setups by well-intentioned friends. Loosely dated might be an overstatement. Basically, we shared the most awkward, stilted meal in blind date history, and I ran away before they could ask for a second chance.
It had been years since I’d dated a guy that captured my interest. During high school, I’d been forced to run in Durham’s prep school circle thanks to my good old dad. The boys I’d met during those pretentious years were the stuff of nightmares. When they could manage to not assume you were going to sleep with them three minutes after meeting them, I found them boring and unambitious.
Sure, they wanted to make money, but there was no sacrifice there. No real drive. And why would there be when daddy had already carved a path for them. All they had to do was walk forward into the planned future their trust fund paid for.
Not that I had any room to talk when it came to trust funds.
Which led me to the next segment of dating—men after my money.
To be honest, that was partially my fault. After high school, when my dad had died and I’d inherited full access to the money he’d left me, I’d gone a little… wild. I could hardly complain about the guys attracted to the cash I was throwing around, when I was pretty much making it rain every single night.
That had been a dark, dark time. I’d been lost in grief and confusion and this world that I couldn’t navigate without my dad’s guidance. I’d started to self-medicate with drugs, alcohol, and the party scene.
It had worked for a while. I hadn’t had to think about what an asshole my dad had been and the guilt I felt for missing him anyway. And I hadn’t had to think about what I was going to do with my life or what I wanted to do with it or what was even my purpose on this planet. The crowd I’d run in had everything I needed to numb out—especially men willing to help me.
Or take what they wanted without my permission.
