“Where were you today, Trent?”
“Following up on some leads.”
“What kind of leads?”
“Culinary leads, of course.”
“I realize that, but for which restaurants?”
“Does it matter? They didn’t pan out.”
“I’m still interested in knowing.”
“Geez, Em. Doesn’t your GPS tracker tell you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, but you sure seem to love knowing my whereabouts lately. I was all over town today. I didn’t drop bread crumbs or chart every detail in a diary for you.”
“Trent, we had an appointment. You ditched me. I just want to know who snagged you.”
He rubbed his cheek, smoothing his hand over the new hollow under his cheekbone. He’d lost weight. As much as she wanted to shake him, her heart went out to him.
“If you must know,” he said. “I was able to get an interview.”
“Oh.” That changed things. A bit. He hadn’t had an interview in some time. He usually didn’t get that far. Breathing through her pique, she walked into the living room and sat on the couch next to him. “How did it go?”
“What do you think? They said I wasn’t the right fit.”
A lot of people had been saying the same thing. One mistake in the kitchen and now no one in the cooking world wanted to hire him.
Of course, it had been a big mistake.
He’d been in charge of an important formal dinner at the Imperial, one which would be attended by a visiting diplomat. The man’s wife had a severe peanut allergy. Trent hadn’t been fazed. He’d cooked for many VIPs and had handled numerous dietary restrictions. However, something went wrong this time. Trent had grown frustrated with asous-chefwho wasn’t performing up to par and they’d had words in the kitchen. Somehow, the diplomat’s wife received a sprinkling of chopped peanuts mixed in with her dinner. The woman’s throat had closed and she’d landed in the emergency room.
Trent was convinced thesous-chefput the peanuts on her plate when he wasn’t looking. Of course, no one could prove it and Trent was fired. The Toronto cooking world, being a relatively small one, shut its doors on the chef.
“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, not any of it.”
He changed TV channels a few more times but couldn’t seem to figure out what he wanted to watch. After a minute or two, the incessantclick click clickmade Emily want to grab the remote and hurl it from the balcony.
“Listen,” she said, trying to brighten him up. “Chris invited us for drinks tonight. Let’s go and grab dinner while we’re there.”
“I can’t afford to buy my fiancée a dinner out, never mind cocktails.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
Trent stood and threw up his hands. “Of course I do, Emily. I’m tired of you paying my way. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”
Although tempted to shrink from his outburst, she stood instead and reached for his hands. He was the one who pulled away. “Don’t be so old-fashioned. Those sorts of things don’t matter anymore. We’re engaged. At some point, we’ll be taking vows. For better or for worse, right?”
For better or for worse. Keep saying it and maybe you’ll believe it.
“Easy for you to say. I’m pretty sure fucking McDonald’s won’t even hire me.”
“Trent, you have to stay positive. My grandmother always used to say, ‘We are where we need to be.’ There’s something to be learned from this experience and it will make us stronger.”
“Fuck, Em.” His voice was soft, pleading. “Could you spare me your grandmother’s platitudes just this once?”
