It had to be said. He moved to the meeting room door and held it open for her, but she dropped into one of the chairs. She turned her back to him and pretended to skim through her notes. When she tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, he glimpsed her clenched jaw.
Michael hated breaking anyone’s heart, but deep down, he didn’t believe it would take Lacey long to get over him. He may have hurt her today, but he refused to let a woman dangle. Uncertainty bred fantasy, and in his experience, fantasy could be a dangerous thing.
He waited a moment longer, in case she changed her mind, and stood, but she remained seated. Michael exited the room and let the door shut behind him. Hopefully he’d also closed the door on an awkward chapter in their lives.
***
Emily Daniels turned the key and unlocked the old house at the corner of Beatrice and College Streets, the one her grandmother willed her a few months ago. She stepped inside the tiny foyer and held her breath. For a moment, she expected to catch the basil-infused scent of her grandmother’s tomato sauce or even her grandfather’s homemade sausages, but only stale air greeted her. On a sigh, she dismissed her happy childhood memories and marched into the kitchen.
Michael Zorn fromHandymenwould be here any minute and the perfectionist in her wanted to give the place another once-over. Not that there was any need. With renovations starting next week, no one would be concerned about specks of dust and a lack of air freshener. Still, it used to be her grandmother’s house, and Nonna Olivia always took pride in her home. Even after her grandfather died, her grandmother always kept up with the gardening and home improvements as best as she could, at least until her age put a stop to more strenuous activities. She owed it to Nonna to revive the old place.
Emily leaned on the cracked laminate counter and indulged in a little daydreaming. After theHandymenbrothers tackled her grandmother’s house,herhouse, her business would finally take flight. She’d sacrificed a great deal to get to this point. If everything worked out, her family would be so proud of her.
She glanced at her watch. Where was Trent?
The familiar prickle of dread made her skin itch. It seemed to happen more and more when she thought of her fiancé.
Trent had promised to be here for their first in-person meeting with Michael Zorn. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to him.
Emily: Are you running late?
Emily was never sure anymore if Trent would text her back. He claimed to have no patience for text conversations. This time, he surprised her by answering right away.
Trent: Running late for what?
Her shoulders drooped. Not again.
Emily: It’s the meeting with Michael Zorn. I told you the details last week.
Trent: No, you didn’t. I would have remembered something like that.
Emily: Yes, I did.
Why did he always do this? She knew she told him. He’d been standing at the fridge, eating an apple. She’d made him enter it into his Google calendar.
Trent: I don’t think so, babe. This is the first I’m hearing about it.
Gaping at her phone, Emily searched her memory bank. Had she somehow fabricated the conversation? Maybe they’d been talking about something else? Trent’s certainty made her wonder. Perhaps she’d meant to tell him but got distracted. She’d had lots on her mind lately. She supposed she could have made a mistake.
Impossible. There was no way she would have screwed this up. Still, sometimes Trent made her wonder if she was losing her mind by questioning her actions and denying the things she said. Some days, she felt like a puppy chasing its own tail.
She’d have to handle that issue later.
Emily: Well, are you coming?
Trent: I can’t now. I have plans.
Emily: Trent, this is important.
Trent: Then you should have been clearer. Sorry, babe. Looks like you’ll have to meet with Zorn yourself.
She was about to make a comment about him being selfish but decided it wasn’t worth it. Emily knew Trent was stressed, but so was she. She’d never been on TV before. Surely he could put himself in her shoes for once. God only knew she’d been doing her best to step into his size elevens.
Ever since losing his chef’s job, he’d been unbearable. Forgetting commitments. Snide comments about her soup business dreams. She knew he didn’t mean it. After being fired from such a high-profile kitchen job, he hadn’t been the same. Although she was in no position to diagnose him, she couldn’t help thinking he might be dealing with a case of depression.
The Trent she met two years ago had been charming and funny. This new Trent withheld information and turned his sharp tongue on her all too often. The job loss was making him lash out. In his kitchen at the Imperial, one of Toronto’s top restaurants, he’d been the emperor. His staff had kowtowed to him and never questioned his choices. Emily secretly believed some chefs enjoyed this sort of hierarchy. It gave them an outlet for their inner despots.
In losing his job, Trent had tumbled off his mountain. With no staff to boss around, he’d turned his tyrannical attentions toward her. She’d assumed the role of flunky. Somehow she’d become hissous-chef. A feeble-minded one, if his occasional outbursts were to be believed.
