So, he’s going to Florida with the kids. Well, kid, since Drew backed out around the same time he came to live with me. Pete’s tight-lipped about what’s going on; like his son, he refuses to discuss it with me.
I’m headed to Montreal. I miss Sam. It’s been almost a week since I last saw him at the food competition, and it wasn’t all I hoped for. As promised, he came back the night before his judging gig. No call or visit. Instead, I got a text saying the tickets were at the front desk and he’d see us the next day.
I saw him all right, mostly from afar. Sam was very generous, giving us six tickets. Paige brought Marci and her best friend, Pippa, and to my surprise, Drew came with his “friend” Laura.
The seats were great, front row center, and the cooking competition was entertaining with big celebrity chefs inattendance. It was fascinating to see the big production of filming a live show, and we even got a chance to taste the food. We had fun.
What fascinated me the most was Sam. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Seeing him in his element was hot. He is a friendly and easygoing man, but in front of the cameras, he was larger than life. Charismatic. Magnetic. If I weren’t already taken with him, I’d have fallen for himthen and there. It was easy to see why so many women are infatuated.
Speaking of women, the fans were obsessed. The amount of attention he received at Beaulieu’s the night I met him was nothing compared to this. The competition brought the word fangirl to a whole new level. An overwhelming and scary one. No surprise, Sam had the biggest following. He was, hands down, the hottest chef there.
After the show, the crowd was insane, so much so we couldn’t get backstage. We floundered for over an hour in a sea of crazed fans. Eventually, security came and escorted us to the after-party. Sam had arranged it, but once we got there, we saw him for maybe ten minutes before he was ushered out to complete his media obligations for the event.
Our brief encounter left me sad and frustrated. While he was his usual kind and social self for the short time we had alone, he was also unusually cool and distant. I think back over our brief and somewhat disturbing conversation.
“So, what did you think?” His hands slid into his pockets like he was anchoring himself there.
There was a careful distance between us, but his eyes weren’t on the same page as the rest of him. They skimmed over me, unhurried, tracing the curve of my neck, the line of my sweater, before finding my mouth and staying there. He looked away, only to do it again. That same slow, consuming gaze that made my pulse trip over itself.
When his tongue swept across his bottom lip, something low and electric sparked through me. God, after everything that was left unsaid, the last thing I should have been thinking about was how good he looked standing there.
But try telling that to my body. It had already betrayed me, warmth flooding my cheeks, my heartbeat a traitorous thrum beneath my ribs.
“Amazing. Thank you so much for inviting us. I can see why thousands of women go gaga over you.” I needed to stop teasing him about this, but it was true.
A lazy, sexy smile blanketed his face and laughter laced his voice. “I’m glad you liked it, and I’m glad you came.”
“Listen, about what happened at my place…” I daredto broach the topic, wanting to end this awkwardness, even if it only existed in my head.
A lanky, mocha-skinned man interrupted, completely ignoring me. “Sam, let’s roll, man.”
Sam said something short and quick in French. With hands on his hips, the man shook his head and responded, “Allons-y maintenant.”
“Sorry, I gotta go. There’s a photo shoot and then dinner. It’s all part of the agreement. I’m thrilled to see you. I leave for Montreal first thing tomorrow, but I’ll text you. We’ll figure something out.” Leaning in, his lips delicately grazed my cheek. All too soon, the kiss was over. “Say goodbye to Drew, Paige, and their friends for me.”
Since then, there’s only been one text from him. Three words…
How are you?
I responded immediately, not caring if I seemed anxious to hear from him. He never responded. My stomach lurches. That was four days ago.
I suppose I could’ve texted him again, but I didn’t. Part of me wanted to, badly. The other part—the cautious, sensible one—reminded me I’m already in over my head. Whatever this is between us, it’s messy enough without me chasing it.
We live in different cities. Different worlds, really. That alone should make things impossible. And yet…
Even knowing all that, I think about him way too much. I miss him. The sound of his voice, the way he watches me like he’s memorizing every move. He was the one who said we wouldn’t label things, and I was the one who panicked the second it started to feel like more. Typical.
But maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe what we need is exactly what I said I wanted, something light. No pressure. Just fun. I can do fun. I can do casual.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Still, the truth slips in like it always does.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
By nine thirty in the morning, I’m in Montreal, outside Beaulieu’s. No one is here, and I’m not sure I thought this through well enough. My attempt at surprising him, reciprocating his sweet gesture with one I think he’d like, is failing miserably. I might have to call him after all and tell him I’m here.
Just as I pull up my Uber app, a delivery van parks. A young man, barely twenty if I had to guess, hops out with a large basket of baguettes and other breads. Sauntering to the back door, he watches me as he deposits the basket and returns to the van.
