Ten minutes later, Matty looks a lot closer to human. The color is slowly returning to his cheeks while he scarfs down his breakfast, taking greedy bites out of the baguette between hefty, greasy morsels of egg, bacon, and cheese.
“Damn, you were right. This stuff slides right in and cures everything,” he says with a mouthful, then chugs more coffee.
“Do you want to talk about it now?”
Matty shakes his head. “Why bother? You don’t like me, anyway.”
“Matty, you have the potential to run your own kitchen maybe someday soon, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you throw it all away on booze. Whatever this is, we can work through it. We can address it. Now.”
He exhales sharply and keeps eating, so I pour him some ice water to go along with the coffee. Hydration is key.
“She dumped me, okay?”
“Deanna?”
“Yeah. She dumped me. She’s the one who came to me, who made me feel all sorts of things. She made me think we could actually be together, long after Haus of Sin. And then she started giving me the cold shoulder.”
I sigh and shake my head. “She made you feel like nothing you did or said was good enough, no matter how hard you tried.”
“That’s right. And then she dumped me. She said I’m never going to make it on my own; that I got my ass handed to me in the kitchen by a f—” He stops himself, wide-eyed and horrified by words I know weren’t his own.
“Say it. It’s okay.”
“No. I can’t…”
“By a fat bitch. That’s what she said, right?”
He nods once. “And I got into it with her. I mean, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you’ve been more than okay to work with.”
“Thanks, Matty. You’re okay to work with, too.” He smiles for a brief moment before it vanishes from his face.
“I was miserable last night. She has a way of making me feel like I’m worthless. I actually believed her, and I needed to numb the pain.”
“Which I completely understand. Hey, man, I’ve been dumped. I know how that feels.”
“I just didn’t realize it was six in the morning ‘til it was six in the morning. I passed out and… well, I came in and tried to work, to be honest.”
I laugh lightly. “Which is why I found you on the floor, struggling with that bowl and the flour and sugar, right?”
“Yeah.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I wanted to get a pie crust together. You had those blueberries delivered yesterday, and I figured I’d bake you a fancy pie to give you a base for a reinvented dessert. You’re annoyingly good at that.”
For a moment, I’m rendered speechless by his unexpected kindness and appreciation. “A reinvented blueberry pie?”
“Why not? You knocked that tiramisu out of the park. Your strawberry cheesecake was a work of art.”
“Hmm, I can do a blueberry pie. We have fresh lavender sprigs, too.”
“And cinnamon buds.”
“Plus, that fancy bourbon vanilla Chef Matisse accidentally left behind.”
Matty laughs and leans forward with a devilish grin. “Wanna know a secret?”
“What’s that?”
“He called sometime last week, asking about his box of spices. The whole crate, that is. And I told him he must’ve taken it with him and lost it somewhere along the way, given his tendency to drink himself into a stupor.”
“Matty, you naughty minx!” I laugh.
