He hesitated, appearing to debate whether to deflect or tell the truth before he settled on the latter. “Do you remember the Le Boudoir opening a few years ago? It was in the news for months.”
I nodded slowly, my mind rifling through my memories until it landed on why, exactly, that restaurant opening had been somemorable. “That was where Martin Wellgrew…”
“Died,” Sebastian finished. “You can say it.”
I winced. The banker’s high-profile death during an equally high-profile event had been the talk of the town. It’d made headlines in national news outlets, and everyone thought that would be the end of the Laurent Restaurant Group. Sebastian’s family weathered the storm, but they came out bruised and battered.
I remembered how vicious the press had been and how certain people had delighted in what’d seemed to be the Laurents’ downfall. I hadn’t been one of them. We were rivals, but I wanted to beat him, not see him vilified.
I’d talked to Sebastian a few times during that period. He’d seemed fine, but he was good at putting on a mask, and the experience had obviously taken a bigger toll than I’d realized.
I didn’t want to push him, so I waited silently for him to continue.
“I was the head chef that night.” Sebastian swallowed. “It was my first time running a kitchen, and someonedied. It’s every chef’s nightmare, and it fucked me up for a while. I went to therapy, but I also spiraled. Hard. I couldn’t cook for ages. I couldn’t even pass by a kitchen without getting a panic attack.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My therapist was great, and I eventually got better. I slowly rediscovered my love for cooking. But there’s a part of me that’s afraid something similar will happen if I do anything beyond making meals for family and friends. That’s why I was so hesitant when you pushed me to replace Derek on the collab. I was so fucking scared that I’d mess up again on an even bigger scale. My family barely survived the first crisis; I don’t think we can survive a second one.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said fiercely. “The recipes have been double and triple-checked, and I’ve seen the reports from the test groups. Peoplelovethem. What happened at Le Boudoir wasterrible, but you can’t blame yourself. Shit happens in restaurants all the time. It’s not a reflection of you or your abilities.”
“In that case, it was.” Sebastian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “He died from a peanut allergy, Maya. It wasn’t a freak heart attack or an accident. It was food-related, which means what happened wason me.” His voice cracked. “I’ve replayed that night dozens of times in my head. None of our dishes had peanuts, and I was so sure we didn’t have a trace of them in our ingredients either. But something must’ve slipped past me, and it kills me that I can’t figure out what it was. If I don’t know what the problem is, I can’t fix it, and it can happen again.”
A sharp pang tugged at my chest. I couldn’t imagine the guilt he’d been living with. How long had he shouldered that burden, thinking he was responsible for someone else’s death?
“You don’t know that therewasa problem,” I said. “I understand why you feel responsible. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. But you said it yourself. You dideverythingin your power to keep the kitchen peanut-free. It’s a common allergen. The person sitting next to him could’ve had a peanut bar in their pocket, or he could’ve, I don’t know, kissed someone who ate peanut butter beforehand. The point is, there’s no way to know. What happened to Martin was an extraordinary circumstance, and it’s not an omen for the future. You’re not cursed, Sebastian.You just got unlucky.”
He didn’t appear fully convinced, but his lips did curve into a small smile. I took that as a win. “I can’t say I’ve heard that peanut butter line before,” he said. His smile dimmed again. “You must think I’m a hypocrite for pushing my father to let me pursue cooking full time when I have all this… baggage weighing me down.”
“I don’t think you’re a hypocrite,” I said. “I think you’re brave. Not a lot of people have the courage to chase their dreamsaftertheir worst fear comes true. You do.”
The strength of my conviction seemed to get through to him. Some of the tension slipped from his shoulders, and his eyes crinkled into a genuine smile. “Maya Singh, complimenting me? The world must be ending.”
“It’s part of the girlfriend perks package.”
“Hmm. I like it, but it’ll take some getting used to.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t get used to it. Compliments are reserved for special occasions.” I reached for my wine. “This is our first date, and you fed me well, so consider that the special occasion.”
He laughed. The atmosphere lightened, and we gradually segued to easier topics, but the unguarded intimacy of our earlier conversation lingered.
Sebastian and I might’ve grown up together, but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. There were more layers than I’d expected, and out of everything we did that day—the food, the cooking, the laughter—getting a glimpse of the real him was by far the best part.
CHAPTER 33
Sebastian
THE SECOND HALF OF MARCH PASSED IN A BLUR. Before I knew it, it was April, and the temperatures had inched into more manageable territory. I still had to wear a coat every time I left the house, but the wind no longer tried to bite my face off when I walked down the street.
Maya and I continued dating in secret. We planned on telling our friends soon, but we were holding off on telling our families until after the launch event. Her parents were intense about her love life, and she didn’t want that pressure on top of the chaos at work.
We were only two months out from launch. Everything was going smoothly so far, but I was constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If it weren’t for Maya, I would’ve cracked already.
“Did you see the latest email from the venue?” I asked.
Maya nodded. “About the table settings? I’ll respond.”
It was Wednesday, and we were working out of her living room instead of our shared office at Singh Foods HQ. We’d been alternating between her penthouse and my brownstone the past few weeks. It was our sneaky way of combining business and pleasure—we still got plenty done, but we could take quick “breaks” without worrying about someone walking in on us.
However, the emails had been endless today, and it took us another hour to get through them all before we ventured to the kitchen for a snack and a stretch.
“How are you feeling about everything?” Maya asked. She leaned against the counter, a bowl of strawberries in hand. Sincewe were working from home, she was dressed more casually than usual in a pair of shorts and a vintage concert T-shirt. Her feet were bare, and her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders.
