Those look better than anything
I’ve seen all week. Fucking epic!
Three dots appear almost immediately, then disappear and reappear a few times.
I wait for her response.
And wait.
And wait a little bit longer.
Nothing.
“She’s working,” I tell myself out loud before locking my screen and shoving the phone back into my pocket.
?????????
It’s hard to believe the competition ended almost two months ago.
The first month of planning passes in a series of long days and short nights.
Julian and I meet with suppliers and go over budgets. I argue with a designer about materials that don’t make sense for the kind of kitchen I’m building. Julian spends long hours interviewing chefs to build our line for success.
It’s everything I expected. Everything I’ve ever wanted.
And still, there’s this low-level distraction running in the background—I miss her.
Taylor’s messages come in throughout the day.
It’s an eclectic mix of photos and random thoughts that don’t need a response but make me want to give one anyway.
I do my best to answer when I can. Sometimes it’s immediate. Sometimes it’s hours later. But I always do answer, eventually.
By the end of the second month, the shift between us is almost too much to bear.
Where we used to fall into long conversations, back-and-forth without thinking, now it’s broken up. Stretched out over time.
We’re both busy with new routines. New jobs and projects. I tell myself it’s temporary. That it makes sense given all the changes we are both handling right now, and that it will get better once everything is settled.
It has to.
Now halfway into the third month post-competition, I’m starting to split my time between Prism back in Vancouver and Northern Flame’s home in San Francisco.
Tonight, I’m standing outside the restaurant after a fourteen-hour training day, phone in my hand, trying to decide if it’s too late to call her.
Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
After ringing a good number of times, it clicks over to voicemail, and I hang up before leaving a message. Blankly, I stare at the screen, willing it to change.
Not even a full minute later, it buzzes, and I answer the call immediately.
“Sorry, was just in the shower.” Taylor’s melodic voice carries over the line. “What’s up?”
My lips tip up, both at the thought of her in the shower and at how quickly she called me back.
‘Nothing…” I trail off, hand pushing my hair back away from my forehead. “Just wanted to hear your voice. It’s been a day.”
“I’m really glad you called. I miss you,” Taylor sighs.
