Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I make my way toward the Métro line. My hand itches to reach for my phone and text Julian and Archer to tell them what I’ve done, but I’d rather do it in person. Besides, I’m still too strung out on this entire incident.
Ever since Julian and Archer offered to invest in my restaurant, I’ve been questioning myself and if taking the money is the right thing to do. I want to work for it. I want to earn it. I want it to be my accomplishment.
And now, after telling that asshole chef that I quit, I know that taking this money and opening my own restaurantismy accomplishment. I have earned it. I have worked tirelessly for years, underappreciated, underrecognized, in someone else’s kitchen, and now it’smytime.
I have no shame for letting them invest in the restaurant, because I know what they are really investing in isme.
I have proven my integrity, my work ethic, my passion, and just how much I want this. The good I’ve put into the universe is coming back to me. The universe brought these two into my life, and it’s rewarding me for everything I’ve done so far.
Iearnedthis, and I’m going to celebrate it.
I practically run the entire way to the Métro and from it to Julian and Archer’s apartment building. I don’t think I’ve ever been more eager to see them. I can already picture Julian standingin his kitchen, watering the collection of plants along his window, feeding Onyx on the kitchen counter, ignoring just how gross and unsanitary that is.
The doorman recognizes me immediately, giving me a smile and a nod as he opens the door for me, ushering me inside. I feel like a sweaty, gross mess, still in my uniform, black T-shirt, black pants, ugly sneakers. But I don’t care, and I know they won’t either.
In fact, I’m so excited to get to them, I take the elevator. My frustration has turned into excitement and exhilaration. When the doors open, I step inside, punching the button for the sixth floor, Julian’s apartment.
In some ways, this feels like the first day of my life, finally letting go of those menial jobs that don’t pay enough and work me too hard. My future is suddenly stretched out before me, within my grasp, and all I have to do is reach out and take it.
Today, I pick my restaurant. Tomorrow, we can shop for the things to go in it. I know there are many tiresome months ahead, dealing with licenses and permits, and I won’t pretend that breaking into the culinary scene in Paris will be easy, but it’s only a matter of time before those doors open, and I’m living my dream.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I wait for the elevator to deliver me to the top floor, and when the doors open, I practically jog to Julian’s front door, rapping my knuckles on it excitedly. But when the door opens and it’s Archer standing behind it, I freeze, my jaw hanging open in surprise.
“Oh, hey, Chef,” he says in a sleepy tone, as if he’s just woken up. His hair is still matted from the pillow, his eyes still swollen from sleep.
Suddenly there’s a flurry of emotions bubbling up inside me that I can’t quite identify. Jealousy. Bitterness. Betrayal.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing behind him to see where Julian might be.
In only a pair of sweatpants, Archer runs his fingers through his mess of brown curls. “Uh, I crashed here last night.”
“You guys were together without me?” I stammer, hating the way those words sound as they come out of my mouth. I sound insecure and jealous. I don’t like it.
He stutters uncomfortably again. “Why don’t you come in?”
Suddenly, worry floods my mind like a toxic fume. What if they are more into each other than they are into me? What if they don’t want me to be a part of this at all? What if I’m the third wheel? My mind is racing through every interaction we’ve had. That can’t be true, right? They both want me. I’m part of this.
As I step into Julian’s apartment, I glance around as if I’ll somehow be able to sleuth the clues and put together exactly what happened between the two of them. Did they have sex without me? Is this because I said I wasn’t ready?
“Who was it?” Julian asks before stepping into the living room with wet hair like he’s just gotten out of the shower. His eyes find me and widen with shock.
“It’s Freya,” Archer says slowly and uncomfortably.
The first thing I really notice is that Julian appears more apologetic than Archer, which is a bit surprising. He reaches a hand toward me. I don’t even have to ask what’s going on. He can read it on my face.
“Nothing happened,” he says in a defensive tone.
My brows furrow as I stare at him.
Behind me, Archer adds, “Well,somethings happened.”
“What kinds of things?” I ask.
“Not sex,” Julian replies, as if that makes everything okay.
Not sexcould be a lot of things.Not sexcould be admissions of love.Not sexcould be intimacy that I’m not a part of.
Suddenly, this threesome-throuple situation feels far more overwhelming than I think I can manage. “Am I interrupting?” I’m slowly moving back toward the door without realizing it.
