Nate drops his gaze to his wine and sips it. “I shouldn’t have mentioned you at all, but I was just so inspired by how you followed your dream and made it real, and how your family supported you. I told them all about that, but they just sat there, frowning.”
“I guess that explains the chilly reception,” I say. “They probably hate me now. Think I’m a bad influence.”
“No, I’ve talked about quitting law school before. So don’t worry about it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He glances over his shoulder, down at the treetops. “It is, actually, because I can’t keep letting my dad make decisions for me. If he’s angry, that’s his problem.”
I shift my weight to brace both feet squarely on the concrete floor of the balcony. “Maybe he’ll get over it eventually, if he sees that you’re happy.”
Nate sips his wine. “Not likely. He can’t stomach defeat, and he holds a grudge like nobody’s business. He has a cousin who backed out of a real estate deal they were considering together, and to this day, that cousin is dead to him. They were best friends when they were kids, but Dad hasn’t spoken to him in over ten years.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yes, but that’s who he is. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, and he won’t see anyone’s point of view except his own. And I get theworst of it because ... oh, I don’t know. I think he wants sons he can brag about.”
A cool breeze blows through the leafy trees below us, and an ambulance, siren blaring, makes its way along Tower Road toward the hospital.
“You’ll figure it out,” I say.
He smiles at me, and the moment feels intimate. “I guess I’ll have to, before I flunk a class. I’m not sure which would be worse for my dad: his son getting a D in tax law or moving to Paris to learn how to cook.” He chuckles cynically. “Honestly? I think he’d prefer the D. As long as I graduate.”
I laugh as well, though it’s not funny. It’s incredibly sad.
“I envy you,” he says. “I wish I had the support you got from your family.”
“I’ll never take it for granted,” I reply. “This career—and the dream I had—is what got me through the past seven years. It gave me a reason to get out of bed in the mornings. And when you want to be creative and you can’t be, it’s like being deprived of oxygen.”
Nate gestures toward me with a hand. “See?Youget it. I wishhecould.”
Our gazes hold, and I feel a type of euphoria I’d forgotten existed. It’s both emotional and physical, concurrently.
“What would you do if you were in my shoes?” he asks.
I shrug. “I can’t answer that, because I don’t know how badly you want to be a chef or how important it is for you to not disappoint your parents.”
We look at each other with understanding until I take a brave step away from the wall. “Maybe I could provide better guidance if I could taste that steak you promised me.”
Nate’s expression brightens. “That sounds fair. But you’ll be honest?”
I give him a questioning look. “About the steak or your future?”
“Both would be nice.”
I consider this request. “For tonight, I promise to be honest about the steak.”
“Fine,” he says and rubs his hands together with enthusiasm. He turns to the barbecue, raises the lid, and begins to clean the grate with a wire brush. “I don’t want to sound overconfident, but I think you should prepare to be amazed.”
“I shall,” I reply with anticipation.
I look down at the bistro table and chairs. In an effort to feel more relaxed, I slide the whole set away from the railing and closer to the wall so that I can sit down comfortably and watch him work.
Chapter Seven
Floating Out of My Chair
“You went to his apartment?” Becky asks the following morning when she calls me at work. “And he cooked dinner for you?”
