14. Annie

ANNIE

August 2022 - Annie is 26, Sam is 28

Work is good. Work is great. I'm the head chef of Austen's—finally—and I should feel amazing, but instead, I feel empty. I go through all of the motions tonight, waiting for the moment I can head home and watch reality cooking shows.

Cooking has always brought me so much joy, but tonight all I can think about is my relationship that is the exact opposite of a fairytale.

Mitch and I have been off and on again for the past year. He's like a drug I can't seem to quit. It doesn't matter what he does—the bad things—his stupid smile and charming, charismatic eyes always seem to bring me back. That and his subtle manipulation. I can see how he gets me everytime, but it's been almost a year since he last hit me, so things are going better. He really is changing. At least, that's what I tell myself even as I flinch every time I see his eyes get dark and angry. But the only thing he's hit me with within the past year has been his words. For now, I can live with that.

Plus, it helps that he's not at Austen's much these days. For the past two months, he's been working with contractors to get his next restaurant up and running. His days are full of paperwork and blueprints while mine are full of cooking the sauce the duck sits in and having customers tell me they'd like to bathe in it.

I should be on cloud nine, but I'm not.

Plus, my phone is burning a hole in my bag.

"What's with you today?" Chiara asks while we clean up the kitchen after closing.

"Nothing," I tell her. But the truth is, for the first time in over a year and a half, Sam texted me. I don't know what it said. I'd just clocked in and was putting my phone in my bag when I saw the notification so I've been wondering what he said for the past eight hours.

"Okay, weirdo."

I give her a nod, as I head out into the smoggy summer air. Instead of heading to Mitch's place where I've been living for the better part of two years, I turn right and head to Noah and Sam's place. I know Sam is somewhere out of the country, at least I think he is, and Noah is visiting our Mom. I want to be alone though, when I read Sam's texts. It's been a long time since Mitch picked a fight about Sam, since Sam and I don't talk much these days.

But I'm not in the mood to argue with Mitch. I'll have to delete the texts later, but it'll be worth it. To get a night of relief. I need to end it, but I don't have the courage anymore. As I walk up the stairs to the third-floor apartment, the same one I lived in when I first moved to New York, I send a text to Mitch letting him know I won't be coming home.

Me

Hanging out with my brother tonight, see you tomorrow.

He doesn't know that Noah is out of town and he has no way to verify that what I'm saying is true. Mitch has never been to this apartment because he thinks the apartment building is too run down for him. When I told him I had lived in this building for years while going to culinary school, I'm pretty sure he about died. He's established—his word, not mine—and told me that someday we could buy our own penthouse together, instead of the one I've been staying at.

His reply comes in seconds later.

Mitch

Working late anyway.

I sigh. If the roles were reversed, he'd be mad by that response, but I'm grateful. He's distracted and that's always a good thing. It's one in the morning and I'm ready to sink into the comfortable leather sofa in front of the TV before I fall asleep.

I slip the key into the keyhole and turn the lock, blinking in surprise at all the lights that are on.

"Noah?" I call out as I set my stuff out on the counter. Maybe I will actually hang out with him so my lie to Mitch won't be a lie. This makes me feel a little bit better.

I hear the shower running in the bathroom, so I make myself comfortable on the couch and pull out my phone. I let out a slow breath before going to my unread text from Sam.

Sam

Hi. Been thinking about you lately. That's never a good thing, but I was and wanted to tell you.

I stare at the text for a beat. After so much silence between, I'm not sure what to even say back.

Me

It's good to hear from you :) Sorry about the thinking thing though, that doesn't sound fun.

There. I can be fun and we can have a conversation. Maybe I shouldn't have sent the smiley face, but I can't edit the text, because it shows that he's read it.

Sam

What are you up to tonight?

I'm surprised that he replied so fast. I turn on a Gordon Ramsey cooking show before I reply.

Me

Currently sitting on your couch watching TV. Waiting for Noah to be done in the shower so we can hang out. You?

Just got up. Getting ready.

Where are you right now?

The bathroom door swings open, and I'm about to call out to Noah so I don't freak him out when Sam appears in the hallway in nothing but a towel. I stare at him openly—I'm completely gawking, but I can't seem to look away—blinking twice and opening my mouth to talk and then closing it again. He's here? His hair is pulled up in a bun, but it's still wet. His beard has water droplets on it. I lick my lips and look away, feeling guilty. I've got a boyfriend. I can't feel any sort of attraction toward him. I swallow thickly.

"I'm here," Sam says softly and my eyes snap to his. "Noah isn't here. He's in Colorado for the week."

My eyes leave his—my first mistake—and I take in his chiseled chest. I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingers. I close my eyes to shut out the image of his perfect body. "Can you put some clothes on, please?"

"You like what you see?" he asks in a teasing voice. Well, I think he's teasing because of the lilt at the end, but it also sounds flirty. That can't be right, not if it's directed at me. He's talked like that, low and husky, to other women. I've heard it on his channel. I heard it in this apartment when I was hiding away in my room. But never, never has he spoken to me like that.

"Just put some clothes on, Sam," I yell, my eyes still closed.

I swear I can hear him smirk as he turns and a few seconds later the door to his bedroom clicks shut. I open my eyes and wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans. What exactly is he doing here? How come he didn't tell me he was back? I glance at my phone, willing Mitch to text or call—to see through my lie—but my phone stays black.

When Sam returns to the living room, he's fully clothed but his hair is still damp and now that I know exactly what he's got hiding under all of those clothes, I'm not sure I can handle looking at him. So I close my eyes and go through my new alfredo recipe in my mind. Extra parmesan. Cream. Butter. Loads of garlic. Fresh parsley. It's nothing special, but it's delicious. I think I've finally perfected the combo of ingredients.

Sam snaps his fingers in front of me.

"What?" I look up at him. I zoned out enough that I didn't even hear what he said.

"I asked what you were doing here. In my apartment," he says as he falls next to me on the couch. There's about six inches between us, but that distance is lined with gasoline and I'm a match ready to catch fire and burn us both.

My cheeks burn. "I just wanted to be alone."

He tilts his head to one side. "Trouble in paradise?"

"You could say that," I answer with a forced laugh. His eyes turn serious and my stomach flips. "I just wanted to be alone," I repeat. "Why are you back?"

"Trip was over." He closes his eyes. "I'm only here for a few days."

"Great."

He is so close that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. I curl my hands into fists so hard that I know my nails will leave marks in my palms.

He settles into the couch and without opening his eyes, he says, "We should go out, catch up."

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. If Mitch ever found out that Sam even suggested that we hang out, I don't even want to think about what he'd do. "I can't."

"Come on." He looks at me now. "You can't be working that much? Do you still work nights? I could take you to breakfast."

"No, I can't."I look at him and beg him with my eyes to not dig, to not ask why. But it's like he knows everything without me having to say a word.

His mouth forms a tight line. "Has he hurt you?"

I swallow thickly but don't say anything.

"Annie?" His voice is low and angry and I hate that in this moment all I can think about is that I can't remember the last time he called me ‘sunshine'. "Did he hurt you?"

I look up at the ceiling, take a deep breath, and then look at Sam. I can't lie to him. For some reason, it's easier to lie to Chiara because she sees Mitch all the time and just like everyone else, she sees the side of him that I fell for. But Sam has never met Mitch.

"I'm my mothers daughter, after all. I know how to pick a winner." Tears prick my eyes but I blink them away.

He moves so fast that one second I feel like I'm about to fall apart and the next moment he is wrapping his arms tenderly around me, pulling me against him, and holding me together. "Oh, Annie. You're nothing like your mother."

For the first time in far too long, I feel like I can breathe easily. I feel perfectly safe and okay and normal in his arms and the thought nearly undoes me. I choke out a sob as he pulls me tighter against his chest, one hand holding me to him, and he runs his fingers through my hair with his other hand. We stay like that for a long time, me silently crying and Sam simply holding me.

When my tears run dry, he eases away from me and heads into the kitchen. He returns a moment later with a glass of water. "Drink, or you'll get a headache."

I chug the water as he disappears down the hallway again. When he returns, he's holding my tattered copy of Emma that I never got back from him after the bowling alley all those years ago. I nearly start to cry as he sits beside me on the couch, opens the book to the first page, and starts to read.

There are so many words that he and I need to share, like what he's doing here with me and I should tell him about Mitch and everything he's done, but instead, I put my head on his shoulder and listen to his soft candor as he reads aloud my favorite book.