Romance Impossible(62)
"Thank you," she said, managing a little smile. "For saying that."
Pull back, man. You're in too deep.
"I don't want you to think this will change anything," I said. "Just - you have a bright future ahead of you, and I want nothing more than to see you succeed. That's been true since the first day I met you."
Her cheeks went pink, and she smiled, hesitantly.
"I know it doesn't always seem like it," I said. "And I'm not trying to make excuses, but all I ever wanted was for you to be happy."
My hungover brain was just beginning to catch up to what I'd actually said, enough to begin to regret it - but I was immediately distracted by the look on her face. Once again, just like when I'd called her beautiful in the kitchen, before the charity dinner where I immediately fucked everything up again - once again, her reaction wasn't even close to appropriate for the situation. She should have been taken aback, weirded out, and quite frankly terrified of my bizarre behavior.#p#分页标题#e#
Instead, her smile only grew.
Her face was shining with admiration and gratitude and I was almost entirely sure that I wasn't just seeing things.
What if she doesn't, in fact, hate you?
What's your contingency plan for that?
"I..." She started, then paused, her eyes darting around the room as if to find the right words. "I'm not sure what to say, Max."
"Don't, then," I said, making a valiant effort to gather the shreds of my dignity around me. "Just get back to work."
I could still feel the warmth of her smile, long after she was gone.
***
The days in New York ran together, one leading into the next, until it was almost time for us to leave, and I didn't even realize what had happened. I took a moment, that last morning, to just stand in the kitchen and watch the staff - a mixture of new and old, fueled by the fear of my wrath and disappointment - go about their business. When I heard Tom repeating one of my orders to a server, I had to smile.
I'd done good work here. In spite of everything, the restaurant was going to be all right.
Jill and I were too busy to talk, most of the time, but I caught her watching me more than usual. It seemed like she was trying to...figure something out, or crack some kind of mystery. Could I possibly have feelings for this man?
I hoped she didn't. I really, really did.
I'd done enough damage in her life already. The last thing she needed was to love me.
Yet at the same time, the mere possibility of it made my chest constrict, almost painfully -
Please don't love me. But if you do, please don't tell me.
But if you do, please don't take no for an answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Flambé
Everyone knows flambé, but few people know the proper application of it. My recommendation: if you haven't been taught how, don't even try. You'll singe your eyebrows off.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Jill
***
I was back home in Boston, and I couldn't sleep.
Max was becoming a problem.
A mutual attraction was one thing. Harmless, really. People are attracted to each other all the time, and it doesn't always result in disaster. But then, feelings get involved.
Feelings. The absolute last thing I needed to be dealing with, right now.
I mean, actual feelings - not "I'd sure like him to touch me in all kinds of places" feelings, or "he makes me light-headed" feelings. Real actual feelings with implications that I hadn't experienced in so, so long.
Maybe not ever. Maybe not like this.
I had to stop this. I had to squash them, flatten them down, lock them up in a box in the deepest corner of my mind where they could starve out, and die the death they deserved. The little bastards.
I couldn't fall in love with Chef Maxwell Dylan.
But he said...
Yeah, he'd said a lot of things. They all did. They always said whatever they thought you wanted to hear, and maybe even believed it, at the time. But when the passion started to fade, none of it was worth a damn.
He'd even told me, once, that he couldn't make a relationship last more than a couple months. Was I insane for even thinking about the possibility of being with him? What the hell was wrong with me?
I knew the answer. Subconsciously, from the very first day I met him, I'd been building him up in my head as someone completely unlike Eric. And superficially, at least, I was right. Eric would never be caught dead yelling at someone. He was a nice guy. Calm, respectful, polite, thoughtful, good work ethic...#p#分页标题#e#
...and completely and utterly capable of destroying my life without a hint of remorse.
Whenever I told someone The Breakup Story, I always left out certain parts. I didn't tell them how I clung to his arm and begged him to stay. I let them believe I didn't hesitate, throwing him out on his ass just as soon as he told me that he loved somebody else. But that wasn't how it happened.