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And the smile is gone. “Fine.”
“And?”
“Dr. Patel keeps pushing about the same things.” Control, trust, food. I shrug. The last time I purged was last week after a meeting, where one of my co-workers thought it was a good idea to bring cinnamon rolls. I had to come up with some lame excusesaying I’ll definitely try them next time. “Been thinking maybe it’s not for me. Therapy, I mean.”
The warmth in his voice vanishes, replaced by something heavier as he says my name. “Naomi.”
“It’s—” I concentrate on the red liquid swirling in his glass. “I just hate how she makes me feel like I’m being dissected.”
“You can’t keep running from the hard stuff.”
“Says the guy who spent months drowning himself in bourbon.”
His fingertips linger against the glass, motionless, as if something has shifted. “Touché.”
“Sorry, that was?—”
“Look, I fucked up.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “For months. But I’m here now, showing up. Making bread in the middle of the night. Trying.”
My lips twitch, betraying my amusement. “The bread was delicious”
“It was.” His dimples return. “And you were eating it.”
I reach for my wine, needing something to do with my hands.
“And there’s the hum.” His eyes crinkle. “Keep going to therapy, cupcake. For me.”
And there’s my Brandon. My real boyfriend. Caring.
“Using emotional manipulation now?” I ask.
“Is it working?”
Elliot appears at our table, a large wooden board balanced on his palm. “My favorite couple.” His chef’s whites pristine despite the dinner rush and his trademark smirk firmly in place.
Brandon eyes the spread. “What’s all this?”
“Your usual.” Elliot sets down an array of small plates. “Plus, some new items I want opinions on. Duck confit spring rolls with plum sauce, scallop crudo with yuzu, and…” He gestures to something that looks like modern art. “A deconstructed carbonara arancini.”
“I haven’t been in a kitchen for—” Brandon starts.
“Forever, I know,” Elliot cuts in. “But you’re still the best palate I know.”
“I’ll try them.” I reach for a spring roll, and pop it in my mouth. “Oh my god.” I close my eyes, making an exaggerated version of my hum. “The… um… crunchiness really complements the… duckiness.”
“Duckiness?” Brandon raises an eyebrow at me.
Let’s see how long he can endure.
I take another bite of the spring roll, making sure to chew slowly and deliberately. “Mmm. The sauce is so… saucy? With a hint of pepper? Oh no, let me guess. It’s salt.”
Brandon’s eye twitches.
“The texture is like…” I wave my hand vaguely. “You know when you bite into something and it’s… crunchy but also squishy?”
Elliot’s smirk grows wider.
“And the wrapper thing—” I gesture at the crispy exterior. “It’s wrapped so… Did I mention crunchy?”