Page 14 of It Happened Back Then (Nilsson Family #3)

L eaving Bluemoon was much easier after my talk with Blossom.

Or, rather, the distinct lack of talking with Blossom.

After lying there for a good amount of time going over my limited choices, I knew I had to accept that moving back here based on the odds she’d come around was a losing bet. She wasn’t ready. Maybe she never would be.

So, I got up, grabbed my bag and jumped in my truck. I told myself I was only going to drive back down to Bean Lake, but with my bag in hand, deep down, I knew I was leaving.

Once I got back to my apartment in Seattle, I sat listening to the sounds of the city.

It’s a completely different noise than that of Bluemoon, a difference I hadn’t noticed it until then.

Sure, it was busier, livelier, louder, car horns and people yelling.

That’s a given. It felt fun, it felt alive.

Bluemoon noise was snow falling and fires crackling.

It was spring streams running and light rain falling. And it was home.

But for now, I had to ignore those noises of home that echo in the recesses of my mind. It was time for me to buckle down, focus on my career, on figuring out exactly what I want from life and working my ass off to get it.

Time passes regardless of how we feel, regardless of where we are or who we choose to spend time with. My Seattle job was all-consuming, and I dove in headfirst, intent on distracting myself from the noise I can’t silence entirely.

Savannah and I tried to make it work again. There were many times over the years where I asked myself why I kept going back to a relationship I knew had no real future. It was painful for me to finally admit that it was for the same reason my mind always drifts back to Blossom. Familiarity. Safety.

But in Savannah’s case the safety was my knowing that there was no real future there.

She said all the right things, as long as I agreed to stay in Seattle.

She never told me not to take the job back in Bluemoon, but she was very adamant that all I needed in life was right there. A job, success, and her.

But no matter what she gave, I couldn’t in good conscience take more.

It took some time, but eventually, I called Charlie Verdi, and luckily, he was still willing to take a chance on me. I left Seattle and moved back to Bluemoon.

So now, here I am, twenty-six years-old, standing in the kitchen of the place I dreamed of working in as a kid, wearing a chef’s jacket with my name printed on the left side.

Bennett Hayes, Head Chef.

This job is everything I ever wanted, and being back in Bluemoon is great, but even on my best days, I can’t shake her from my soul.

Blossom’s voice, her kiss on my cheek, the way she felt grinding on me in my bed.

Her simple “I love you” with no explanation and no demands, it just was.

She just loves me. And it repeats over and over in my mind because, for as long as I can remember, there’s been nothing more natural than loving her back.

I’ve been back for a while now, but she’s still on the outside of it all.

Even though we see each other often, she hasn’t attempted any serious discussions about our friendship or the possibility of a future together.

We talk and laugh, but the depth, the needing to know where we go next, it’s not there.

She came by the day I moved in with two coffees and a bottle of high proof rum that I can flambé with.

It was a welcome home gift, or more of a you’re home gift, but even then, things were strained.

And maybe it’s me. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.

Maybe I should have just accepted what she was willing to give me.

Accepted that it was enough, as long as I had her close.

But I shouldn’t have to chase her or beg her. I've been doing that my whole life.

So instead, I continue to bury myself in the work.

The sounds of the kitchen surround me, the sizzling of the steak to my left, the boiling of water to the right, and the bell ringing behind me signaling more tickets coming through.

The waitstaff come and go, grabbing plates from the warmer, and I fall in love just a bit more with the hustle and bustle of this kitchen.

Because if nothing else, I’m in love with being Chef.

Creating culinary masterpieces is an escape for me, and I realized that when I was very young.

My paternal grandmother is an incredible baker.

Desserts are her favorite thing, but she can also cook the hell out of any meal.

The smells that would waft from her kitchen when I was a kid had me so engrossed in learning from her, I watched every little thing she did.

She saw my love for it and fostered that, including me every chance she got.

I credit my success to her because, without her push and patience, I wouldn’t be here.

The youngest head chef Bluemoon has ever had.

“Chef! The floor is on fire tonight! Kat just told me they’ve got seventeen more reservations than last night.”

I turn to Jeff, my second in line, and say, “Then you better make sure your apron is tied tight and get ready for the long haul.”

He laughs. “I’m ready, boss. Let’s do this!”

I love the exuberance from my line guys.

It’s the one thing that was missing in the Seattle kitchen.

Though I loved being a line chef at Rain’s Steakhouse, I didn’t get on well with the staff.

They were pretentious, demeaning, and showed no love for the food.

I need the excitement that comes from being pushed to create record numbers every night without shorting quality.

I need the joy in the kitchen when the front of the house tells us a couple celebrating their anniversary had the best dinner ever.

I need the excitement that comes from preparing a meal that is going to be talked about long after the moment has passed.

I thought excitement was the change of pace I found in Seattle. The city life and the restaurants upon restaurants that showed me brand new foods and taste and smells. For a food enthusiast such as myself, it should have been a dream come true, but there was always something missing.

Moving back to Bluemoon showed me exactly what that missing piece was.

Blossom.

The last thing I wanted to do was leave her and go to college. I begged her to come with me, but she insisted I go. She said it was the right thing, that I needed to find the love I craved in a profession. But the love I really craved for my heart was living right next door.

I step back from the counter, feeling a hand press my back and someone saying, “Behind.” I pause, waiting for my guy to pass me.

Then I grab the four tickets that just came through the system and scan them.

Ugh, who can eat meat that tastes like shoe leather?

“Two ribeyes, kill one. Mashed with both. I need a side of broccoli for table five, and fire the apps on table twelve.”

“Yes, Chef,” sounds around me, and we’re back on it. I glance at the clock, only half past eight, and I count down the hours until I get to crawl into my bed and dream about a life with Blossom.

A life she doesn't seem to want but one I can’t get past.