Page 75 of Until August

I had the privilege of doing something I loved. Fulfilling a childhood dream. Following my life’s passion instead of dollar signs.

Not everyone got so lucky.

My mother always said, “Sometimes you have to stop and count your blessings instead of dwelling on everything wrong in your life.”

And it was true.

I turned my head and stared at August’s profile. His eyes met mine as if he felt the weight of my gaze. I smiled, hoping it would convey everything words couldn’t.

I’m grateful you came into my life when you did.

I’m happy that I was the one who gave you a second chance.

I’m lucky to have you. For now. For as long as it lasts.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

August

I didn’t givetwo shits about Jonathan Kessler’s opinion. I didn’t care six or seven years ago, and I wouldn’t have cared now if it weren’t for Nicola. I knew it was important to her, so I’d tried to do everything I could to reassure her and put her mind at ease.

But after she’d returned from the dining room, she hadn’t looked happy.

As I leaned against the wall next to her, I could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head.

When I turned my head, she smiled, and even in the near-darkness, I could tell it was genuine. An open invitation to ask what was going on with her tonight.

I don’t think Nicola gave herself enough credit. I don’t think she knew how truly amazing she was.

Running a restaurant was not for the faint of heart. But to persevere in the face of tragedy and build a successful business while her whole world was falling apart?

That was a testament to her strength and resolve, and it physically pained me to watch her struggle with self-doubt. If only she could see herself the way I did, she would never question her abilities or extraordinary talent again. Not only in the kitchen but inlife.

Survival was a talent, and she’d mastered it.

“What happened tonight?” I asked.

She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. “I let a stranger mess with my head and lost sight of what matters.”

I kept silent and waited for her to continue, sensing she had more to say.

I understood where she was coming from. But I’d never cared about the critics. I was, and probably always would be, my own worst critic.

When I ran my own restaurant, I’d fallen into the vicious cycle of competing with other chefs. There was always someone who could do it better. Chefs with three stars instead of one. Chefs who saw me as competition and vice versa. So I’d knocked myself out trying to be the best.

It was a competitive industry, and for many of us, that was the nature of the beast.

“I’m not proud of how I acted,” she admitted. She let out a soft sigh. “But I’m giving myself some grace because I’m only human.”

“You’re quickly becoming one of myfavoritehumans.”

She gifted me another smile. “Why are you so good at this?”

“Good at what?”

“Dealing with me. Knowing all the right things to say. Sometimes I can be… difficult.” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes as if she’d made a big confession and wasn’t sure how I’d take it.

“If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t say it. And we can all be difficult sometimes. Everyone has insecurities and their own shit to deal with.”