“Monica?”
At the sound of her name being called, she turned in the lobby of her apartment building with her heart still pounding from discovering a few paparazzi following her while she was out shopping. News and rabid speculation on her and Gabe’s breakup had forced them back into the public eye.
She gasped to see Phoebe rising from one of the ornate seats in the waiting area, looking pretty in coral wide-leg pants and a long-sleeved white tee. The sight of her and the obvious compassion in her eyes struck a chord in Monica as she let her shoulders slump and shook her head as emotions overwhelmed her. Phoebe gave her a smile and opened her arms wide, just as she’d promised that day in the attorney’s office.
“Just know there is no deadline on when you reach out to me. Be it a day or a year or a dozen—if I’m still alive God willing—I will accept you with open arms.”
In her, at that moment, Monica saw something she felt she’d never had before. Family. As she quickly crossed the divide and welcomed her aunt’s embrace, she felt foolish for never fully allowing the woman into her life. “You came,” she whispered, comforted by the warm pats on her back.
“You needed me,” Phoebe said with a low chuckle. “Right?”
Monica nodded her head where it rested against her shoulder. “Right,” she admitted.
“So here I am,” Phoebe simply said.
Monica took a deep steadying breath before taking a small step back and looking at her aunt. “I love him,” she admitted as tears welled.
Phoebe put a hand to her back. “Let’s go up, have something to drink, and talk,” she said.
“I don’t have any juice or tea,” Monica said as they reached the double doors of the elevators.
“Tea?” her aunt scoffed. “More like a mar-ti-ni.”
That made Monica laugh. Maybe her first time in weeks.
As they settled in her living room and sipped on the dirty martinis Phoebe made for them, Monica felt comforted by the presence of this woman she really didn’t know. “To have you here when I needed someone most makes me realize I wanted you here all along,” she admitted.
Phoebe crossed her ankles and reached over to squeeze Monica’s hand with hers. “When I saw the press about the breakup and saw the paparazzi hounding you again, I was determined to fly back and check on you,” she said. “You looked so sad. I could see that.”
“It’s been two months, actually, so everyone’s a little late,” she said, thinking of the last time she’d seen Gabe. “Or someone is so overjoyed it’s done, they gave the paparazzi a clue.”
With each day her hope that he would come and fight for her faded. Still, she hungered for him. He was in her thoughts so often. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Nothing at all. Her love for her ex seemed juvenile in comparison.
And it was then she realized that she loved Gabe.
His strength. His passion. His intelligence. His compassion. Even his drive and ambition.
Without her realizing it, Gabriel Cress had claimed a piece of her heart, and every day she had to deal with having that love without having him.
“I was a fool to think I could avoid loving him,” Monica said, kicking off the heels she wore with her wrap dress and tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she looked out the window. “No, I was a fool to think I didn’t already love him before that first wild night on the roof.”
“The roof?” Phoebe said before fanning herself.
Monica felt her face flush with heat at the memory.
“Tell me the story of Monica and Gabe,” Phoebe said.
In an instant she seemed to remember so many moments they’d shared. Good times. Great times.
“I will tell you our story, even though it doesn’t end well, because the beginning and the middle were amazing,” Monica admitted softly, feeling her pulse race.
At times she smiled. Other times her eyes glazed over as she remembered their heat. There were many moments she chuckled at something funny they’d shared together. And then, as she spoke of the weeks leading up to the night of her charity gala, she felt weighted down by her sadness. And regret.
“You do love him,” Phoebe said with emphasis.
Monica looked to her.
“I see it in the way you talk about him, and remember him,” the elder explained. “And miss him.”
“But he broke my heart. He gave up. He walked away. He left me,” Monica said, working her fingers as if to remove the tension she felt rise like a wave.
Phoebe stilled the frantic movement of her hand by covering it with her own. “Or...”
Monica looked to her again.
“Or your time together had come to its natural end,” the older woman offered. “If you spend a chunk of your life with someone and the majority is good—truly good—then you should never end it hating the other person. You move on and keep the good memories, learn the life lessons and be prepared for your next big adventure.”
“Another man?” Monica asked with a frown.
“No, not always. Sometimes you discover you in a way that you’ve never really known yourself. Or you travel. Or change careers. Or journal. Discover religion. Or write a book—and for some, hell, read a book. Or sometimes you discover you have a family member you never knew about and wished that you had,” she said.
Monica’s smile to her was warm and genuine.
“Life is all about change and newness, and sometimes people aren’t meant to be in your life forever...and the time you spent together is nothing to regret, no matter how it ends.”
“Like seasons?” Monica asked, rising to walk over to the window and look out at Central Park in the distance. The emerald green of the grass and the bright colors of the flowers gave it an idyllic look from where she stood.
“Exactly,” Phoebe stressed. “Each just as necessary as the last. Some more brutal than others.”
Monica crossed her arms over her chest. She blinked away tears that threatened to fall. She’d cried enough of them to fill a pond.
As she looked down at the street, she spotted a couple with their arms entwined as they walked and talked with each other. They laughed together before he wrapped an arm around her waist to lift her off her feet and spin her before pressing a kiss to her cheek. It was like a scene from a romance movie. It even seemed to move along in slow motion, but she knew that was her imagination at play.
How long will their season last? And how will it end? A fiery explosion or a gentle goodbye? Or will it last forever?
Gabe.
She thought of him as she had a million times over the last two months—especially at night when the world seemed quiet and there was no work at the foundation, lunch with friends or enough TV shows to keep her mind occupied. She focused on the good times they shared. Those happy, pleasure-filled memories eased her heartache. Not much. But some.
Maybe even enough to do something she thought she’d dare not.
Monica looked over her shoulder at the writing desk against the wall before she turned and walked over to it, then bent and removed a large envelope from the wastepaper basket. It was dark brown, like chocolate, with gold block letters. She licked her lips as she traced her name and address before touching that of GABRIEL. The restaurant—his restaurant. Not the man.
“He did it,” she said, with the soft hint of a smile.
“Who?” Phoebe asked from the sofa.
Monica looked over at her as she held up the envelope between her index and middle finger. “It’s an invite to his restaurant opening,” she said. “It came earlier this week and I threw it away.”
Phoebe kept her eyes locked on her niece but said nothing.
“I’m happy for him. I am,” Monica stressed. “But I do not want to see him and the thing he chose over me. Ever. Am I wrong?”
Phoebe came over, gently took the envelope from her and set it on the center of the small modern-style desk next to a short stack of bills. “No, just undecided,” she said.
True.
“When is it?”
“Next week,” Monica said, digging her toes into the plush pile of the area rug. “Seems a little last-minute.”
“Maybe he was undecided, too,” Phoebe offered.
“Maybe,” she said, wrinkling her brow a bit as she moved back to the window and stepped inside a ray of sunlight, which felt good against her skin.
Almost as good as Gabe.
Was he with someone new? Or was the restaurant his one true love?
“Well, you have a week to decide,” Phoebe suggested from behind her.
Monica remained silent. Her thoughts were filled with visions of walking up on Gabe holding and kissing and giving attention to another woman the way he used to do with her. The jealousy she felt at just the idea of that was telling.
Her love for him lingered.
“What if his true intent was an invite to reconcile?” Phoebe asked.
Monica’s heartbeat seemed to echo loudly inside her even as she shook her head in denial of the thought. “Hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice?” she asked, using her own play on words of the popular saying. “Shame on me.”
At the gentle nudge against her arm, she was surprised to find her aunt standing beside her with a fresh cocktail in each hand. She took one with a nod of thanks. “You make a really good drink, Auntie,” she said after a long and satisfying sip.
“I was a bartender in this little dive in Cuba for two years when I was deeply in passion with Armando,” Phoebe said as she lightly stroked her neck and smiled at some memory before sipping her drink, giving a soft little grunt from the back of her throat.
“Armando, huh?” Monica asked, curious about the life her aunt had lived that had included a stay in Cuba.
“Yes, and Frank, and Marcus, and Harry. Just to name a few,” she said, her smile widening with each name. “I’ve had some great passions in my life. And I gave as good as I got.”
“What about love?” she asked the older woman she was quickly learning to adore.
“Love? Sometimes,” Phoebe said with a little shrug. “But even when the love fades the memories remain, and that, my niece, makes it all worthwhile.”
With Gabe there had been more good than bad. So much more. Plenty of passion, laughs and deep conversations. Travels. Adventures. Discoveries. And the sex. Their physical connection. She shook her head in wonder at the thought of the heated moments they’d shared. The things they did to each other.
But...
“I’m too hurt to enjoy the memories,” she admitted.
“Of course, you are...now,” Phoebe assured her. “That’s the good thing about memories, because they don’t go anywhere. They’ll wait for when you’re ready to savor them, and they’ll sneak up on you when you least expect it.”
Don’t I know it.
“To the memories,” Phoebe said raising her glass with her eyes filled with twinkle.
Monica gave her a reluctant smile, anxious for the days her recollections didn’t mock her so much. “To the memories,” she agreed as they touched glasses.
Ding.
Gabe sprinkled thinly sliced green onions on the short ribs braised in red wine atop thick grits made savory with French Brillat-Savarin cheese and freshly made garlic butter. He stepped back to view his handiwork as he tossed his hand towel over his left shoulder and set his hands on his hips. “Run the dish,” he said with a nod, signaling the plated meal was ready to be served.
It was the last dish of the first night of his restaurant’s grand opening.
“Excellent job, Chef.”
Gabe smiled as he extended a hand to Lorenzo, who had humbly served as his sous chef for one more night. Together they had effortlessly served those private guests he’d invited to celebrate with him. Tomorrow he would be on his own. GABRIEL was open. “Thank you, Chef.”
“It’s nice to see you smile, amigo,” Lorenzo said as he walked over to the leather-covered double doors to remove his apron and free his shiny ebony waist-length hair.
This time the grin was forced. “I’m okay, Zo,” he lied, moving to the wash sink to clean and dry his hands before replacing the dark brown, monogrammed chef’s coat he wore with a clean one.
“You can’t wake a person who is pretending to be asleep,” Lorenzo said, pulling on a dark blue linen jacket that matched his dark denim jeans and deep blue silk shirt.
His friend had said the Navajo saying to him many times over the last two months. “I am moving on,” he insisted.
“You’re going through the motions,” Lorenzo insisted. “Living without living.”
He wasn’t wrong. The nights were the worst.
“Call her, Gabe.”
His gut felt punched at the very thought of her. He shook his head. “No,” he said adamantly.
Lorenzo held up his hands. “Your life,” he said.
“Yes, and a new part of it starts tonight,” Gabe said, glad to move on from yet another what-went-wrong conversation.
“Yes, it does. Enjoy it,” his friend said before turning and leaving him alone in the small but well-stocked kitchen.
Gabe released a short but deep breath as he nodded as if he were an athlete prepping himself on the sidelines before he entered a championship game. Success or failure rested on his shoulders because everything had been his selection from the small staff, the menu, the schematics and the interior design. Every bit of it was how he wanted to be viewed as a chef to the world. More than ever before.
His sacrifice had been great and he wanted the reward to surpass that.
He needed not to feel like the biggest fool ever.
He thought of a sweet moment with Monica, laughing at something he said as they lounged in bed, but forced the thought away.
Clearing his throat, Gabe pushed through the double doors and stepped out to the front of the house. The restaurant was small and intimate with a clean and stylish decor of pale walls, dark furnishings, and bronze votive candles and floral arrangements on each of the sixteen tables. Large quarter-top windows ran across the front of the space, showcasing the brick-lined street and the river in the distance. In the deep alcove on the side wall, he’d placed the bar, with its copper background and recessed lights illuminating the array of bottles lined up on the wood shelves. He would be open for four hours, six nights a week with a focus on dinner service, offering a delectable five-course tasting menu of his choosing. He would cook what he wanted and charge a premium price to do so, with a new menu printed every night. A new inspiration every night.
Never had he felt so inspired.
He stepped deeper into the restaurant, and the applause began. With a nod of thanks, Gabe looked about the room at all the smiling faces and felt comforted that his family was among them. For a moment, he wondered if their support was more about genuine desire for his success or because he had returned to Cress, INC. in a less prominent role while making it clear he was not interested in being the CEO upon their father’s retirement. He could be there only if he was out of the race. He had begun to miss his family and the great work they were doing at Cress, INC. just as much as he’d craved being a chef again.
Stop being so dogged in your pursuit of success.
Mend the divide between you and your family.
Find a balance between what you want and what you need.
What he’d once felt was Monica’s ultimatum or attempt to control his life had become some of the greatest advice he’d ever received. And when he’d reached out to his parents, it was with clear intent that it was his way or no way. Finally, he’d spoken up for himself and shed the desire to be unproblematic. Having them concede to him had been shocking and satisfying. They’d missed him, as well. For once he’d thought his father saw his worth. But in that moment, he’d felt even more gratified knowing he didn’t need their approval or support.
Still it was nice to have—
The rest of his thoughts abruptly halted as he looked up and caught sight of Monica sitting at one of the tables near the windows. Surprise caused his heart to swell in his chest, and he felt a nervous energy course over his body as he took her in, feeling a hunger that was familiar. She wore more makeup than usual. Her smoky eyes, high cheekbones and nude glossy lips were beautiful. Her hair was pulled back from her face and behind her shoulders, framing large diamond chandelier earrings. But it was when she rose from the chair as he moved toward her that he truly felt out of breath.
The strapless black column dress was ruched at the middle, emphasizing her shape, with a hem that fell just below her knees, revealing well-toned legs and strappy heels with satin bows at the ankles.
She was stunning.
As he neared her, he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He felt the same way.
“Hello, Monica,” he said.
“Congratulations, Gabe,” she said, her eyes unlocking with his to look beyond his shoulder for a moment.
He followed her line of vision to find his entire family looking at them. They all suddenly pretended to focus on their drinks and each other. Shaking his head, he looked back at her. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he admitted, wondering if his pounding heart was as loud to her as it was to him.
“Thank you for the invite,” she said.
Gabe didn’t hide his confusion. “But I didn’t send an invite,” he admitted.
Monica frowned, then looked disappointed before her expression went blank. She looked down at her feet, then up at him. “Oh,” she said before quickly turning and picking up her black-beaded clutch from the table.
“Gabe.”
He looked over his shoulder to find his publicist, Frank Lawson, standing behind him.
“It’s time for the toast,” Frank said.
Gabe eyed two servers bringing trays of champagne-filled flutes from the bar. Just as planned. In attendance were a well-known food critic and a couple of members of the press given exclusive access to the opening. “One moment,” he said without a second thought.
Frank looked concerned. “I don’t know if I can hold them, Gabe,” he said.
But he had already turned back to Monica, only to find she was gone. The remembered look of disappointment in her eyes fueled him as he took the few steps to yank open the copper-trimmed glass door to step out onto the street. His heart wildly pounded as he looked left and then right. She was nearing the corner to cross the street.
“Monica!” he called to her.
She stopped and turned.
The streetlamp above her highlighted the track of a tear, like the twinkle of a star. A visceral pain radiated across his chest as he rushed to her.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said, raising her hand to her face.
Gabe covered it with his to lower it. He used his free hand to capture the tear with his thumb as his eyes moved over her face, taking in everything. His gaze lingered on her mouth. “I’m glad you came,” he admitted in a whisper. “You coming into my life in the first place gave me the courage to do it all.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly as she gripped his hand and slowly removed his touch. “I came. I ate some really great food. I saw you. I said my congrats. And now I’m leaving, Gabe.”
“No, don’t leave me,” he pleaded, not allowing shame or ego to make him act a fool again. “The worst mistake I ever made was not fighting for us that night. Forgive me.”
Monica gasped and then winced as she took a deep breath. “Gabe,” she began.
“I thought you were angry at me. I thought you never wanted to see me again. I thought I hurt you so bad that I didn’t have a right to convince you that I realized I love you,” he said, holding tight to her hand and massaging tiny circles on the back of it as he enjoyed the simple physical connection. “Forgive me.”
Monica kept her eyes closed as if it pained her to even look at him.
That hurt. But he understood it.
“Damn it,” she swore as her shoulders slumped and she allowed her head to rest against his chest.
He rested his chin atop it. “Forgive me,” he begged.
“Gabe.”
He heard Frank behind him but ignored him as he waited for Monica to honor his request. He wanted her back in his life more than everything, and he refused to give up the opportunity to fight for her for anything.
“I was a fool, baby, please,” he stressed, easing back from her enough to press his hand to her face to raise it.
Her eyes remained closed.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
Slowly, she did.
It was his turn to gasp as he looked into the brown depths of her eyes and saw every bit of the love she had for him. It was pure and real...and fierce. That he knew without her speaking. It was the epitome of wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Relief coursed over him until he felt strengthened and weakened all at once.
“Gabe!”
Monica leaned to the side to look past him. “They need you back at the restaurant,” she said, as she looked back up at him.
“It can wait. Nothing matters to me more in this moment than you,” he said steadfastly.
She looked at him again.
When her eyes widened in surprise, he turned, as well, to find his mother guiding Frank back inside the restaurant.
Gabe and Monica looked back at each other with questions in their eyes.
Did she send the invite?
“No,” they said in unison before sharing a laugh that lightened the mood.
Monica dropped her head to his chest again and settled her hands on his hips. “Gabe, I have to be honest,” she began.
He stiffened.
Is she with someone else?
The thought of that was torture.
“I learned some things these last couple of months,” she said, raising her head to look up at him.
He enjoyed the sight of her. His eyes wandered over her as if he were feeding a hunger.
“About myself. About love. Family. So many things,” Monica continued.
He’d felt anguish when he’d thought he had lost her forever.
“I love you, Gabriel Cress,” she stressed, tilting her head to the side as her eyes searched his. “I forgive you.”
So, this is joy.
“If—” she continued.
He tensed again, feeling completely shaken by the emotional roller coaster. His hint of a smile faded.
“If you can forgive me for letting my past filter everything you did and see it all in a bad light,” she said, easing her hands around his waist. “Forgive me.”
Gabe released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Without question,” he said, his voice deep and brimming with meaning as he brought his hands up under her hair to hold her neck and jaw in his palms.
They stared at each other. The energy—that familiar pulse—was there as their serious expressions were replaced with slow smiles. Long, endless moments of just enjoying being in one another’s company again.
This was love.
Pure and profound.
He lowered his head, giving in to his hunger, and she tilted her head up and welcomed his kisses. Slow and soft at first, with moments in between each where their lips barely touched and they inhaled of one another’s shaky breaths. And when they deepened, each moaned from down within as they clung to one another, until their bodies seemed to blend.
Gabriel knew in that moment that he loved her like he had never loved before, and that she had claimed a piece of his heart that no other woman would ever be able to reach. And there was not one bit of fear in him about it. Not one.
This was love.
Why had they denied themselves for so long?
It was Monica who broke the kiss and smiled at him as she cleaned her gloss from his lips with her thumb. She slid her hand in his. “You have an opening to attend,” she reminded him.
“Let’s walk slow,” he said with a deliberate look down at the length of him hard and pressing against his pants.
She chuckled as she leaned against his arm. “My desire is not as easy to see,” she said.
“The thought of that isn’t helping,” Gabe said, his voice deep.
“Maybe I should put a little distance between us,” she said, slightly teasing as she released his hand.
“Not too much.”
“Never again,” she said, stopping as they came to the front door. She held up her pinky finger. “I promise not to ever push you away and you promise to never leave. Deal?”
Gabe hooked his pinky with hers. “Deal. No fear?”
“No fear,” she agreed.
When they finally walked inside, the sounds of a successful restaurant surrounded them. Conversation blended with jazzy music. Forks hit dishes and glasses touched each other in toasts. Monica made a move to reclaim her seat, but Gabe held steadfastly to her hand to guide her behind him to the center of the restaurant where his family sat.
Frank looked relieved as he motioned for the servers to bring two additional flutes.
“What made you send the invite?” he heard Monica ask his mother.
“I was tired of seeing my son miserable without you,” his mother replied.
So, it was her.
He cleared his throat and stared down at his feet to gather himself before he finally looked over at his mother. By sending that invite, she had accepted and welcomed Monica into the fold. For him.
That, too, was love.
Gabe accepted the flutes and handed one to Monica before facing his guests. “I’m proud and humbled to announce that GABRIEL has full reservations for the next four weeks. Thank you for the first of hopefully many nights to come of good food, good drink and good times. This is my life’s dream, and I’m honored to share this night with all of you, with my family who taught me everything I know about food, and this woman beside me who taught me everything I know about love,” he said, looking down at Monica, who was already looking at him.
The night was perfect.
“To GABRIEL,” Phillip Sr. said.
As everyone in the restaurant raised their glasses in a toast to him and his establishment, Gabe looked over at his father and saw pride for him in his eyes. He had grown beyond needing his father’s approval, but in truth, it was an honor to have. Extending his flute, he touched his glass to his father’s before then lifting it into the circle created by his family with their own glasses raised in toast.
Atop the table, he covered Monica’s hand with his own and entwined their fingers.
“À la nourriture. À la vie. À l’amour,” he said, leveling his eyes on each of his family members.
“À la nourriture. À la vie. À l’amour,” they all said in unison.
With his thumb still stroking the back of her hand, he leaned in close to her ear. “To food. To life. To love,” he said before pressing a kiss behind her lobe.
He felt her tremble. “Soon,” Gabe promised.
Monica looked at him, her soft eyes filling with heat. “Another wild night like the first one, Mr. Cress?” she said for his ears alone.
His pulse raced as he chuckled. “Better,” he promised.