Chapter Text
It’s been 4 years since Rody quit.
You think about it more than you’d like to, going over in your mind what you did to have made that happen, where it all went wrong.
Did you get too close?
Did you misread the signals?
Did you open up too much?
The questions bombard you unrelentingly and annoyingly.
The man was already on your mind 24/7 when he was working for you but apparently not being able to see him every day has only made it worse.
But since then, you’ve hired a new waiter.
It took an idiotic amount of time for you to muster up the courage to hire a new one, but you prefer not to admit that.
Reviews are more positive, business is up, life feels secure; everything should be good.
Key word: should.
There are still some nights where you lie awake, staring at the ceiling, mourning the ‘one that got away’.
Once again, you’d prefer not admitting that.
~❦• ♱ •❦~
You wake up to the sound of birds chirping at your window.
Too early, you decide it is.
But, always being punctual is hard work, so you get up anyway.
Your body resists, gravitating back down again.
You overrule its judgement and tear the covers off of you.
Your feet hit the cold hardwood unpleasantly, but you ignore it as you always have.
Unfortunately, there was no persuading this meeting with the Vachers today.
It’s just going to be another dull, ego-crushing review —food critics always seem to talk about the same thing: the lack of ‘love’ in your work.
The passion is there. Border lining obsession, but it’s there.
It’s just that love part you can’t seem to get right.
Maybe a long time ago you could’ve.
Back when you could taste.
It’s strange how so little time has passed yet you no longer feel like ‘the Great Vincent Charbonneau’.
Are you really that pathetic?
A couple of years go by and you lose your touch?
Exhaustion has become your constant; doubt never seems to leave your mind; discomfort is your middle name.
Maybe you never had your ‘touch’.
You walk slowly towards the bathroom.
You look into the mirror above the sink.
Someone distant stares back at you.
Someone familiar yet so unrecognizable that it makes you sad.
Like an impaired copy of a you that you used to know.
That you used to like.
When did you last stop to notice?
Never mind that, you have to start getting ready. You probably wasted at least ten minutes sulking.
~❦• ♱ •❦~
You roll up your sleeves, exposing your thin, pale forearms and an expensive watch you bought in vain.
You adjust your collar in the mirror.
You run a hand through your hair.
You think you look professional enough, even though nothing has changed in your face.
Your eyes still hold a vestige of something you used to be able to hide effortlessly.
But it should be fine. It’s a meeting not a therapy session.
You pry yourself away from the mirror before you can obsess over every microscopic detail of your appearance that could go wrong.
As you walk to the front door you grab your keys and fidget with them before putting them in your pocket.
The walk from your apartment to the sidewalk café is surprisingly calm.
The cool spring breeze sifts through your hair and settles on your face.
You breathe in deeply, catching the scent of blooming cherry blossoms and cheap bouquets from Parisian street florists.
‘It could certainly be worse’, you think to yourself.
Just as you reach the arrangement of chairs and tables along the pavement, you spot a paralyzingly familiar face.
Olive green eyes dance in the soft sunlight.
The long slope of a nose you’ve memorized over a hundred times is hidden behind a menu.
Loud, auburn hair falls in sloppy curls over shoulders clothed in salmon gingham.
You forgot how Rody always seems to glow.
Music plays in your head when your eyes settle on him, like a million little orchestras playing a perfect harmony.
Your first stupid thought is that his hair has gotten longer.
Your second stupid thought is what you’re going to do.
You look around a few times before trying to slip out of there as quickly as you can.
“Vince?”
Busted.
You turn around slowly, trying to regain control of your heart and fleeting plans of escape.
His eyes stare into yours, surprised that you were both in the same place.
You offer him a small, awkward smile in return.
He takes that as a sign to break out into a huge grin.
His large hands motion for you to come over to him.
Surprisingly, you listen.
Just for a minute.