A Feast of You (36 page)

Now Beckett was the one trying to speak between sobs. “I tried to be fine. I tried to work so much so I wouldn’t think about him and wouldn’t miss him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you had William, and I wanted to believe that there was a relationship in this world that could work out. I wanted you to be happy.”

“And I want you to be happy. I thought you were with Alec. I saw the way you looked at him at the launch party.”

He gave me a sad look and blew out a breath in defeat. “Remember I told you Alec said he had something special planned for Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes.”

“I got to his place, and he had everything set up. Flowers, chocolate, champagne, a gorgeous meal. It was amazing, Cat. No one has ever done anything like that for me. We ate, we talked, and over dessert he proposed a toast. And that’s when he said it.” His voice broke and he buried his face again.

I waited for Beckett to elaborate.

“Said what?” I finally prompted.

“‘I love you.’” He glared at me with red-rimmed eyes. “He fucking told me he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.”

“Oh, no.” My heart sank.
Poor Beckett
. Alec had been ready for the next step, and Beckett hadn’t. I knew my best friend. He was generous and affectionate and open, but he did not give his love easily.

“Oh, yes.”

“And that was a deal-breaker for him?” I asked gently.

“I told him I cared about him. I told him I wasn’t sure if I loved him, but he said if I didn’t know then, that was all the answer he needed.”

“Oh fuck, Beckett.” I hugged him, squeezing him tight. “I’m so sorry.”

“He wasn’t even angry, Cat.” He buried his face against my shoulder. “It was like he knew I wouldn’t be able to say it. He said he wanted to stay friends. But how the fuck do you stay friends with someone you care about like that? Am I just supposed to forget my feelings for him when I bump into him on the street?”

I pulled back. “So you do love him?”

“Of course I do. I did then too, I just didn’t know it.”

I held Beckett and he held me and we cried together. For our broken hearts, for our lost loves, for all the heartache and pain and suffering that we were both feeling with the men we loved gone from our lives.

We stayed on the floor for a long time. Long enough that I felt like I didn’t have any more tears left. Then we ordered Chinese food and ate the cupcakes Beckett had brought home from the bakery. And when that was done, we raided his freezer for ice cream.

We’d moved from the less-than-comfortable kitchen floor to the sofa, we’d changed into lounge-appropriate clothes, and Beckett had turned on a cooking show. Cooking shows always made him feel better. He liked to add his own soundtrack, commenting on whatever was happening on screen, rolling his eyes when he thought the chefs were skimping or making some kind of wrong food choice. The show he had on now was, ironically, dessert-themed, and Beckett was dissing the host’s choice of crystallized ginger for his cookie recipe when my phone buzzed.

I looked at the screen, hoping it was William, but it was Emmy Schmidt, Hutch’s assistant. I answered and she gave me the details about the flight tomorrow. Apparently Fiona Joy was sending a private plane for Hutch and me. For a moment, as Emmy briefed me on departure and flight times, I tried to focus on the positives. I was going to Paris. Tomorrow. Sure, it was the most romantic city in the world, but it also had crepes, and I could drown my sorrow in crepes.

As I hung up, I had a great idea. I grabbed the remote and powered off the TV.

“What the fuck, Cat?” Beckett tossed me an annoyed glare. “He was just getting ready to pull those out of the oven.”

“I know what you need to do.”

Beckett groaned. “If you say call Alec, I swear to God I’ll throw this candle at you.” He gestured to one of the decorative candles on the table beside the couch.

“Come to Paris with me.”

He frowned, and his fingers paused above the candle. “What?”

“You heard me. Come to Paris with me. You love Paris.” I grabbed Beckett’s shoulders and pulled him up. “Beckett, you
need
Paris. You’ve been working like a maniac. You need a break. You need distance. We both need distance. Paris is distance. And it has crepes.”

“Um, hello, Cat? Restaurant opening? There’s a reason I’m working so hard.” He removed my hands from his shoulders slowly, as though he were dealing with a lunatic.

“That’s the beauty of a trip to Paris. It’s work. And there’s crepes!”

He started to protest but then closed his mouth and tried not to smile.

I pointed my finger at him. “Got you.”

Beckett started to grin, then shook his head. “No. I can’t leave now.”

“Why not? You have good people working for you, and LeClerc’s flagship restaurant is in Paris. He’ll understand a quick trip for inspiration. It’s only for a few days. I’m surprised he hasn’t suggested it. I mean, think about all the baked goods you can sample in Paris. You can...” I stumbled, but recovered quickly. “You can see what the locals are eating, what’s trending, and make your bakery even more cutting edge.”

Beckett rolled his eyes and smiled. “Oh, you’re good, Cat. Very good.”

I grabbed his hands in mine. “Beckett, in all seriousness, you need a couple of days away. The break-up with Alec, the opening—everything has been crazy. This trip will be so good for you. You can get your head on straight. We need each other right now. And we can eat crepes.”

“Enough with the crepes, seriously. Gaining crepe weight is not the way I want to get over Alec.”

I held my phone aloft. “Say the word, and I text Hutch to tell him you’ll be joining us.”

“A trip to Paris with Hutch Morrison?” Beckett clutched his heart. “You’re killing me.”

“So the answer is yes?”

He closed his eyes tightly. “Paris. In springtime. Hutch Morrison. Crepes. And Fiona fucking Joy.
Yes
,” he squeaked.

I fired off a text to Hutch.

“How much do I owe the man for the ticket?” Beckett asked.

“Nothing.” I replied.

“Cat, I know Morrison Hotel has taken off, but I’m not letting Hutch pay my way to Paris.”

“He’s not paying your way. He’s not paying anyone’s way. Fiona Joy is picking us up in her private jet.”

“What?” Beckett’s expression of surprise was priceless. “A private plane?”

I nodded.

“I love your job. I can’t believe I’m going to be on a private plane with Hutch Morrison for eight hours. Do you think I’ll be able to get him to spill all his culinary secrets?”

“I don’t know. Depends how liquored up he is on the flight.”

“We should celebrate with more cupcakes,” Beckett said as he reached for another one of his creations.

“Ugh. I can’t. I’m stuffed. Too much stress eating.”

“Hey, you have every right. Your life has been a shit show lately, Cat.”

I gave him a look.

“What? It has. I’d be reaching for the carbs too.”

“It’s not just the carbs. I feel like I’ve had PMS for weeks.”

I settled back on the couch, looked around for the remote, and found it under a throw pillow. But before I could turn the TV back on, Beckett grabbed the remote out of my hand.

“What?” I asked.

“Did you just say what I think you said?”

“I don’t know. What do you think I said?”

“You’ve had PMS for weeks.”

“Oh.” I waved a hand dismissively. “I’m a little off, that’s all. You said it yourself, I’ve been living in a shit show.”

Beckett’s eyes went wide. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“About what?”

“Oh my God, Cat. Now it all makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“The extra pounds—”

“Hey!”

“Your boobs are bigger too.”

“Next you’re going to say I’m glowing. I’m not pregnant, Beckett.”

“So you admit it’s crossed your mind?” He looked at me expectantly.

Seriously, this was getting out of hand.
“I have an IUD. There’s like a one percent chance I can get pregnant.”

“
You looked it up
? Come on, Cat. That means you think it’s possible.”

Now that Beckett was really hung up on this, I didn’t know what to think. It would be the cruelest of cruel jokes if I was in that one percent. For a split second I wondered how it would go over with William. A family with me clearly hadn’t ever been part of his plan. I remembered how he had reacted to Lauren’s pregnancy—his aversion to children had been plain as day. We’d never even had a chance to talk about a future together or what we both wanted, thanks to the extortion attempts, Elin’s crazy threats, and William’s commitment to being cryptic and keeping secrets. And just like that, I was hit with another wave of sadness and was on verge of tears again. I had to stop thinking about him. 

“It’s not possible. Stop it, alright? This isn’t funny anymore.”

“Cat, have you taken a pregnancy test?” Beckett asked earnestly.

“No. I’ve just been eating too much.” I gestured to the cupcake wrappers on the coffee table. “See? Oh, and thanks for calling me fat.” I plopped back on the couch, arms crossed over my evidently expanding middle.

He moved closer to me. “You’re not fat. I told you before, it looks good on you. But tomorrow, before we leave for Paris, we’re getting you a pregnancy test. I’m serious, Cat. You need to know.”

“Um, yeah, whatever, Beckett.” I hoped my response sounded convincing, especially since Beckett’s arguments managed to plant a huge seed of doubt in my mind. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Fine. If you’re so sure, then take the test.”

“Fine!”

But I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything.

I
didn’t take the test the next morning. Beckett and I slept in and then spent a few hours packing and getting ready. Rushing around was a relief, actually, since it didn’t give me much time to dwell on William and our break-up. We had to scramble to make it to the airport on time. Not that the plane would leave without us, but I didn’t want to keep Hutch waiting.

I had scrutinized the clothes I’d managed to grab from William’s penthouse and was pleasantly surprised to see that even in my haste, I had selected some perfect items for the role I’d be playing in Paris. Lots of black. A few pairs of darkwash skinny jeans. I would be able to blend in with the background and take pictures, no problem. If by some miracle I was invited to any swanky parties, well then, I guess I’d have to go shopping...in Paris. I was pretty sure I could make room on my credit cards for that.

Beckett had more trouble, asking me, of all people, to help him decide between shirts and accessories. Finally, we hopped in a cab and were at O’Hare in less than an hour. When the cab pulled into the same section of the airport that housed William’s plane—where we’d met to depart for Napa—my breath caught and I had to bite back tears. The plane waiting for us looked similar to William’s jet, and I reminded myself that he wouldn’t be waiting for me inside.
Wouldn’t he?

I closed my eyes and let the fantasy play out: me getting out of the cab, and William meeting me in the plane, taking me into his arms, and telling me how sorry he was.

“Cash or credit?” The cabbie’s question bounced me out of my thoughts, and I lost it. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I reached up to wipe at my eyes clumsily. There would be no William, no apologies. I couldn’t believe that part of my life was over and the shock of it was almost too painful to bear. Beckett looked over at me, grabbed my hand, and squeezed.

“Credit,” he said, sliding his card through the machine attached to the cab’s Plexiglas divider. “Here,” he said, handing me a pair of oversized sunglasses. “These will make you look
très
mysterious.”

I managed a shaky smile and put the glasses on. I didn’t need them on this grey day, but they would hide my red-rimmed eyes and for that I was thankful.

We had arrived so close to our five pm scheduled take-off that we didn’t have time for small talk. Hutch and Emmy greeted us both and almost immediately the pilot asked us to take our seats. I took out my phone, thinking that I should text William to let him know I was OK, but stopped. He hadn’t been in touch. Nothing made our break-up feel more final than that. All the times that we had ever fought, he’d always checked up on me. The messaging folder on my phone was empty. There was nothing from William. I sighed, set the phone to airplane mode, and buckled my seat belt. The four of us settled in, and in no time we were up in the air.

As soon as we were given the all clear to move around the cabin, I grabbed my purse and headed for the bathroom. I looked awful, puffy and blotchy, but I did my best to downplay my sadness with concealer and lip balm. I didn’t dare reach for my MAC mascara. Waterproof or not, I couldn’t risk raccoon eyes. When I came out, Hutch asked that I join him and Emmy at the larger table to go over the schedule. This was good. I could sink my teeth into work and keep from thinking about William, about the last time I was on a private jet.

Emmy had a folder for me and Hutch quickly went over the game plan for when we landed. We’d check in to the hotel and have some time to freshen up, then Hutch and I would head over to the venue where Fiona’s dinner would be held, to check it out and go through a test run, which Hutch wanted me to photograph. I’d need the time to scope out the room and figure out the lighting and what equipment I’d need for the actual event. Hutch had the dishes all planned, and I recognized a few from his
Sticky Fingers
menu. At Hutch’s instruction, Fiona had staffed the kitchen. The prep work was already underway, but it was going to require Hutch’s direct supervision as soon as possible. This was going to be a major and intense undertaking and I needed to get on my game as soon as possible.

When our meeting wrapped up, Hutch called Beckett over and suggested we eat.

“It won’t be my best work since I made it a few hours ago, but I thought we’d do something French in anticipation of our adventure,” he said.

Emmy got up and came back with wine glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Voila!” Hutch said in his accented French. He presented us a plate full of bread and cheese and fruit and cured meats. There were pastries too, some of which I immediately recognized as
pain au chocolat
.