Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s been a while since I had a long night,” he said. “Everything good at the kitchen?”
“Y-yes, yes, all good,” Julien answered. “How is Wall Street treating you?”
Patrick shrugged. “Oh, you know. Same old.”
“And how’s the new apartment?”
“Eh. Water Street is not Columbus Circle. But you can’t beat the five-minute morning commute,” Patrick said.
“Sure.”
A waitress passed and he ordered a plate of steak and eggs with a double espresso. Patrick stuck to his coffee.
“You’re not eating anything?” Julien asked.
Patrick shook his head. “Nah, I lost my appetite.” There was a pause. “So I started renovations this past week on the investment house on University Avenue in the Bronx,” Patrick said.
“That’s great. I’ll have to get some investment pointers from you some other time.”
Patrick furrowed his brow. “Why some other time? We’re here now.”
Julien’s gaze was fixed east, in the direction of the Museum of Modern Art. “Mm-hmm,” Julien replied.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Anyway. I need your help choosing the kitchen appliances. I’m thinking whether I should put in a basic stove and a better-quality fridge, or vice versa.”
Someone passed by wearing a strong infusion of gardenia perfume. Julien breathed deeply and his senses went reeling. A moment passed and Julien still hadn’t answered Patrick.
Patrick’s frown deepened. “Or I could just light the kitchen on fire and see how that goes,” he said.
“Yeah, mm-hmm. Sounds good,” Julien said, looking for the source of that perfume.
“Julien!” Patrick said.
“What is it?” Julien asked, irked by Patrick’s tone.
Patrick leveled his gaze on him as the waitress placed Julien’s plate before him. “I just said I could light the kitchen on fire. And you said yes.”
Julien’s face was a mask of horror. “What? Why the hell would you do that?”
Patrick hung his face in his hands. “Julien . . . man. What is going on with you? You haven’t heard a word I said since you got here.”
Julien rubbed his eyes, inhaling the aroma of the grilled steak and runny eggs. “Ah, just need some protein, perhaps,” he said, biting into the croissant that came with his breakfast.
Patrick stared at him. “Yup, croissants are world renowned for their protein content,” he said, sighing to himself. “You’ve met a woman, haven’t you?”
Julien’s gaze flew to Patrick’s face. “How did you know?”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Come on. Spill it.”
“Remember I told you I was getting a new sous chef?”
Patrick nodded. “She’s the woman?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s hmm?”
“Nothing, just . . . be careful there.”
“I will. Thanks, Mom.” Another pause.
“All righty. Good talk,” Patrick said, and finished the last sip of his espresso. “I’m going to head to Home Depot, then, and start choosing my paint colors.” He dropped a few crumpled bills on the table for his coffee.
Julien looked at him as if he had just dropped a dead fish on the table but didn’t bother to argue. “See you, Pat,” Julien replied, and drank his remaining espresso in one long swig. He was going to be at the kitchen until ten that night since Lumi was off . . . at least in theory. He had already decided to close early if the night was slow and catch up on his rest.
He scanned his surroundings one last time to see if he could determine where that gardenia perfume was wafting from. He didn’t see anything or anyone in sight, but it made him feel like Lumi was an April breeze away.
21
Lumi
The brass teakettle whistled, jolting Lumi to attention. The night had turned blustery, so she decided to make herself a hot toddy to warm up and bolster her courage before setting out on her late-night trip to DAX. She painstakingly applied her black eyeliner after the pressed powder and added mascara and rose-colored lipstick to finish the look. It was the most makeup she had worn in a while.
She shimmied into the tightest dark wash jeans she owned and pulled on a thin mauve silk blouse. She left her curly hair cascading back. Amethyst chandelier earrings swung from her earlobes. A quick glance at her watch told her that she had exactly forty-five minutes to jet down to DAX. If her calculations were correct, Julien would be closing up around that time and there would only be a few employees left at the restaurant.
The subway ride down was a blur. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought about how unlike her this plan was. Before she knew it, the train had stopped at Forty-Second Street and she skipped up the stairs to street level. When she checked the screen of her phone, it was 9:45 P.M.
She used her key card to open the service entrance door and rode the elevator to the fifth floor, walking out into the eerily quiet hallway. The lights in the restaurant were already dim. Lumi stopped, looking from left to right. Where was everyone? She felt her stomach sink into her pelvic floor.
The entire floor was deathly silent. She tried the restaurant doors, but they had already been locked. She stood in front of them, and as she saw her reflection in the glass of the doors, tears of shame welled up in the corners of her eyes.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered to herself. She pulled her earrings out and stuffed them into her jeans pocket. She couldn’t help but look at herself in the reflective doors once more and felt bile rising in her throat. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse, dragging streaks of black mascara across her cheeks like war paint, not even noticing soft footsteps in the hall behind her.
22
Julien
Julien stepped into the hallway to find this beautiful spectacle muttering to herself. He had no idea what Lumi was doing outside the door of DAX at nearly 10:00 P.M. on her day off, but he was more interested in the why. They were alone in the building, which proved the perfect time for him to make things right with her.
He approached her from behind, and it was impossible for him to ignore her alluring curves in such tight jeans. She was lost in thought and had not heard him leave his office. He cleared his throat, wishing to subtly alert her to his presence. Still, she jumped, whirling around toward him. Their eyes met, and he could see that she had been crying. Mascara was streaked across her cheeks.
“Lumi,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?” He touched his hand to her shoulder.
She looked up at him. “Where is everyone?” she said.
“I closed early,” he answered, “at nine. It was a quiet night.” He grabbed her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and thought back to his original question. “What are you doing here?”
She gazed up at him, and the thousand things she wanted to say to him made her incapable of speaking at all.
Julien saw that Lumi was conflicted. “Come, let’s go in the restaurant for a bit,” he said, reaching one arm around her to unlock the door.