The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(115)

Ethan gives me a quick glare, then says, “Micki, can you take over for one minute? The steak and eggplant are together, and the chicken parm and ravioli go to six.”

“Got it, Chef,” she says, grabbing a pan.

Ethan maneuvers past the young man ladling soup into bowls and the girl who’s on salads.

“What, Lucy?” he demands.

“Can we go outside for a second?” I ask.

“No!” he barks, running a hand through his hair. He takes a breath, then folds his arms in front of him. “Tell what’s so important it can’t wait.”

I swallow—still no pebble, just nerves this time, and it occurs to me I haven’t planned what to say. “I—um, I went to the cemetery today. Tonight. To see Jimmy’s grave.” I bite my lip.

“That’s great, Lucy,” Ethan says, glancing over to the soup boy.

“Chef, we got a shellfish allergy on that eggplant parm, so be extra careful,” Kelly calls, grabbing a plate from the warmer.

Then Marie comes into the kitchen. “Ethan, sweetheart, Mrs. Gianelli wants to know if you can make her that pasta with the—”

“Excuse me, I’m talking here!” I say sharply, looking at my mother-in-law. My breath is coming fast and hard, and suddenly, Ethan’s attention is laser sharp.

“So talk,” Marie says, clearly wounded. “Pretend I’m not here. I’m just the mother.”

I look back at Ethan, who’s grown very still. “Ethan…on the wedding video…when you gave your speech. Um…I saw it, Ethan.”

He blinks. “Saw what?” His voice is very low.

Another waiter bursts into the kitchen. “Chef, we need two more filets and one tilapia special,” he says.

Ethan doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even turn. “Saw what, Lucy?”

It’s beginning to dawn on the kitchen staff that Something’s Happening. Though the food still cooks and the knives still cut, it’s suddenly much quieter in here.

“I saw that…” My voice drops to a whisper. “Jimmy knew.”

Something flickers in Ethan’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Ethan, I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. Tonight when I was watching the toast—”

Gianni bursts through kitchen door. “Where the hell’s the veal, Ethan?” he barks. “Table four’s been waiting for fifteen—”

“Quiet!” Marie orders. “She’s talking here.”

“Was that Lucy I saw?” My own mother’s head pops in, and when she sees that yes, it is indeed her offspring, she comes in, still holding Emma. “I thought you had a date. Honey, you’re a mess! Your shoes don’t even match.”

“I need to say something to Ethan,” I say loudly. “If I could have a minute.”

The staff stops pretending to work. All activity ceases, and all eyes are on Ethan and me.

Ethan is watching. And waiting. I decide he doesn’t have to wait anymore.

“I checked the toast, Ethan,” I say, and my breath catches in a half sob.

“The toast?” he asks. Clearly it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“Forget the toast,” I babble, my mouth wobbling. “Ethan, I love you. And I’m so sorry it took me so long to figure it out, but I’ve loved you for a long, long time, and I’m sorry about Jimmy and Jimmy Lite and when you were in the hospital and I said I couldn’t…” I force myself to stop the projectile words that are flying out of me and just look at him.

His mouth is open the slightest bit. Other than that, he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“You’re my best friend, Ethan,” I say in a wobbling voice. “I love you, and I’m sorry. Please give me another chance. Please say you will.”

He doesn’t say a word. Emma coos. The party noises are a dull roar in the background, but Ethan doesn’t say anything.

I’m too late. I put him through too much for too long, and he’s done with me, and honestly, I can’t blame him, but my heart closes in on itself like a hard fist.

Then Ethan opens his arms, and before I realize I’ve moved, I’m in them, my face against his neck, my arms around him, holding on as hard as I can.

“Jesus,” Gianni grumbles.

“Shush, idiot,” Marie says, but I barely hear. Ethan’s heart thuds against mine, and his arms are shaking, his head bent, his beard scratchy against my neck, and this is it, the place I belong.

“Well, if we were running behind an hour ago, we’re totally f**ked now,” someone says, and everyone laughs.

But Ethan’s breath isn’t quite steady, and it takes me a second to realize why.

He’s crying.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” I whisper, and he nods.

“Chef, this is a beautiful moment and all,” Micki says, “but I have no idea what to do with this salmon.”

“Shut up, you,” Gianni tells her. “Here. I’ll fix it. Can’t you see he’s busy?”

Ethan kisses my neck, then lifts his head to kiss me on the mouth, and God, it feels so right and so perfect that my heart nearly bursts with joy. And then the kitchen staff starts clapping, and Ethan smiles against my lips, pulls back and wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands.