I was bad at saying goodbyes. More so, when it involved people close to me. On that Monday morning, when the sunlight streamed through the window and filled my room with a rainbow hue and the warmth formed a second layer on my skin, I rallied to say my goodbyes.

"You have to call us every day. Okay?" Mom's voice wavered when she spoke and wrapped me in a tight embrace. She was letting me go all alone to California for the interview which, according to John, was just a formality. The job was already assured.

For a small-town girl like me who has never set foot outside the town borders, this was a huge opportunity. My schooling and graduation all happened in Roseville.

Upon conveying my interest in being a chef, my folks choked on their aspirations for me. My passion for toiling in the kitchen wasn't exactly what they hoped for, yet they never protested.

Dad didn't speak much as mom did most of the talking. She mumbled frantically, clearing the newly formed grey strands off her dewy face. Her instructions - of not accepting drinks from strangers or leaving the house without a wallet made more sense than the ones about avoiding cabs with number thirteen imprinted on its medallion.

A weird, tilted hug from dad due to his growing potbelly and a pat on my head was his gesture of goodbye. He was a man of few words and somewhere deep down, I too wanted a sentiment free farewell. It was those silent ones who'd catch us off-guard when they talked. Thankfully, dad stayed on course.

A car honked outside, bringing me back the reality. John and his wife, Sasha, were accompanying me to L.A. He even closed his coffee shop for a couple of weeks to take a long, overdue vacation.

Waiving once more to my folks with my heart banging on my ribs, I hopped inside the car. The second I slammed the door, John hit the gas. He was well aware of my 'almost in tears' condition.

Sasha hugged me from her seat affront before I fell on the backseat with inertia.

"Are you excited?" She squealed while tying her blond locks in a bun. The smile on her sun-kissed face made me feel calm. "I can't wait for us to be there." Her excitement was quite evident and rightfully so.

This would be John and Sasha's second trip after marriage. Though their marriage was supposed to happen a couple of years ago, the twins postponed the plan. As clear as the day, I remembered John's proposal to Sasha in an elaborate scheme. It was all Philip's idea.

Philip.

That name brought a tsunami of memories. To this day, I recollected his face from our first interaction like it was only yesterday. Over time, what I felt for Philip grew into adoration and respect, cocooning my heart. I had never met a man like him before and I didn't think I would ever. He was zealous even with his impairment. He became my idol ever since I laid eyes on him.

"Earth to Daisy..." Unable to churn a reply from me, Sasha spoke again.

"Sorry...I was..." I couldn't conjure reason. What was I supposed to tell her? That I was yet again daydreaming about her brother-in-law?

She nodded sideways, blinking at me. "It's okay. I can understand." She turned towards John who took her hand, peppering her knuckles with kisses. "Even when I first moved to Roseville, I was dazed. I was missing everyone."

She remained unaware of the sentiments I lugged. I wasn't missing home. For the past four years, I missed a person.

John peered at me through the rearview and smiled back. I shook my head to convey my wellbeing. The lovebirds drowned in their conversation. I was serenaded by the sounds of muted giggles and playful punches.

Even though I wanted to keep the conversation going, the anticipation of the interview and my move to a bigger city kept me silent. Watching hills and stores fly by gave me solace. After a while, Sasha's playlist and the laughter in the car lulled me to sleep.

It was half-past ten when we entered the hot city. It took another half an hour more with car honks blaring in my ears, deafening me before we arrived at the destination. John was kind enough to put me up at a hotel while the lovely couple stayed at their friend's place.

John was also the savior who procure a job interview with the head chef. As an amateur culinary graduate, I would have started with lower management tasks had it not been for him. He put in a good word and I was bumped up for the interview with the Head Chef.

Before they drove back, John chanted his instructions as if I was still his barista. Stooping low, he caught my attention.

"The interview is at twelve in the noon and you need to be there at least ten minutes early." He rechecked my resume and the folder in which all the documents were present. "First impression..." he didn't bother saying the remaining as his hooked eyebrow waited for me to respond.

"Is the best impression."

A veteran, John was straightforward about punctuality. He didn't like slackers or ones who didn't value time. I was far from it. Growing up in a family with parents who worked double shifts, I knew how hard I had to work to accomplish my dreams.

"Go get em', kiddo," he ruffled my hair, patting my shoulder.

Sasha - the long-legged model with slender arms, bent down to wrap me in her gentle embrace and whispered. "I'll see you in the evening. Call me if there is anything you want."

~

The restaurant 'Three Aces' was a standalone establishment but came highly recommended. Marcella, or as everyone dubbed her, Marcy, was the famous head chef who spearheaded the place. Her selection of sous-chefs remained in the limelight ever since the restaurant opened.

Working under her would be a privilege. I wanted to take that opportunity to learn and grow. Although John conveyed the interview was merely a formality, he tend to keep things light for my benefit. Contemplating the chances of a full-fledged interview, I checked my notes before walking into the lobby.

The reflection in the revolving door verified my final dress check. My blonde, neatly tied hair was set in place. A soft touch of makeup only enhanced my beige tone. The black dress fitting my curvy body and a pair of kitten heels completed my look.

Sasha always had a knack for good clothing, given her profession. Being in her company, that effect had rubbed on me.

A lady in red escorted me back. The silence from the entrance sublimed into the chaos of pans and pots clattering on the stove, rhythmic dicing, and yelled instructions flying in the air. The lunch rush was evident. My mouth watered with the aromas of the roasts and sears tickling my senses.

A feminine yet strongly bass voice drew my attention to the vision in white - Marcella. She stood between the chaos of steam and heat, composed and seraphic. Her hair was tied back and netted and the expressions on her pale, yet pink dusted face stayed stagnant when she scanned me.

She was ambidextrous. A spoon dipped and swirled in a sauce for taste check while another checked the plating. Her head nodded sidewise if unsatisfied and the cooks knew what she wanted without spoken words.

"New girl." She called me out from among the chaos. I expected a sit-down interview but I was driven towards the war zone. "Come with me..."

She walked inside the cold storage and held open the door. Walking in, I was hit by a cold blast that blocked my sinuses. Completing the formality, I handed her the resume at which she nodded, placing it on a metal stand next to hanging meat cuts.

"I don't want a piece of paper to tell me what you are capable of," she looked at the kitchen through the circular glass pane embedded on the metal door and back at my frozen state. "I want you to tell me."

Narrating my culinary skills imbibed from the institute, I felt a throbbing pain emanating from the bridge of my nose. My nose was stuffy from the cold and my voice resembled the woman on reality TV shows with fake nose jobs. Marcella remained stoic like nothing different was being portrayed.

Desperate to impress, I sang about my awards and other accomplishments. John's words 'never be desperate' resonated in my mind, ignoring which, I took a hard sniff before parroting my entire resume.

Marcella checked her watch. Her sigh made one thing clear - I didn't crack it. Being desperate might have paid off in any other circumstance but not for a job interview. She smiled at me, opening the door. "We'll let you know."

Heavily sedated by the cold, my inhibitions were lowered to an extent that I even went back to salvage the wreck. Channeling my inner Anne Hathaway from The Devil wears Prada, I turn to her. Marcella was deeply engrossed in instructing the chefs.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. I did exactly what one wasn't supposed to do for an interview. I walked back for another chance.

"Chef..." I called her out. She nodded in acknowledgement but held her head low. Her fingers moved swiftly over the lobster bisque, garnishing it. "I forgot to mention one thing." Gulping down saliva and wiping across my irritated nose, I continued. "I am hardworking and I don't take days off. I mean, not unless I can't stand and have to be taken to emergency. I am good with people and I will always make it up with my sheer enthusiasm where I lack knowledge. And I have struggled my way through school to study and keep a job unlike others, whose daddies simply paid them to just appear.'

Having nothing else to state, I threw an awkward smile. I may have even bowed. Placing my hand over the warm door, I waited for some miracle. Nothing. I pushed the door open, walking out. The last word to hit my ear was, "Food" before it faded in the air.

In the lobby, I clenched the folder to my chest, heaving a sigh. My steps wobbled but I continued.

It could have been worst, I reminded myself. I could have set myself on fire with the Bunsen burner. Reminding myself not to lose hope, I made my way to the bar. Ordering for something sweet, I turn around on the revolving chair when Marcella's voice hit me.

"I asked about food!"

Jumping off, I scrambled on my feet, straightening. Her gaze stayed on me and her expressions remained neutral. Knowing the answer to her question, I was quick to respond.

"I have learned French cuisine and I have handles sauces a while back..." adding onto it, I went for the sell. "I have also worked as a barista back in Roseville."

Something about coffee made her brown eyes widen. A smile cracked through her lips. Her tone was low, rumbling through her chest. Unlike the heavy voice she deployed inside the kitchen, this was softer, yet commanding.

"You can start with the sauces," she pointed towards the kitchen. "Starting tomorrow. Don't be late." I nodded while she gestured me in the opposite direction. "You can meet the manager now."

Her words were symphony to me. I was elated but contained myself for later, not wanting to lose my newly acquired job because I displayed my dance moves.

~

I checked the door with the letters, Restaurant manager, in bold. Noticing the unavailability of an assistant around, I knocked once, then twice before turning the cold, metal knob and placing a foot in.

The sight of the person inside made my heart skip a beat, my lungs to hold in air. His face made me travel back in time to the day I met him almost four years ago.

Philip sat across from me. His ears were muffed with headphones, dictating instructions into his phone. Sleek hair set in products, sharp, hazel eyes and angular cheekbone with a hint of stubble, all remained the same as if it was never marred by the ravages of time.

"Yes..." he looked up and smiled, his eyes tracing the sound, not the person at the door.

My chest, my whole body ached in places I never even knew I had. Philip transported me back to the day I was eighteen and had fallen for him. My hand trembled, sliding off the knob. My head registered blood rush and my mouth dried out of words. The sight of his fingers tracing across braille stabbed my heart.

I closed the door and moved back into the hall.

All those suppressed feelings spewed out. Philip was my yardstick against whom all those I dated were compared. It was the reason for my unsuccessful relationships. Philip was my biggest crush, one that I never got over. One that I never even wanted to.

Only the night sky and my pillow knew my deepest secret about him. The sky witnessed my wish upon a star while my pillow moped up tears of his memories. I loved Philip more than I cared to admit.

Author's Note

She finally met him. 

And thus begins the story of Daisy and Philip <3

Please let me know in the comments, your views on the first chapter. I would love to hear from you all ;)

Happy reading

Love

S