The lunch rush subsided and most of us were on our lunch break. The long table was combined with many small ones, placed adjacent to each other. With a white sheet covering the top, casseroles filled with food was placed.

Colorful mélange of visually appetizing food taunted us to dig in while we waited for the rest of the staff to join. The aroma of flavours, sautéed garlic in a rich olive oil filled up my senses as I stood near the plate full of spaghetti Aglio olio. The pale crème colored plating had specks of red and green draped by red pepper flakes and chopped parsley.

Clutching onto the back of my chair, I had to channel all the restrain in the world to not dive into the cutlery ahead. With the last of our staff arriving, the room echoed with wood scrapping on the marble with chairs being dragged. I may have been the one to slide into my seat the quickest and toss the slender tentacles of the pasta into my plate with my non-working hand dusting powdered parmesan atop.

"Someone is hungry?" Steve's mocking tone and narrowed gaze fell upon me as he picked up a roll.

"Famished," I reconfirmed my current state.

After the whole ghosting act, Steve walked into the restaurant today like there was nothing wrong from his end. It could only be attributed to his inflated ego which could let him act normal. Had it been someone else, they would have ensured a long vacation to get away from the embarrassment.

Still, the lingering question of him not letting me have a reason was too bizarre. I was uncomfortable, unable to close the chapter on Steve as a mistake that should never be repeated.

With teeth souring sound, I turned to my side to witness him pull out a chair to be seated beside me. Hell no.

"It's taken," I placed a spoon to reserve it.

Linda was with the staff who would have lunch in the second shift after us to ensure no customer of ours go hungry. But when the monster man, Steve decided to take up the chance to be my eating partner, the best way I thought of avoiding a predictable awkward conversation was through avoidance.

"Who is coming?" he leaned over the backrest, closing our distance.

"Friend," my spiky voice answered his prodding.

"Whom?" he wasn't willing to let go. In his defence, there was only one chair left to be seated which I had claimed to be reserved.

Faced with the question, I knew the battle was lost. Wrapping my fingers around the length of the spoon, I took my time to pull it off. A part of my pride died with it.

"Oh thank you," another voice answered and the chair screeched on the floor backwards. My eyes darted to scan the entity who did it.

Like godsent, Philip's knuckles tuned pale as he pressed onto the backrest of the chair, looking around the place Steve stood.

"Oh Philip, glad that you could join us," Marcy spoke with a mouthful. Her fingers snapped at Steve who moved away from the chair to fetch another.

I was delivered from the ordeal I assumed to suffer. Philip, my messiah sat beside me while I turned towards my now cold serving. Warm food, meh, who cares. I loved the company that sat to my right.

"I hope it was okay that I made you sit away from your date," Philip leaned over, whispering.

Food went up my wrong pipe. I coughed like a cat ready to barf out furball. The information about my Steve's coffee deal was only privy to Linda. Then how did Philip know?

"This will make it better," were his words before warm palm encircled my back. With soft pats, the coughing subsided and I could feel air rush back into my lungs. "Feeling better?" Philip enquired.

"Much," I gulped water like a parched being who was walking in the desert for days. "Thanks for helping."

"No problem. It's what I do around here. Putting our fires and resuscitating chefs."

Although I giggled at his funny take, I couldn't help picturing Philip resuscitating me. Now I felt bad for the recovery and not falling victim to a state of no air or whatever it is that would have provided the opportunity for him to kiss me.

Nope. Don't go there. That's a very slippery slope.

"How many other chefs have you tried this method on?" I asked, pointing my fork at him.

His fingers loosened what seemed to be his tightened shirt collar. "Not many. You were my first."

Oh, come on. Horny and dirty mind combination was the worst and I was having both.

"So Philip," Marcy's soft tone called out. The spoon to plate clatters reduced before falling into a state of absolute silence. This moment felt like one where the commander of an army takes control. Every grinding stopped, every eye shifted onto the lady who inturn eyed Philip. "Which of these did you like?" Marcy's hand waved over the whole food store that was on display at the table.

After a few more soft chews, Philip's head tipped up. Like in movies, I assumed it to be a moment when the lead actor discovers he has superpowers. Unlike the aforementioned plot, Philip's momentary diversion caused me to suffer a mild case of panic.

If this was the selection that would make its way to the menu, then I wasn't prepared and neither was my dish. You won't think twice during a pre-lunch rush to prepare the fanciest of the meals. My chicken marsala was easy to toss and least time consuming while I was in charge of sauces.

All of us who were in charge of today's lunch prep watched Philip who dug his fork into every piece of ambrosial food there was on his plate. With a patient sigh, he would sip wine before clearing his palette for another morsel.

By the end of all his tasting experimentation, Marcy stood up and tapped her hands. "So, do we have a chef whose signature recipe would go on the menu," she smirked at all of us like a puppeteer who made us poor string attached creatures dance to her tunes. "Of course it would require a bit of perfecting, given this is just a basic version, that they whipped up."

Philip nodded at her words and leaned back with his wine. He looked slightly over our eye level but it was clear, he was still deep in thoughts. Either that or he was lulled into a food-induced coma.

"Everyone was good, especially the mains, pasta," Philip dug his fork and twirled it up for yet another morsel. Please be my dish. Please select mine. The chant continued in my mind. "But as I have to pick just one, I think I would go with chicken marsala."

"Yasss," I roared both with sound and gesture as both my hands flew up like I was at a church event singing hallelujah.

The crowd in front of me wasn't amused. "Sorry," I whispered and with hooded eyes, looked over to Marcy. Her nod of approval sprang up my confidence.

The remaining duration till after dinner rush, my shoes were imbibed with some sort of spring action. Every step that I took was jubilious. Celebratory fireworks rang in my ears every time I heard someone whisper about my food or the fact that one of my preparation had landed on the coveted menu.

With the day winding down, I scribbled my notes; the learnings of the day and experimentations undertook into my notepad before slipping out before Steve could catch up and bring my high to a low. I stood outside in a secluded corner, protected behind prying eyes while I waited for Linda. She was taking longer to emerge. With nobody for company, my feet trotted me back into the restaurant.

Upon opening the revolving doors, Philip appeared from his office hallway. "Hey," I called out while my body was drawn towards his like opposite poles of a magnet.

"You still haven't left?" he asked. His hand slid into his executive bag and fished out his cane.

"Even you haven't?" I observed as Philip unfolded his cane and reinitiate his walk. The last I remembered, he didn't need one to step out of the restaurant and into his car. Then why today?

"Can I help?" I asked, walking behind him outside.

After a slight hesitation which was clear from his tone, he nodded. "Luke had to attend something urgent so I have to get an uber."

"I can help," as an eager puppy I sprang up. "I can book it for you."

The mere thought of booking his Uber and somehow knowing his residence; his actual place and not the one where we went to meet his folks had a whiff of trouble. I was border lining an obsessive person whose everything seemed to revolve around Philip.

Snickering, he turned. "I booked it already."

His emerald eyes looked deeper a night yet somehow his face was still home to what I would call a kind, peace exuding depiction. Philip's mere gaze would set my insides on fire but it wasn't the hurting painful blaze. It was a slow, emotion reeking look that could make me confess to all my sins. The sin of loving him.

"You didn't answer," he cleared his throat. "I don't mind if you don't want to.."

"I want to," what was I agreeing on?

"Cool," Philip turned back and I followed his trail. "Let me warn you, it wouldn't be hard."

"Hard, yeah. I live for hard. In fact the harder the better."

Philip turned around with bridged eyebrows. "Okay.."

I had no clue what was I was accepting but I had been down this path before. The slippery slope of not listening and later confessing about it. Having learnt time and again not to confess, I think I was doing better than all my other previous attempts.

I walked behind Philip into his office where he loosened his tie and leaned on his desk. I plopped on the chair, watching his slender figure towering over me. The slight displacement of the tie added to his already heightened allure.

"Let's get started," he pulled up his sleeves and the bulge of his muscles was a tempting invitation to push him onto the wall and kiss him over and over till he was left out of breath, panting.

"Yes, let's." I waited.

After a brief pause, Philip leaned over to afflict me with his musky spicy scent. "Ready when you are.."

God this was getting out of hand. Before I could confess or even stand at supply oxygen and blood to my nether regions, he spoke again.

"Come on.. take them off.."

"Take what off?"

Did I somehow get convinced for sex?

Philip ran his thumb and index on the extremes of his forehead. "Take off the recipes books from the shelf. We can check which other combination could be paired with your chicken."

"My chicken?" I gulped down the dryness in my throat.

"Your Chicken Marcela. The dish of yours selected for the menu.. Remember?"

"Oh that," part the ground in two and swallow me whole. This was the most embarrassed I could have ever been.

Pulling stacks of books off the shelf which nested them carefully with soft gritty dust particles, Philip moved with me on the table. His arm grazed against mine and at one point, I had to physically pull myself from the other end of the table to ensure I wasn't leaning onto his broad assumingly hardened chest.

It would all have been easy had Philip been able to see. I could have very well restricted myself from acting like a nincompoop every time he was around. But his lack of vision too was a boon in a certain way for me. I could gawk at him for hours without feeling the need to steal my gazes.

"So this is what we had assembled last year," he laid recipes on the table, leaning over them. His right-hand digits ran over braille and his words narrated the tale. "You think you can remerge any of them with yours?"

I was already staring at his side profile. "I don't know, can I?"

Suddenly Philip's vision turned to address me. In my attempt to straighten up and move backwards, I tripped and lost balance. A whimper was the sound my voice box created. Strong muscular arms held me as Philip dived to my sound and held me barely inches from the floor. His scent had already plied me with all sorts of arousal scenes but when his sweet warm breath hit my face, I had to force shut my eyes from assaulting him with a kiss.

"Are you okay?" he asked, still holding me in the dipped state.

"Never better, Philip."

His eyelids closed for a moment while he sighed. Upon pulling me up, he moved afar. "You can take the books and notes. I have a backup." With his hand running down the back of his neck, he stared hard into the ground.

"I am sorry.."

"Don't," he ceased my verbal apology. "Go can go."

My heart, the muscle which was ready to break out from the rib cage and pound out into the open now sunk into an ocean of disbelief and dejection. Words fumbled out but none made any sense. Any attempt from me seemed to only make him move further away.

How did I manage to make a man cheerful man turn to a ball of impassiveness was beyond me. While I picked up the books in my hand, I could see his position shift towards me before deciding to regain the earlier post. With an aching chest and a pricking throat, I held the door only to turn around.

It would all have been different if Philip could see me. I would at least pretend to be strong but with his current state, I could cry a silent tear, I could sink towards the ground and hold myself in a fetal position all with the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to see me at my most vulnerable.

One which I was now.

The cold steel knob was a temporary respite from the heat inside my body bubbling up to my waterline. Outside the door, I leaned onto the wall and dug my teeth into my knuckles. Whatever transpired between us was too much for Philip. I was too much for Philip.

My feet dragged me, inch by inch when the muffled sound from inside emerged out louder than an annoyed yell. It was him seemingly on a call with someone.

"I need to see you now. Meet me at my apartment. I am done with this break."

Oh, how the might universe plays games with us. The one time I thought of taking a step in the direction of professing my heart held secret, fate slapped me back to reality.

The unshakeable reality of him getting back with his former paramour.

~

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