back in his arms. “Is there any chance one of your ideas will bring her home today?”
“I have no plans to kidnap a pregnant woman, so no.” Aria’s voice softened as she continued. “Besides, you don’t even have a ‘home’ to bring her to. And you’re not ready, Landon.”
She was right, of course. He was a wreck. If Aubrey saw him like this, she’d run screaming in the opposite direction. Landon swiped his hand down his face. “I need a shower, some food, and a few hours of sleep.”
“Before you start pampering yourself, you need to slow down. This isn’t happening in a day.”
“No?” he asked helplessly.
“No, but you could get started today.” Aria paused as though waiting for him to say something. When he remained mute, she sighed. “What do you need to do before you could bring Aubrey home?”
“Find a house.” Landon blinked as his brain creaked and squeaked to turn the rusty cogs. “A place she would want to make our home.”
And he would find a location for his restaurant. Landon would not be a spectator in his life anymore. He would chase his dreams. All his dreams. For Aubrey. With Aubrey, he could do anything.
23
Landon tossed a white envelope on Craig’s desk and settled into a guest chair, legs stretched and ankles crossed.
“Since when do you write on paper?” his editor said, gingerly picking up the envelope between his thumb and index finger. “If this is a resignation letter, I’m not going to bother opening it. It’s going straight to the shredder.”
“How did you know?” The hair on his arms swept upright at his friend’s apparent clairvoyance. Landon didn’t want to abandon Craig or Cal Coast, but he couldn’t travel around the world to write reviews when he would soon have a kitchen to run.
“Know what?” Craig asked, pulling out his letter and snapping it open. It only had three sentences. “What the fuck, Kim? Is this a resignation letter?”
“Yes, but since you’ve already opened and read it, there’s no need for the shredder.” Landon laughed with nerves and relief. He’d pissed his friend off, but he’d taken a major step toward his dream.
“Why the hell are you pulling this shit on me?”
“Sometimes, Craig, it’s not all about you.” He smirked at the irate editor but continued solemnly, “This isn’t about me leaving Cal Coast. It’s about me opening my own restaurant. It’s about me being a chef and not a critic. It’s about me living my life again.”
“It’s about damn time. I am so proud and happy for you.” Craig was on his feet and beside Landon in a flash, clapping his shoulder. “But goddamn it, I wish it didn’t mean losing you here.”
“You know I can’t do both.”
“Of course I know. But how am I going to find someone to fill your freakishly big shoes?”
“How about Gary?”
“Fuck you, Kim.”
“Thanks.” Landon rubbed the back of his neck as some of his amusement died down. “Before I go, I have a favor to ask.”
“Let me hear it. I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.”
“I want you to print my farewell article. In this month’s issue.”
“The one coming out next week?”
“Yes.”
“The one that’s all but ready to print, and making any alterations at this point would be a huge pain in the ass?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Consider it done.”
“Thank you.” Landon stood and extended his hand to Craig. “You can sit at the chef’s table anytime.”
* * *
It was masochistic of her, but Aubrey let herself hang on to a tiny connection to Landon. Every month, she bought a copy of California Coast Monthly and read Landon’s review until she memorized it. Then she could hear his voice in her head when she recalled his words later. It probably wasn’t the healthiest hobby to indulge in, but she didn’t care because she needed it.
This month’s issue featured everything fall. It was her favorite season. The changing colors, the scent of wood and smoke in the air, and the comfort food overload. More than anything, autumn was the season of love and family to her.
She flipped through the magazine, skimming the recipes she wanted to come back to later, and looked for Landon’s section. A tremor of unease fleeted across her when she found it. His column lacked its customary background and enticing food photos. The layout was as elegant as ever, but the stark black, gray, and white of the page felt somber even before she registered the title.
It’s Not Farewell
by Landon Kim
For the past decade, you,