Page 219 - It Ends with Us
P. 219

immed iatel y  begin  to  sha ke  and   I  drop  the  paper  back  on  the  table.   I

                close  my ey es  and  take  a slow sip of the  orang e  juice.
                    A   few    minu tes    later,   Atlas   set s   a   plate   down   in   front    of   me,    then
                claims  the  sea t  across  from  me  at  the  table.   He  pulls  hi s  own  plate  of
                food in  front  of hi m and  cuts int o a crep e  with  hi s fork.
                    I   look   down    at   my   plate.    Three   crep es ,   drizzled    in   syrup   and
                garni shed   with  a  dab  of  whi pped   crea m.  Orang e  and   strawberr y  slices

                line  the  right  side  of the  plate.
                    It’s  almost  too  pret ty  to  ea t,  but  I’m  too  hu ng ry  to  care.   I  take    a
                bite  and   close  my  ey es ,  trying   no t  to  make  it  obvious  tha t  it’s  the  bes t
                bite  of brea kfast I’ve  ev er  ha d.
                    I   fina lly   allow   mysel f   to   admit   tha t   hi s   res taurant    des er ved    tha t
                award.  As  much  as  I  tried   to  talk  R yle  and   Allysa  out  of  going   back,  it
                was the  bes t res taurant  I’d ev er been  to.

                    “Where d    id you lea rn  to cook?” I ask hi m.
                    He  sips  from  a  cup  of  coffee .  “The      Marines ,”  he    says,  placing   the
                cup  back  down.   “I  trained   for  a  whi le  during   my  firs t  stint  and   then
                when     I  reenl isted   I  came  on   as  a  chef .”  He  taps  hi s  fork  agains t  the
                side  of hi s plate.  “You like  it?”
                    I   no d.   “It’s   delicious.   But   you’re   wrong .   You   knew    ho w   to   cook

                bef ore  you enl isted .”
                    He  smiles . “You remember t         he  cookies ?”
                    I no d again.  “Bes t cookies  I’ve ev er  ea ten. ”
                    He  lea ns   back  in  hi s  cha ir.  “I  taught   mysel f  the   basics.  My  mother
                worked   sec ond   shi ft  when     I  was  growing   up,  so  if  I  want ed   dinner   at
                ni ght    I   ha d   to   make   it.   It   was   ei ther   tha t   or   star ve,    so   I   bought    a
                cookbook  at  a  yard  sale      and   made     ev er y  sing le   rec ipe   in   it  over   the

                course  of a yea r. And  I was onl y thi rteen. ”
                    I   smile,    sho cked    tha t   I’m   ev en   able   to.   “The   nex t   time   someo ne
                asks you ho w you lea rned  to cook, you sho uld tel l them  that   story.  Not
                the  other  one. ”
                    He  sha kes   hi s  hea d.  “You’re    the   onl y  pers on  who   kno ws  any thi ng
                about me  bef ore  the  age  of ni net een.  I’d like  to keep  it tha t way.”

                    He  beg ins   tel ling   me  about  working   as  a  chef   in  the  military.  How
                he  saved   up  as  much  money   as  he  could  so  tha t  when         he  got  out,  he
                could  open      hi s  own  res taurant.  He  started   with  a  small  café  tha t  did
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