But maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I want it so badly that I'm seeing things that aren't there.
I push to my feet, my knees protesting from sitting on cold tile, and stride to the back door. The parking lot is empty except for my truck. Maya's already gone, driving her mother's car back to that small house with the white shutters.
Too late. Again.
I'm always too fucking late, too afraid of making a mistake to actually reach for what I want. It's kept me safe for fifteen years, kept me focused, kept me from getting hurt or hurting others.
It's also kept me alone.
I pull out my phone and stare at it for a long moment. It's almost midnight. Owen's probably in bed with Ivy.
But I need to talk to someone before I lose my nerve entirely.
I hit his contact and listen to it ring once, twice—
"Someone better be dying," Owen's voice is rough with sleep.
"I need advice."
Silence. Then: "Hold on." I hear rustling, a quiet murmur that's probably him telling Ivy something, then a door closing. "Okay. What's wrong? Is it the restaurant?"
"No. The restaurant's fine. It's..." I run my hand through my hair. "It's Maya."
"Your kitchen helper."
"Yeah."
More silence. Then, cautious: "What about her?"
"I think I'm losing my mind." The words tumble out faster than I intend. "She's smart and talented and she made this incredible dessert tonight that I'm putting on the menu, and when I touched her face to wipe off flour I wanted to kiss her so badly I could barely breathe, but I didn't because she's my employee and she's twenty-four and I'm her boss and there are so many reasons this is a terrible idea—"
"Levi."
"—but I can't stop thinking about her and I don't know what to do because this feels different than anything I've felt before and I'm terrified I'm going to screw it up or worse, that I already have by being such an asshole to her for two weeks—"
"Levi."
"What?" I snap.
"Stop being an idiot and go for it."
I blink. "What?"
"You heard me." Owen's voice is clearer now, more awake. "Stop overthinking this and just talk to her. Tell her how you feel."
"I can't do that. She works for me—"
"So, figure out a way to address the power dynamic. Make it clear she can say no without consequences. But don't use that as an excuse to avoid taking a risk." He pauses. "You know Ivy and I spent fifteen years dancing around our feelings because we were both too scared to be honest. Fifteen years of wanting each otherand being too chickenshit to do anything about it. Don’t make the same mistake we did."
His words hit like a punch to the gut. I know their story: grew up watching it, watching two people who were clearly meant for each other waste years being afraid.
"I don't want that for you," Owen continues, his voice gentler now. "I don't want you to wake up in five years or ten years and realize you let something real slip away because you were too afraid of the what-ifs."
"What if she doesn't feel the same way?"
"What if she does?"
Good question. What if Maya does feel the same way? What if those moments when I catch her watching me aren't just professional observation? What if the way her breath caught tonight meant something?