Cherry said it was just a small get–together. "Nothing too fancy,  just rich friends of a client getting together." But when we arrived, the apartment looked like figment of a genius's imagination. Exposed brick walls, low jazz spilling from hidden speakers, the air was warm with perfume and expensive whiskey. I felt out of place the second walked in. I had to hold on to whatever  shred of confidence I had left for the night. Slick suits, glassy smiles, women in silk dresses. Cherry fit right in of course. She always did.

A pretty lady elegantly walked up to us, took our phones, and ushered us towards a dimly lit table by the corner of the room. It was furnished with expensive looking padded sofas. An assortment of expensive looking drinks were arranged on the glass table. The men seated around the table appeared to be in their mid to late thirties. All in expensive looking suits, laughing and conversing with no care in the world. When we arrived at the table, they all looked up at us. Cherry kissed one of the men on the cheek, I assumed that was her client.

He flashed a dimpled smile, his suit fit too well to be off–the–rack, dark and quiet. The fabric catching just enough light to suggest money, without the need to flaunt it. His voice was soft and confident as he spoke to Cherry.

"Hey pookie, you made it! Wow, you look stunning."                                                                    She blushed and turned to me with a smile that said "relax" before introducing me to the group of men. They all said hello with equally pristine smiles. Cherry and I both sat down. She began flirting and talking to her client, whose name I learned was Robin.

I on the other hand, was too shy to look up from my seated position, my hands suddenly became interesting, I started wishing I had my phone. Cherry said they were 'private people', hence why we had our phones taken. A few heartbeats later, strong hands tapped my forearm. When I looked up, I saw generous lips asking me something but unfortunately, all of my senses had stopped working. So  I  couldn't hear a thing, I could only see how handsome has. He wasn't conventionally attractive, it was striking. Clean lines, easy smile, sharp green eyes and shiny teeth.

There was something about him that felt steady, not showy, not practiced, just present. The kind of man who listens before he speaks. Who makes you forget you were supposed to be careful. His suit wasn't as sharp as the others, his watch a little scuffed. That somehow made him more intriguing. When I finally learned how to use my words, I blinked, embarrassed by how lost I was.

"I'm sorry what?"

He chuckled softly. " I was asking if I could pour you a drink." He  gestured to the glass and drink on the table.

I nodded, smiling nervously.

He handed me the glass of brown whiskey and then proceeded to ask what my name was, I studied him briefly.

"It's Sasha."

My voice sounded strained, I quickly took a sip from my drink. He gave me a small smile.

"Nice to make you acquaintance Sasha, I'm Crest."

He stretched out his arm for a handshake. I took it.

"Nice to meet you too." His hands were strong, warm.

Feeling confident, I decided to try making conversation.

 "You live around here?" 

What sort of dumb question was that?  I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. He shrugged lightly, "sometimes." That was all, no explanation, just sometimes. Cherry's laughter echoed from across the table, a reminder of where I was and what I'd said yes to. For a moment all I could focus on was him, his calm, that half smile, the way he looked at me, like he was studying me.

"So," he said, "you're Cherry's friend."

I nodded. "Since college."

He looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. I took a long sip from my drink and asked.

"Are you here often?"

He smiled. "Let's just say I'm here to ease off stress." 

Cherry signaled to me, passing me a piece of paper. I immediately unfolded it. Her handwriting was scribbled on the small note, asking if I was doing okay. I looked towards her and gave her a thumbs up, she winked and proceeded to writing on another piece of paper, seconds later, she passed it to me.

"If  you're overwhelmed let me know okay?

I'm going upstairs with Robin. Is that okay? If yes, nod.

 It's the third room right. Find me if you need me."

I laughed lightly, at the absurd way we had to communicate. I nodded as she stood up with her companion, walking towards the spiral stairs.

Hours  later, Crest and I were laughing our asses off as we exchanged stories about our individual college experiences. I was now almost completely comfortable, that I obliged when he'd asked if we could move somewhere more private. He led me up the spiral stairs,  into an open hallway, with doors on both left and right. He opened the second door to the right, immediately before the one Cherry said she was headed, and held it open for me. It was a cozy, dimly lit bedroom, I could smell lavender. The only light turned on was the ornate lamp by the bed that painted everything amber.

The noise from the party faded once he closed the door. My heart rate was through the roof, I tried to maintain a calm exterior, after all, this is what I was here for. He sat gracefully on the king–size bed that was neatly tucked in and arranged. I stood awkwardly by the corner and he motioned for me to come sit on his laps. I hesitated, but my feet were already moving.  In that moment, I was aware of every heart beat, every breath.

He was close enough that I could smell his cologne and minty breath, he reached towards my face to graze his hands and thumb across the apple of my cheeks. I was lost in those green eyes.

 He took a long breath."You're so beautiful." His breathing became labored.

 I tensed, with all the alcohol in my system, I felt light headed, like I could drown if I looked in his eyes too long.

"This is new for you isn't it?" He asked.

Unable to form words, I swayed and nodded. In  a bid to get it over with, I grabbed him by his collar and kissed him.

I've lost cost of the number of men I've kissed in my life. But this felt different, his lips were as soft as cloud against mine, he kissed me with controlled calm. I parted my lips and gave him access, he groaned,  the kiss quickly turned hungry and feral. We tore at each other's clothes until we were bare and he was on top of me, kissing me everywhere, sucking my neck, shoulder, breasts. His hands exploring every inch of my body.

This wasn't supposed to feel this good. He was completely in control just as I liked it. He reached for his wallet and brought out a condom. He looked at me for approval, I  gave it to him. In an instant the condom was on, he was on top of me again. A moment later, he was inside me, moving, thrusting, stroking. I moaned loudly and clawed at his back, clenching around him. That earned me a gasp. He let out a guttural growl, increasing his pace, his movements became jerky and he stilled inside me. He rolled off me, kissing my temple.

I heard the sound of fabric moving, when I sat up, he was halfway dressed. I couldn't stop myself from asking.

 "You're leaving now?"

He smiled at me. "Yea, I wish I could stay a bit longer but I need to see my kids before school."

 In that moment my heart sunk. The word kids hit harder than It should. Suddenly a dozen questions swarmed my head. Was he married? How many kids did he have? Will I see him again? Was the sex bad? I swallowed my thoughts and simply said. "Okay."

He reached for his jacket pulled out something from the inside pocket and placed it on the night stand. I didn't bother to check. He lingered just long enough to meet my eyes, a look that might have meant thank you or I'm sorry, or maybe nothing at all. Then he was gone. The door closed quietly behind him, with it went the warmth. I just sat there staring at the cash he left me, more money than I had ever seen. It didn't excite me, I felt hollow and empty.

The city was waking up outside, cars starting, light pushing through the blinds. An hour later, after I was dressed and ready to leave, there was a knock on the door. I knew it was Cherry before I opened it. I let her in, she observed me quietly.  "Well...you survived, are you feeling okay?" I wasn't in the mood to bare my soul to her or anyone. I've never really been very expressive, so I forced a smile to my face.

"Of  course I'm okay, mission accomplished." I waved the wand of cash in front of her, she gasped.

"Holy shit Sash, that's a lot of greens, what sort of sorcery did you perform last night?"

I smiled and shrugged. "Well let's go get breakfast,  I'm buying." I decided to forget last night ever happened.

I paid my rent, sorted out all my outstanding bills. As I got handed the receipt, something twisted in my gut, it wasn't guilt, it was sadness, for how I was able to make the payment, for what it reminded me of.

Soon after, I started cooking again, not in a restaurant, not for strangers who sent plates back without any acknowledgment. I became a private chef, I catered to people who want something homemade, something that tasted like care, carefully curated just for their taste buds. Word spread quietly and I started getting referrals. A birthday dinner here, a small gathering there.

In other people's kitchen, I found a sense of purpose. The sound of knife against a board, onions softening in butter, the slow rhythm of a meal coming together, it all steadied me, kept me grounded.

Late at night, sometimes, I'd think about him, about that night, I'd touch myself and imagine it was him touching me. How could I possibly forget, when he completely swept me off my feet like a tidal wave. Cherry would sometimes call to ask if I wanted to hang, for a  while I kept politely declining. It wasn't  that I blamed her for my dilemma, she just reminded me of a night that has since plagued me, I would never admit any of that to her though.

It was late afternoon, I was chopping herbs in a client's kitchen, the sun slanting through the blinds, dust catching in the light. My phone buzzed across the counter. Unknown number, but I knew. You can always tell when when it's someone who shouldn't be calling. I steadied my voice and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"                                                               

A pause. Then I heard his voice, low, calm, too familiar.

"Hey...it's Crest."                                               

For a second I didn't breath, that voice brought everything back, all I've been struggling to erase, the dimly lit room, the quiet and the ache I thought I buried under rent receipts and grocery lists.

"I wasn't sure you'd pick up." He said.

"I wasn't sure I should." I replied.                       

He laughed softly, like we were sharing a private joke.

"I've been thinking about you."

"It's been over a month."

I said, but it came out sharper than I meant.

"I'd like to see you" he said. "Just dinner nothing more".                                              

I closed my eyes. Behind me something sizzled in the pan, the smell of garlic filling the air, grounding me in the life I was trying to create for myself. When I opened my eyes I responded,

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because there's no point, I'm not about that life."

The line stayed open for a few seconds, the silence, deafening. I hung up and blocked the number. My hands were shaking but I kept chopping. The knife, the herbs, the sound, steady and rhythmic. That night when I finally decided to have dinner with Cherry at my apartment, I didn't tell her about the phone call. I needed a clear head for work the morning at Mrs. Levin's.

In her late sixties, rich, widowed, elegan in that soft, deliberate way women of her generation seemed to perfect. I cooked for her twice a week, quiet dinners for one, sometimes two if her bridge partner stayed late. She'd taken a liking to me early on. Said I was hard working and industrious, also said she didn't know how she survived all those years without having me as her chef. Mrs. Levin was the kind of woman who believed young women needed companionship. I liked and admired her, so when she said.0 "You're too pretty to be without a man. Let me introduce you to someone," I didn't know how to refuse.

His name was Matthew,  her friend's nephew. "Lovely man, divorced, stable, good job." She had said.The kind of description that sounded more like a tax assessment than a person. Still, I said yes. Maybe because I wanted to rid myself of thoughts of a certain person.

The restaurant was a cozy Italian place in River North , all soft jazz, low lighting, and tables close enough that you could hear snippets of other people's lives between bites. He stood when I arrived. Tall, pressed shirt, too much cologne, the kind that smelled expensive but tired.

"Wow," he said, smiling too wide. "Mrs. Levin undersold you."

"Did she?" I said, taking my seat.

He ordered for both of us before I even looked at the menu. Wine, calamari, something "light." I told myself not to judge too fast. For the first fifteen minutes, he was charming in a predictable, almost professional way. He asked where I was from, what kind of cooking I did. But when I started describing a private dinner I'd hosted for a couple's anniversary, he cut in with,

"Oh, that's cute. My ex-wife used to go through these chef phases. Bought all the gadgets, never used them."

I smiled politely and took a long sip of wine. From there, it was all him. His business, his workouts, his ex-wife's "drama," his plan to buy property in Florida "before the boom hits again." Every few minutes, he'd say, "You know what I mean?" I didn't.

At some point, I realized I'd stopped listening. I was watching the couple at the next table,  a young woman feeding her boyfriend a forkful of pasta, both of them laughing with their mouths full. It looked messy. Real. Alive.

"Do you always cook?" Matthew asked suddenly.

"Yes," I said. "It's what I do."

"That's adorable," he said, nodding. "You'd save a lot of money if we moved in together."

I blinked. "We've known each other forty minutes."

He laughed, "Hey, I'm just kidding."

I didn't think he was.When dessert came, he refused it , "I'm keto," he announced proudly. He looked at my tiramisu like it was a personal attack. By the time the check arrived, I'd already decided I'd never see him again. But he still leaned in for a hug that lasted a beat too long and said. "You should come by sometime. I'll make you my famous protein shake."

"Tempting," I said, smiling with my teeth.

On the drive home in my almost rickety car, I rolled the window down and let the cold air wash the evening off me. It wasn't that he was awful. He was fine, polite, successful, maybe even kind in his own way. But I realized something on that drive, fine wasn't what I wanted. I'd had too much of fine.

At home, I slipped off my shoes, poured myself a glass of wine, and texted Mrs. Levin.

"Lovely man. Perfect teeth. Definitely not my type."

She sent back a single heart emoji and:

"Try again next week."

I laughed out loud, a small, helpless sound that faded into the quiet of my apartment. I didn't want another date. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. Because beneath the disappointment, there was still a part of me waiting, not for Matthew, not for anyone new, but for something that felt real enough to stay.