Johnathon's Arc

Chapter 14 of 31

Johnathon looked back down and read it out loud. He paused. His trophy sat forgotten on the station behind him. The studio still buzzed with cameras and crew, but he heard none of it. He read the first line again, slower this time, so Lexi could hear every word. "'I never brought you soup because I felt sorry for you,'" he read. His voice caught. "'I brought it because I wanted to be the one who did.'" He stopped. His thumb held the page open. He remembered ninth grade, his mother in the hospital, the soup and sandwich that showed up at his door. He had thought it was kindness. He looked up. "You picked what I would actually eat," he said. "Even then." Lexi nodded. Her hands still shook. "I watched what you left on your plate for a week first," she said. "So I'd get it right." Johnathon turned the page. There was more, lines and lines in her small writing. But he closed the notebook and held it out to her across the barrier. His heart pounded harder than it had during the final bell. "I don't need to read the rest," he said. "I want you to tell me." Lexi stared at the closed notebook. This was the thing she had spent months writing instead of saying. She had made him keep it as a test. Now he was handing it back and asking for her voice instead. "That's not the deal," she said. Her words came out flat, the way they did when a thing got too close. "I know," Johnathon said. "I'm changing the deal." A long second passed. The bright lights hummed above the gleaming counters. Then Lexi took a breath. She pushed the notebook back into his hands and closed his fingers over it. "Fine," she said. Her voice dropped, quiet and plain. "I love you. I have since ninth grade. I was scared you'd only want me because you were happy tonight. That's why I made you wait." Johnathon didn't move for a moment. Then he set the notebook down on the barrier rail. He reached out and took both her hands. "I would've wanted you on the worst night of my life," he said. "Not just this one." Lexi's shoulders dropped, like something heavy had finally left them. She let out a small laugh that was half a sob. "Okay," she said. "That's all I'm saying right now." But she didn't let go of his hands. Around them the crew broke down the set, wheeling away lights and folding tables. Johnathon picked up the notebook and put it in his bag. The words inside were his now, but they didn't matter as much anymore. She had said them out loud. He was the top chef of the country, and somehow that felt like the smaller thing he had won tonight.