<div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-size: 22px">aven miller</span><br/>
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</div></div><br/><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'">Aven never thought that she would be the other woman. She remembered the stories of friends or acquaintances who would fall into the arms of other men and women, and to Aven, it never made sense. Why seek comfort from a partner who couldn't offer you there all?<br/>
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While Aven would have lived a perfectly content life without finding the answer to such a messy question, Rafael had been a response personified, and what a wickedly, terrible answer he had been. Her first job right out of culinary school had been as a sous chef, a success that had Aven nervous and fidgety. Her body had been wracked with nerves, thinking of how bad of an idea becoming a sous chef was so early on in her career. She had experience, yes. Aven had started as a waitress at a family establishment before slowly aiding with recipes and hinting at subtle changes that had caused the people at the place to multiply. The owner had told her to leave the waitress job and help with the cooking instead, offering Aven free reign to do as she pleased with the recipes. The job and practice had helped her excel at culinary school. She had spent hours perfecting different cutting techniques she would learn at the school, recreating sauces, and using all that she learned to add that to rectify the previous recipes from good to great. Those three years, all Aven did was work and study. There had been no time for men, for friends, for anything that would constitute as any form of a close relation.<br/>
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That had changed when she’d met Head Chef, Rafael Silva. They’d started off as friends, bonding over different cooking techniques and which sauce would work better with a particular dish. They’d debated and fought and had little cooking competitions that stimulated Aven’s mind the way none in culinary school had. In Rafael, she saw the same revitalization for cooking that she so dearly held. And later on, she regarded him as more than just the man she worked so closely with.<br/>
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In the end, all Aven had been though, was a fool. She believed him when he said that he’d leave Danielle. She believed him when he told her he loved her and that she was the one for him. When his hands would trace over her skin, fingers curling along her thighs and kneading her the way he would hold the softest of doughs, Aven’s worries would momentarily dissipate. It was those private moments, with his mouth whispering sweet nothings into her ear or his guttural laugh at one of her slip-ups that Aven had convinced herself that they could properly be happy together. She supposed it was because of all those tainted memories and the trail of pain that followed that she should hate Rafael. Looking at him now though, Aven could not muster up any of that resentment she knew she should feel. Resignation would be the word she would choose. She did not blame him for his choice, and besides all of it had worked out in the end. She was in a loving, healthy relationship with a man who couldn't have better towards her. With him, she never worried about nights spent with another woman or fretted about his eyes turning elsewhere despite his job and charming personality.  The last time Rafael and Aven had 'spoken', Danielle was pregnant, and he had asked her to marry him, so she knew he was probably doing quite well himself. When she'd found out about the engagement, it had been the last time she had properly permitted herself to think of him before erasing every trace of their time together as best as she could.<br/>
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Aven offered Rafael a soft smile, leaning back against the counter. She made sure not to let her gaze trace every inch of him the way they seemed to desire. Aven wasn’t a fool any longer though. There were bigger things than desire that life had to offer, and being with Rafael before had been a test that she would not fail again. "I should be asking you that. Last I remember, you were killing it in New York. Got tired of the busy city?" Aven asked, tilting her head quietly. There was a hint of amusement in her hazel gaze, none of the previous heartache or bad ending present in her visage. Turning her attention to the station, Aven realized that today she was on duty for prepping all the vegetables and fruit. Typically, Aven would come in just as the sun would rise. Her hands would work systemically when preparing all the julienne slices and organizing them, drawing solace from the pitter-patter of rain that Seattle was so notorious for.<br/>
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Before Aven could say more, she felt an impeding presence behind her. Turning slightly, Aven was met with a grinning Alejandro, his brown eyes light with excitement. "I see you met your possible sous chef," Alejandro said, looking right at Rafael. So this was why Alejandro would look at her with that secret glint in his eyes. She knew that look well, working for him for as long as she did. Aven had just been too stressed about possibly losing her job to question it. "I thought you'd be excited, Aven. I know you used to work together, so I thought working under Rafael again would be a pleasant surprise," Alejandro said, clapping her shoulder lightly. "Told you that you had nothing to worry about," he winked. Aven had expressed her concerns a week before about the sudden change. Alejandro had shrugged and tried to brush her off which only had Aven pressing him for a proper answer. It didn't work, of course. The man was as stubborn as a bull. He had guaranteed Aven that she would be fine though.<br/>
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Alejandro's gaze focused on a spot past Rafael. "Wait no, I don't want that shipmen-" Alejandro met Aven and Rafael gazes before offering an apologetic smile. "You both reconnect. I'm gonna go deal with the shipment, yeah?" he nodded. Before Aven could respond, Alejandro was gone, waving at two men who had entered the kitchen with boxes in their hands. Aven swallowed hard and slipped onto the other side of her workstation. "So, Seattle?" Aven asked conversationally. When she had been working with Rafael, they had been close to winning a Michelin star, getting all kinds of recognition from the media. When Aven had left, she'd done everything she could to escape anything that had to do with him for the sake of her own healing. Nonetheless, the culinary world was small, and all successes were gossiped about incessantly. Aven knew he had managed to win that star. Aven also knew that he had received a special spot on <i>Saveur</i>, a cooking magazine that featured only the top chefs of the time being.</span>