In some communities, restaurant owners have hired chefs with no formal training other than basic state-mandated sanitation and food safety. I know of at least three chefs who were able to attend culinary programs paid for in part by a Culinary Capital grant.
The amount of money we’re making available to the food service community in Star Falls is not small, so I’m not surprised that Maggie is here, trying to figure out what she can do to make Benito’s application more competitive.
I give her a smile. “I won’t play favorites,” I tell her, “and I don’t make the final decisions myself anyway. As I shared in the presentation, we work with the local SBA so the community that will be impacted by the grant has a say in who receives it.” I lean close to her and give her a smile. “But how about I come into Benito’s again this week and have a chat with you and the owners. I’d love to hear more about the place, and maybe I can give you some tips on how to write a strong proposal.”
She grins so wide, she looks about ready to bounce on her heels. “Thank you,” she breathes. “Thank you so much, Ms. Watkins.”
“Please, call me Willow.” I pull a business card from my portfolio, hand it to her, and jot her name and cell number down in my contacts. I confirm when she’s on shift and try not tofeel guilty for having some ulterior motives behind my offer. It’d be nice to see the sexy delivery driver again, assuming he’d be anywhere I might find him. I lucked out on a rainy night to catch him at the end of his shift, inside the restaurant.
It occurs to me then…
“Maggie,” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. “Is Benito’s just the name of the restaurant? Or is there a Benito who runs the place?”
I hope my cheeks aren’t flushing. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman who has every right to hook up with a man I find attractive. I only hope he was a busboy and not a man whose restaurant might apply for a Culinary Capital community development grant.
“Oh yes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’d have met him if he’d have shown up like I asked him to.” She seems to catch herself midsentence, stopping the next words from running out of her mouth while she blushes hard. “Benito is… Well, he’s an amazing chef. And a larger-than-life ego. He’s just—”
I hold up a hand, cutting her off. “No need to explain. I’ve worked with hundreds of restaurant owners in my career. You don’t get to be in that position without having a lot of…let’s call them quirks.”
She looks relieved, and I want to reassure her that she hasn’t said anything that’s going to damage Benito’s shot at the grant. I’m only one of the people on the committee who will review the applications. I’m not in charge of the final decision, but still.
As Maggie bounces through the now-empty meeting room toward the parking lot, I hope against hope that I don’t have to recuse myself from the committee entirely because I fucked a hot restaurant owner my first week in Star Falls.
I smother a grin and pull out my phone to check my messages. That would be a first, and I don’t know how I’d explain to my boss my reasons for pulling out. But as I thinkback to Ben’s mouth on my breasts, his cock slamming deep inside me, I hope against hope that Ben isn’ttheBenito.
I tuck my phone beneath my ear and head toward the parking lot to wait for a rideshare, listening to the voice mail from the strange number.
“Ms. Watkins, this is Cal from Advanced Long Distance Movers. We’re a couple hours early, so we’re already at your building…”
I punch the number back into my phone. The call is picked up on the first ring. “This is Willow Watkins,” I say. “I’m about fifteen minutes away.”
Looks like my furniture is here, which means my car should be here as well. I checked out of the hotel, knowing the movers were scheduled to arrive this afternoon. I look over the empty conference room to the two large suitcases of the things I’d packed for my first week in Star Falls.
A new deal in the works. A hot new hookup. And a new home. I can never get enough of the excitement for new, new, new. I have a huge grin on my face and an unstoppable feeling in my chest as I grab my roller bags and secure my messenger bag over my shoulder.
The adventure of the next year starts now.
By the timethe movers had unloaded my furniture, I’d already corrected a small parking snafu with the condo’s management office. Turned out they hadn’t secured paid parking with my long-term rental, but a few firm smiles and well-placed calls from my assistant back in Chicago sorted that out.
It’s nearly six by the time the movers clear out. My new condo is on the top floor of a luxury building with a viewoverlooking the river. After yesterday’s storm, the sky is still gray, angry clouds drifting past like lazy kittens stretching and rolling across the horizon. The river has a running path, and as twilight settles over Star Falls, I can see strollers and joggers, couples and dogs, filling up the blacktop path.
I look over the boxes and plastic-wrapped furniture with excitement. Setting up a new place and settling into a new home never fails to excite me. I’ll be busy all week with site inspections and meeting the contractors we’ve hired for the renovation of the soon-to-be hottest family eatery in Star Falls. But I’ll spend the majority of the week unpacking, finding just the right shelves for my mug collection, the perfect way to display my copper pots and spices. I practically live in the kitchen, and this condo’s open floorplan with a massive island was what sold me on making this my home for the next twelve months.
I’m still wearing the pencil skirt and tailored blouse I wore to this morning’s SBA meeting, but my feet are bare, and my hair has long fallen loose from the tight bun I’d worn for the presentation.
I’m debating ordering a pizza, changing into sweats, putting on some music, and going deep into unpacking mode, when I’m hit by a sudden craving for kale ravioli.
I bite my lower lip and grab my phone. Jessa answers on the first ring.
“Please tell me you’re calling to tell me all about your hot hookup.” Her voice sounds shaky, like she’s been crying.
“Hey, hey,” I say, tempted to switch to video so I can see her. My heart tightens in my chest, and my worries kick into overdrive. “Jess, are you crying? Am I calling at a bad time?”
Her laughter is sad, not bitter, but not funny either. “I’m not even a mom yet, and all I do is worry about keeping this baby safe,” she says. “I’m a wreck today. Some days, I’mhappy to binge an entire season ofGossip Girlwhile I still can uninterrupted and with a lap full of snacks…”
“Like a lady,” I interject.
“Like a damn lady,” she corrects, her sniffles louder now. “Okay, I know you called me, but Willow, can we video for a sec?”
