“No, really, Chef. Go check the cooler.” The way Ridley said it, curiosity took over.
“Okay.” I opened the door. Inside, on the main shelf, where previously my sad, empty tray for White Truffles sat, there was now a crate of Italian white truffles, each one nestled in a bed of straw and giving off their usual earthy aroma.
My jaw hit the floor as I read the note attached:
Chef,
You said you needed these.
Told you I have connections.
Make opening weekend shine.
—Holden
“What? How did he do this?” I backed out of the cooler, staring like it might vanish if I blinked. A holiday miracle, delivered in a wooden crate. I pressed my fingers to my lips, a laugh-sob escaping.
“I don’t know. But when Holden texted me at five in the morning to meet a helicopter for a special delivery, I didn’t ask questions. I think someone has a crush on you,” Ridley mused behind me.
I ignored that, and also, wow. How Holden made this happen, I wouldn’t begin to guess, but he must have gone to great lengths to make things right for me. My heart lurched; I glanced over to the window of the kitchen door, hoping to seehim there, but he wasn’t. Why would he be after I told him I was leaving?
At some point, I’d have to face him and thank him, and try not to fall completely, madly for him, because I already cried half the night, sad and convinced that this would never work between us. That my leaving was best for his business.
“Well, Chef, you have everything you need. Ready to create your masterpiece?” Ridley asked.
Masterpiece… Yes. Renewed energy flowed through my veins, itching to get started. “Let’s do it.”
For a few hours, we spent time perfecting the recipes, taking careful notes. Duck was Pop’s masterpiece—but this version was going to be mine. My voice. My dish. Made with love. It may never win me Michelin stars, but guests would love it, and I’d be proud of it just the same—until the day I left Snow Quest a month from now.
At last, sprinkling the right amount of white truffle on top, just in time for dinner service, I announced to everyone in the kitchen. “I present to you Quest by West’s signature dish—Snowfall Risotto with Seared Duck Breast & Caramelized Brussels Sprouts. Now ready to be served to our guests.”
The kitchen chefs and staff broke out into applause over it, congratulating me. Emotions riddled through me, bringing a lump to my throat and a smile that split my face. I sent a prayer of thanks to Pops in Heaven above.
I snapped a few photos of it and sent the best one to marketing so they could do their thing with final menus, posters and more to promote at the restaurant.
We immediately started serving, the waitstaff announcing it to each table seating. In the kitchen, plates flew out. Ticket rails filled and emptied. My team moved in sync as if they’d been born for this. Meals were served; rave reviews came back.
I toured the dining room a few times throughout, seeing the joy on people’s faces for myself, many stopping me to pay compliments to the chef. My chest puffed with pride. This could very well be the best day in a kitchen in my life, and I’m glad it happened here at Quest.
Still, something was missing, or someone, and I knew it. Holden should be a part of this. He’d love the dish, only I really messed things up with him. Not once did I see him around.
I didn’t have time to dwell on it. We were so busy, nonstop. I stayed focused in my element at my station, and also two seconds from collapsing.
“Chef?” Ridley tapped my arm. “There’s some people here to see you.”
“Who? A vendor? Tell them to come back next week. We’re busy.”
Her grin faded. “Not a vendor. Go on. I have the floor until you return.”
I sighed, wiping my hands on my white apron and practically stomping out at the inconvenience. When I exited into the short hallway off the kitchen, I wasn’t prepared for my parents to be standing there.
“Mom? Dad?” They’d bundled in nice sweaters and coats and boots, and must have actually taken a day or two off from the diner to join me here. Considering they hardly ever took time off, this was special.
My mother’s face crumpled into a smile. “Hi, baby.”
My dad opened his arms. “Heard there was a hotshot chef up here in the mountains. Thought we should check it out.”
I walked straight into them, hugging them both so tight I could barely breathe.
