Now that I was alone with my thoughts and the abandoned stack of plates, I realized two things.
First, Vann Delane was a complete and total asshole and I was grateful I hadn’t had to put up with his shit prior to today.
And second… he was right. These were excuses I would feed myself for the next thirty years. I knew Ezra was serious about hiring someone permanent. I knew he would search until he found someone suitable for this place—someone who would stick it out till the bitter end. Or at least for a good chunk of the next decade.
If I didn’t take Bianca now, this opportunity might never cross my path again. We might crisscross through life, never aligning, never finding each other, never getting to work together.
I touched the edge of the plate on the top of the stack. Could I live with myself if I walked away today? Could I get over the disappointment of never running this kitchen?
For as long as I’d wanted to be a chef, Bianca had been the carrot I’d chased, dangling at the end of the stick. My gastronomic journey had led me to this exact moment.
Fine, I would have preferred it if this moment had happened a few years down the road. But that was no longer an option.
And Ezra believed in me. That counted for something right? It wasn’t like he could fire me either. If he talked me into this position, he’d have to deal with the consequences.
Good or bad, we were in this together.
Plus, the staff had been running the kitchen without a captain for nearly a year. There was a rumor floating around that sometimes even Ezra filled in. If he could manage this kitchen without a formal education or any real experience, so could I. Right?
Also, my friends meant a lot in the decision-making process. The dining room was filled with competent chefs kicking culinary ass all over Durham. And those same superstar chefs believed in me. They’d come here to celebrate me.
So why was I getting in my own way?
Why was I shrugging off the same dream that had gotten me through countless grueling nights working for psychotic egomaniacs? Why was I abandoning the hope that had nursed me through ugly, horrible memories and a life I never wanted to return to? Why was I walking away from a gorgeous kitchen and stunning restaurant with a relatively wonderful reputation? Because I was afraid?
Why? Because I always picked the wrong thing.
For all my pedigree, I had terrible taste.
Six years of celibacy and years of memories I wanted desperately to forget were a testament to that.
I picked up the top plate, my fingers curling around the edges of white porcelain. Bringing the dish to my chest, I hugged it tightly to me, my heart thrumming against it.
Bianca was mine.
She belonged to me.
And I would be a fool to let her go to anyone else.
Spinning on the heel of my studded Sam Edelman bootie, I pushed through the in and out doors again and, still clutching the plate, announced. “I changed my mind. I want Bianca.”
Two
“That was quick.”My brother was huddled together with Killian and Wyatt, no doubt trying to figure out a way to do just that—change my mind.
“I thought about it,” I explained, ignoring the sickening feeling of nerves as they flooded my body, “and I realized this really is a chance of a lifetime. I’m worried if I let it go now, I’ll be walking away from the dream I’ve had since I started out.”
“I’ll always have a place for you—”
“I know you will,” I assured Ezra, cutting him off. “But I want Bianca. I have always wanted Bianca. Besides, I’m holding all of you accountable to make sure I don’t screw this up.”
“You’re going to be amazing,” Vera assured me at the same time Kaya said, “We won’t let you embarrass yourself, don’t worry.”
I hoped the truth was somewhere in the middle.
There was a flurry of congratulations and a confused Molly asking if she could take the plate I still clutched in my death grip. Someone brought out the correct dessert plates and somebody else cut the cake and handed me a piece.
Champagne popped and laughter followed. I never saw Vann again. Apparently, he split before the cake was actually cut.Ha! Sucker.
