Blaze walked in the kitchen a few minutes later, arms full of a delivery he must have met outside. “Morning, Chef.”
“We got the okay!” I told him, as excited as I had ever been.
He set his crates on the counter and looked at me quizzically. “The okay for what?”
“The menu changes. Goodbye outdated French fare. Hello casual and chic! Ezra’s even on board with the brunch switch up. You and I are going to have to sit down at the computer today and figure out the schedule later. And nobody is going to be happy at first. This is going to take an adjustment. But in time I think it will be better for everyone.”
“Seriously?” He blinked at me. “He okayed all of it?”
I couldn’t tell if he was excited or pissed. True, he hadn’t been super on board with the brunch idea in the first place, but I thought it was because he didn’t believe that Ezra would let me do it over any negative feelings he had for the concept. Maybe I had read the room wrong…
My smile dropped. “All of it. I’m going to set up a meeting with his social media guru next week to develop an online plan. I want to launch this thing like the opening of a brand-new restaurant.” I thought about it for a second and then added, “Basically, I want to erase Bianca entirely and start new.”
His face looked pained for a second. Confusion and remorse and fear flashed in alternating shades. I started to worry he was about to tell me what an idiot I was and how stupid this idea was. When he finally spoke, the words rushed out of his mouth in a raw confession. “I got an offer.”
My bubbling excitement screeched to a halt. “What?”
“Another job offer,” he explained. “After Ashlynn quit, I guess word got out that things were not, er, great here. Not that anyone has ever believed that we had our house in order. But… anyway, one of my buddies mentioned to his boss that I might be looking for something and they called with a position on Sunday.”
He’d been sitting on this for days. Which meant he was seriously considering it. Damn.
“Where?” He didn’t have to tell me, but if I was losing the one chef in this kitchen I could count on, I felt like I had a right to know.
“Sunday House.”
Okay, that was a legitimately wonderful restaurant. Quite frankly, a full step up from flailing Bianca. “Oh.”
“Listen, I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I just… I wanted you to know.”
The elation I’d felt moments ago turned sour in my stomach. “I can’t offer you more as far as salary goes. I wish that I could, but—”
He held up his hand, quick to stop me. “I’m not leveraging, Chef. I swear. I just… I wanted you to know what was going on.”
He meant he wanted me to know what was going on because he was leaving. If he knew I couldn’t leverage a better offer and he’d been thinking about it since Sunday, the logical conclusion was that this was his resignation.
Still, I was going to make him say it, because somehow this was worse than firing Ashlynn. Somehow, taking the control out of my hand and having someone willingly walk away, was infinitely worse. “So is this like your two weeks or…”
“Not yet,” he promised.
“When do you have to give them an answer?”
He held my gaze. “They didn’t give me a date. It was kind of an open-ended proposal.”
Which meant they really, really wanted him. “And if I decide to let you go first?” It was a catty and unrealistic response.
He saw through me immediately. “You can’t afford to let me go.”
“But you might leave anyway.”
His mouth pressed into a deeper frown. “This isn’t personal.”
Letting out a trembling breath, I nodded my head. He was right. I knew he was right. He knew he was right. This wasn’t personal. He was doing the best thing for his career. Had Wyatt thrown a huge hissy fit when I left Lilou to pursue better things for myself? Nope. He’d wished me well and offered to help whenever I needed him.
The problem was that Blaze had more experience than me. I couldn’t exactly send him off by telling him to call me day or night if he needed anything. He’d probably block my number afraid I’d be the one calling him at all hours of the night, drunkenly begging him to come back.
“I know,” I told him. And it was sincere. “I know this isn’t personal. You have to do what’s best for you and your career. And honestly, Sunday House is that.” I held up my hands, gesturing around at the recently gleaming kitchen. “I wish it was Bianca. I wish I had more to offer you as far as career path or head chef or whatever, all of it. But I’m glad Sunday House recognized your incredible talent. And I wish you the best.”
“I haven’t quit yet,” he reminded me, his frown somehow even more pronounced.
