“Okay, Chef, tell us everything about this restaurant!” says Emily, coming back from the kitchen with a bottle of white wine in one hand and clutching four empty glasses by the stems in the other. She sets the bottle and glasses on the coffee table and then snuggles in between me and Annie on the couch. From her seat on the floor, Amelia fills the glasses.
“There’s nothing to tell. Let’s talk about your book instead,Emmy Gold!” Emily, in an amazing turn of events, had been secretly writing the most delicious romance book over the last few years. Jack encouraged her to finish it, and after a few bumps in the road shesigned with her dream agent and publisher. The deal announcement went out last month, surprising us all with her cute pen name. Have I mentioned how ridiculously successful my sisters are? And then there’s me . . .
“Publishing moves at a snail’s pace, so the book won’t come out for at least a year. Your new restaurant, however, opens so soon!” She’s fizzing with excitement. “And I know nothing about it because you’ve been so damn busy we haven’t had a chance to talk about it.”
Ihavebeen busy over the last four weeks, picking up as many odd jobs as possible to store up some cash in case I screw up this chef job.
“But it paid off because you graduated!” says Amelia, bumping my knee.
“Yes, she did!” Emily smothers me in a hug. “I’m still mad they didn’t have a ceremony, though.”
Again, guilt tugs at me. “Yeah, it’s too bad. What do you want to know about the restaurant?” I ask, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.
“First, what’s it been like working with James?” Emily asks with an odd sparkle in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you guys interact without picking at each other.”
I shrug. “We haven’t.”
Amelia hands each of us a glass of wine. “Picked at each other?”
“No. Worked together.” I sip my drink. “Until tonight, we hadn’t talked since his initial phone call where he offered me the job. Tommy took over all communication after that.” Except for tonight, when we sat together at the bar and . . . became friends? I’m still not sure what to make of that. Or why my heart rate accelerates when I think about the way he smiled at me.
“That’s so weird,” Emily mumbles. She’s lightly swirling her wine around the glass and staring into it like it’s a crystal ball.
“Why is it weird?”
Her eyes pop up to me as if she didn’t actually mean for me to overhear it. “No reason. Just thought he’d want more involvement since it’ll be his restaurant . . . and he hates Tommy, so I’m surprised he trusts him enough to work on this.With you.”
I note the special emphasis but am distracted when out of the corner of my eye I see Annie raise her wineglass to her lips. Her throat bobs lightly as if she’s just taken a sip, but something about the gesture doesn’t seem real. Normally Annie winces slightly after each drink, because even though she tries to like it, she still mostly hates wine. She didn’t wince after that sip though.Interesting.
“So Nancy’s old greenhouse is being turned into the restaurant, right?” Nancy is James’s late grandma.
“Yeah. Supposedly, most of the renovation is already finished. If it’s half of what Tommy has described to me, it’ll be beautiful.”
“I’ve seen it,” says Annie. “And I can confirm it’s gorgeous and will be a huge hit.”
They decided to keep as much of the original structure as possible, just replacing anything that had major damage, reinforcing the parts that needed it. The greenhouse itself is where the dining room will be, and there is an entirely new space off the back that will house the kitchen and chef’s quarters. It was such a relief to learn I’d have somewhere of my own to live when I came back and didn’t want to intrude on any of my siblings.
“So what are the featured menu items going to be?” asks Emily with an overeager look in her eye. My chest tightens. This is not a topic I’m ready to discuss.
But the last thing I want to do is trigger Emily’s radar either. . . .
“Um, I was thinking of keeping it simple and tossing in some real crowd-pleasers: Kraft mac and cheese and dino nuggets,” I sayeasily to cover the wild beat of my heart. Because the truth is, I’ve been in a creative freeze and haven’t been able to come up with a single dish that has felt right. And it’s killing me.
The kitchen used to be my refuge, the one place where everything quieted down and I felt most like myself. Cooking was my escape, my therapy, my joy. It was something that was wholly mine. But lately? It’s felt hollow. Like stepping into a room I used to love, only to find it’s cold, the lights are off, and there’s plastic over the furniture.
I want that warmth back.
Emily laughs, but I can tell the type A planner in her is not appeased. “And is there going to be a new menu each week, or will it stay the same through the season?”
I clutch Emily’s arm. “Wait, the menu has tochangeat some point?”
Her smile flattens. “I’m being serious, Maddie. It seems like you have a lot of unanswered questions still and the opening is in what? Like three months?” I can see bullet-pointed task lists unfurling behind her green eyes. “What about logistical stuff like bookkeeping? Who’s going to be in charge of all that? Or hiring the staff? Will you—”
“Emily.” I shoot up from the couch when my heart drives too painfully against my ribs. “I’ve got it all under control, okay?”But I don’t. I really don’t.And I hate that she knows me well enough to see that I don’t.
I should have had all these questions figured out by now, but I’m someone who tends to wait until the last minute in life. I operate out of chaos piles and at least fifty open tabs on my laptop. I’ve even been known to write a new recipe idea on the back of a grocery receipt because I know that if I wait to go find paper I’ll get distracted along the way and forget the idea completely. SowhydidI think it would be a good idea to become the executive chef of James’s restaurant? And is everyone watching from the sidelines, waiting for the moment I fail?
I walk into the kitchen and set my empty wineglass in the sink, turning when I hear footsteps behind me. Emily gives a wobbly smile and nose scrunch. “I’m sorry.” She closes the space between us and hugs me tight. “I didn’t mean to turn into the efficiency robot . . . I just--”
