He winces. “Afraid so.”
“Is it too late to rescind my friend-friends offer?”
He clicks out the side of his mouth in anaw shucksway. “Sorry, yes. We pinky promised.”
“Damn.”
And then I almost run into his expansive back as he suddenly hits the brakes and turns to face me again. “You know the drill. Close ’em.”
CHAPTER NINE
Madison
“Okay, open.”
I blink several times, squinting against the instant brightness of the room. And when my eyes adjust, my breath catches. The greenhouse is one giant arched space with windows making up the walls and ceiling, white window panes connecting each rectangular glass. The floor is a white speckled concrete.
There’s nothing else in here yet—no booths or decor, just the blue sky above with puffy white clouds and a small crop of trees on the far side of the restaurant that faces away from the farm. And yet, it feels finished. Like this is all that’s really needed.
I pivot around, taking it all in, and notice the one solid wall on the far end of the building. Assuming it leads to the kitchen, I look away from it and back toward the main dining area.No, thank you.
I can easily imagine what the finished version will look like. Wooden tables, each with a tiny floral arrangement from Annie’s, naturally. Comfortable booths along the perimeter of the walls. People laughing and holding hands across the table, waiting fortheir meals, which will be comprised of ingredients harvested straight from this land. And because of the windows, guests will experience all of it as if they’re sitting directly in the middle of the crops.
The best feature will be at night when the stars are visible through the glass roof.
It’s perfect.And I get to cultivate a food experience here. I get to be the chef.Me.Madison. All because James believes in me for some unidentifiable reason.
No one in my life has ever taken me this seriously. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that even my siblings are having private meetings behind my back, putting wagers on how long it’ll take for me to run this restaurant into the ground.
“You okay?” James asks, watching me blink back a thousand tears.
I clear my throat. “Oh, yeah. I’m good.”
“You’re crying.”
“No I’m not.” A tear splats on the floor by my shoe. We both look at it. “I think it’s the ghost of onions lingering in the air here.”
“Grannywasknown for her fried hush puppies.”
“Really?” This delights me. Sparks something in my creativity that wants to grab on to that little nugget of history.
“Mmm.” He nods. “Everyone said she put too much onion in them. But I thought they were delicious.”
I point to my face, shoulders sagging. “It’s only fair to tell you I cry a lot when I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“And when I’m stressed.” I pause. “Or if there’s a strong breeze. And definitely if it’s Tuesday.” My face skews. “Are you sure you want a ball of emotions as your chef? Because these tears aren’t a rare thing. The onion ghosts are going to choke me up a lot.” I wanthim to fire me. Right now.Just do it and get it over with, James. It’ll be easier on both of us if it happens now.
James doesn’t laugh. He comes closer. “Madison. Do you think I didn’t already know these things about you before I asked you to take the job? All these years growing up together and you think I haven’t been paying attention?”
A breath snags somewhere between my ribs. “I guess I didn’t realize you were. I’ve always gotten the very strong impression that you didn’t want me around. That I’m just annoying to you. When I enrolled in culinary school, one of my very first thoughts was,James is going to be glad to get rid of me.”
He takes a step closer. “Okay, but you’ve always acted like I was annoying to you too. All the low-IQ jokes?”
“That’s because I’m petty! And you were rude to me first, so I was rude back. It’s the way the world turns. That’s why when you asked me to take this job, I briefly considered the possibility that you’d had a concussion. I never thought you hated me, but I definitely didn’t think you liked me either.”
James frowns and looks in the direction of the doors, silent for a minute. And then, “You and I . . . we have an age difference.”
