“Is that your official answer to the job offer? A no?” He sounds resigned.
“James . . .” I sit up slowly. “Are you serious? Are you opening a restaurant?”
There is the longest pause in the history of long pauses before he answers. “Yes.” But he says it in such an odd tone. Almost like a question. But I don’t have time to consider it before he’s continuing with a more confident air. “Yes, I’m serious. I am opening a restaurant. With . . .Tommy.” Wait. There it is again. He saidTommyslowly, like I’ve never heard the name before. “We’re working together to open a restaurant on the property . . . to modernize the farm.”
Has James been drinking?The way he’s talking paired with how out of left field this news is makes me think he’s two sheets to the wind. Then again, I haven’t lived in Rome for two years. Maybe it’s not a surprise to anyone who lives there and my family has all forgotten to mention it to me.
“How come I didn’t know about this?”
“Well . . . it’s still in the building phase right now. And I didn’toriginally offer the job to you because I knew how much you didn’t want to live in Rome. I didn’t want you to feel pressured to take it. But now . . . you know, if you need somewhere to find your footing after graduation, maybe it would be the perfect option for you. A place where you can have full control over the menu and the kitchen and figure everything out.”
I can’t lie—this offer is more than intriguing. But I have concerns . . .
“And what if I come home and realize I don’t want to be there after all?”
I hear him inhale as he takes the time to consider my question. “Then . . . once the kitchen is up and running, if you’re not happy, you’ll have something great for your résumé that could hopefully help you get any job you want somewhere else.”
My résumé! Meaning, if all goes well, I can completely bypass using Chef Davis for a recommendation. If I can make this job work, maybe I can salvage my culinary career. Maybe I can also find my way back to loving it. I get to go home to Rome, Kentucky . . . but with my chin held high.
I have zero reasons to turn this down. Well, other than the glaringly obvious one where I’m not at all qualified.
“You’re actually serious, James? Likeserious-serious?”
“So serious I could cry,” he says again in that weird resigned voice. But maybe I’m reading too much into it and he’s tired. Or wants to be off the phone with me by now. “So . . . what do you say? Will you come be our chef?”
I’m in shock. I know I should jump at the chance, but still my mouth opens and closes like a fish until finally I find a few words to toss out. “Just for my peace of mind, you do know it’s me—Madison Walker—that you’re talking to, right?”
A soft, short laugh cuts through the line. “The five-foot-tallbrunette with dark brown eyes who once crashed a tractor into my pond after promising me she was a great driver?”
“Yes . . .”
“The repeat offender of stinking up my kitchen with roasted Brussels sprouts and force-feeding them to me even though I hate them?”
“They’re good for you.”
“The girl Noah and I had to pick up from the sheriff’s office her freshman year of college for a public indecency offense after she went skinny-dipping in the lake with her boyfriend?”
“Technically, yes, but he wasn’t my boyfriend. We only saw each other like two times after—You know what? Never mind.” Best to let that one go unsaid.
Despite all of this, with absolute certainty in his voice, James says, “Yep. You’re the one.”
“James. . .”
He chuckles. “Madison, if you don’t want the job, just say so. You won’t hurt my feelings. But if you do want it, I want you to have it. I can’t think of a better person to run my restaurant. You know this town. You’re a hell of a cook, and you also know all the trendy dishes from the city that could bring people in. So if you want this job, it’s yours.”
My heart is racing. I shouldn’t take the position for several reasons. What I really should do is tell him the truth right now. But once again, life is handing me extra credit, and since I’m Madison Walker, I have to take it.
“Okay. When do I start?”
CHAPTER THREE
Madison
ROME
73 DAYS UNTIL I FAIL . . .
I am a terrible person.
