Chapter 2
Paul unlocked the back door of The Lakeside Grill at five-thirty the next morning. Moving quickly, he turned off the security alarm in the same way he’d done for the past three years.
On his way here, the crisp October air had bitten into his skin. Flathead Lake had stretched across the bay like dark pewter. Its surface was touched with the first hints of ice along the shoreline, where fall was surrendering to winter.
This, Paul thought, was his sanctuary. It was a far cry from the gleaming steel and chaos of the Los Angeles and San Francisco kitchens where he’d built his reputation.
He flipped on the lights, and the kitchen came alive with their warm glow. Everything was exactly as he’d left it the night before. It was clean, organized, and ready. The sight never failed to calm something restless in his chest. After years of managing restaurants with dozens of staff, hundreds of covers a night, and the constant pressure to be revolutionary, this modest kitchen felt like home.
Paul hung his jacket on the hook by the door and tied his apron around his waist. The muscle memory of these small rituals anchored him as he began his morning routine—checking the walk-in cooler, reviewing yesterday’s prep, and planning the day’s specials based on what needed to be used first. It was methodical work, the kind that had once bored him when he was chasing Michelin stars and magazine reviews. Now, at sixty-eight, he found peace in the predictability.
The back door opened with a soft chime, and Harry Williams stepped inside, stamping his boots on the mat. At twenty-four, Harry had the eager energy Paul remembered from his own early days in professional kitchens. Thankfully, Harry didn’t have the crushing ambition that had driven Paul to work eighteen-hour days and sacrifice his marriage for culinary success.
“Morning, Chef,” Harry called, already reaching for his apron. He’d been working at the Grill for two years now. Paul had watched him grow from an enthusiastic but scattered culinary school graduate into a reliable sous chef. Harry understood Paul’s philosophy of simple, quality food without the need for constant innovation or dramatic presentation.
“Morning. How are Lisa and the baby?” Paul washed his hands, then pulled salmon fillets from the cooler. Harry had become a father six months ago, and his transformation had been remarkable to watch. Where once he might have stayed late experimenting with new techniques, Harry now worked efficiently and left promptly to get home to his family.
“She’s good. Sleeping through the night finally.” Harry grinned as he began setting up his station. “Lisa says to thank you again for the baby gift. The highchair is perfect.”
Paul was pleased. He’d learned the hard way that he needed to show his staff that he appreciated them. Without their support and loyalty, his restaurant in Sapphire Bay wouldn’t have survived the first twelve months.
The third member of their morning team arrived twenty minutes later. Jenny Martin, a local woman in her forties, had been waiting tables in Sapphire Bay for over a decade. She knew every regular customer by name and knew more then he did about wine. She’d also become invaluable in the front-of-house operations, handling reservations and managing the dining room with quiet efficiency.
“Busy night ahead,” Jenny announced, pouring herself coffee from the pot Paul always started first thing. “We’ve got the MacIntosh’s anniversary dinner at six, and last night I took three more reservations for seven-thirty. Plus, Mrs. Chen added two more to her party of four tonight.”
Paul was proud of the steady business the community gave him. The Lakeside Grill wasn’t a destination restaurant, it didn’t need to be. It served the community, provided jobs for local people, and offered him the sort of sustainable success he’d never known in his high-pressure days.
“What’s the special today?” Harry asked, pulling vegetables from the walk-in.
Paul had been considering this question since he’d woken up. “Pan-seared trout with butternut squash risotto and caramelized root vegetables. I bought some beautiful parsnips and turnips from the farmer’s market yesterday, plus the last of the season’s butternut squash.”
It was a dish that would have made him cringe fifteen years ago. It was simple and based in comfort rather than innovation. But there was artistry in its simplicity, in taking perfect ingredients and preparing them with respect for their natural qualities. His customers appreciated food that felt like a warm embrace rather than a culinary challenge.
But something felt different this morning. As he worked, Paul’s thoughts kept drifting to Susan and their conversation about collaborating on a new menu for the Grill. He’d been surprised by his own willingness to even suggest it. For three years, he’d maintained his menu with only seasonal adjustments, preferring consistency over constant change.
Susan, however, presented possibilities that intrigued him. He’d tasted her food at two weddings and several community events. There was no doubt that she was a talented chef. Her ability to balance different flavors was something that couldn’t be taught.
Unlike him, she’d built a successful catering company in Georgia and walked away from it when it no longer served her. She’d chosen relationships and community over profit margins and prestige.
“Chef?” Harry’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Do you want the parsnips diced or cut into matchsticks?”
“Diced,” Paul replied automatically. “And let’s roast the turnips whole until they’re tender, then slice them for plating.”
The morning prep continued with easy efficiency. Harry moved through his tasks with growing confidence, asking fewer questions each week as he learned from Paul. Jenny walked between the dining room and kitchen, setting up tables and coordinating the day’s reservations with their preparation timeline.
At eight o’clock, Paul stepped outside for a brief break. The air carried the scent of wood smoke from chimneys throughout Sapphire Bay, and the maple trees lining the street had turned brilliant orange and red. This was his favorite time of day, when the restaurant was ready but not yet open, when the possibilities of the day stretched ahead without the pressure of immediate service, and when the changing season reminded him that some things were worth slowing down to notice.
He thought about Susan again. There was something about her passion for food that made him want to be a better chef. When they talked, it was unlike any professional partnership he’d experienced. Mutual respect was a lot better than working alongside someone who either needed their ego stroked or saw you as their nearest rival.
For those reasons, asking her to help him create a new menu had a lot of advantages. But there was one issue. He was attracted to Susan—and that scared him.
He shook his head, disappointed with himself. He was too old for a romantic relationship, for goodness’ sake.
“Chef?” Jenny called from the kitchen door. “Mrs. Taylor is here about her daughter’s engagement party next month. She was hoping to talk to you about menu options.”
Paul glanced at his watch. They wouldn’t open for another couple of hours, but Jacinda Taylor’s family had been coming to his restaurant since he’d first opened. Her daughter’s engagement party was the type of special occasion he enjoyed. It wasn’t a faceless transaction, but a celebration of people he knew in the community.
“I’ll be right there,” he replied.
