Taylor claps my back. "Yeah. And good luck with Chef Daddy."
In my room, Lexi's waiting on the bed.
I cuddle him close, whispering sweet apologies for forgetting to take him along to the Little club but promising that from now on, he’ll be coming everywhere with me.
Sleep comes easy, but as I drift off, I see a site that makes my mouth water… Daddy in nothing but his chef’s hat.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough…
Chapter 8
Olivier
“Perfect,” I say, my hands on my hips. “Well, as close to perfect as we can ever get in this business.”
Lunch service wraps up smoother than silk, the final plates whisked away, the kitchen settling into that post-rush calm where everything gleams under the lights. The team disperses for their breaks, and I'm left at the pass with Lazlo and Antonio, mapping out the evening.
It's our ritual: ideas bouncing like ping-pong balls, refining the menu to keep things fresh, checking in on one another for ideas and inspiration.
Antonio leans over the counter, gesturing animatedly…
"For the mains, let's elevate the pork tenderloin—wrap it in prosciutto with a sage rub. Guests are loving the charcuterie vibes lately. Pair it with those glazed heirloom carrots we sourced from the local market."
I like it.
Lazlo nods, scrolling through reservation notes on his tablet. "Solid. And dessert? Push the chocolate torte with that sea saltcaramel drizzle. It's flying out. For front of house, I'll train the new server on upselling the wine—focus on the bold Italians to match the richness."
Great work.
Antonio jumps in again, eyes alight. "Exactly. And a quick amuse-bouche to start… whipped ricotta with truffle honey on crostini. Sets the tone just right. Elegant but approachable."
I listen, arms crossed, genuinely impressed.
Antonio's not just executing anymore, he's innovating, layering flavors with confidence that rivals my own at his age. His ambition shines through—subtle risks, bold payoffs.
It hits me hard: this kid's ready for more.
Much more, in fact.
Head chef at a rival spot? His own place? It's inevitable unless I step up. Partnership equity? Creative director role? I owe him the kind of mentorship that lifts, not holds back.
My mind drifts to my early days in those brutal kitchens, scraping by, dreaming big. Chef Laurent saw the hunger in me, didn't squash it. He taught, challenged, then let me fly when the time came.
"Build them up, Olivier," he'd say. "That's how the craft survives."
I want that for Antonio—guidance without chains.
But figuring out the offer? That's tomorrow's problem.
My phone vibrates…
DANNY: Can't wait for dinner tonight. Been thinking about you all day ;)
That pulls a grin I can't suppress. The boy's straightforward, sweet—eager in a way that tugs at something deep. There’s no playing games, no standoffish bullshit that so many boys seem to do these days. Danny is salt of the earth but more special than a shooting star.
Damn, I’m falling for him.
And I’m not exactly hiding it either.
