“I don’t want it to get too crowded,” I remind Matty.
“That feeling of exclusivity, right?” Vivian nods with a sly grin. “I get you, girl.”
“Plus, it justifies the ridiculous prices,” Kaleb mutters.
Matty feigns insult. “Excuse me, Mr. Redford, but have you seen what’s on the menu?”
“Yeah, so I’m not as well-versed in the culinary arts as you,” my brother says, trying to duck this, but I know he doesn’t stand a chance, which makes it twice as hard for me to keep a straight face while I let Matty grill him.
“But you do have a mouth.”
Kaleb smiles his goofy grin. Vivian almost faints from holding in a laugh of her own, if only to preserve her husband’s shaky honor. “I do.”
“And you put food in it, right?”
“Here we go,” I mutter and pinch the bridge of my nose.
Kaleb gives me a worried look. “How do I turn this off?”
“You can’t,” I reply, and Vivian finally cracks up.
“Let’s just say that The Velvet Dream sources only the finest ingredients from all over the world,” Matty proudly declares. “Only the finest Belgian chocolate. We make our pasta with Italian top-grade flour only. We get the eggs from a farm outside of Portland, where we factored in the pollution degree, and those are the cleanest and happiest hens in the entire state!”
“Let me guess, the farmer sings them lullabies before he tucks them in.” Kaleb rolls his eyes and goes over a copy of the menu.
Matty pouts a little. “No, he plays Metallica. Apparently, the hens really like it.”
“I really like the hens then. They’ve got great taste in music.” Kaleb chuckles.
“What Matty is trying to say is that The Velvet Dream is a unique experience because it’s the only restaurant in Portland and possibly the entire state that individually sources its ingredients. All of its ingredients, down to the cinnamon sticks. It’s a bit of a logistical challenge?—”
Matty briefly interrupts me. “Or nightmare, depending on whose turn it is to draw up the order list.”
“But it justifies the prices. And the twenty tables. I’m going for quality, not quantity,” I continue with a broad smile. “And each dish is unique, a twist on a classic, but always with the same purpose—to convey the warmth and safety of comfortfood while taking the customer through a journey of flavors.”
“We’ve got Madagascar vanilla, cinnamon sticks straight from India, Nepalese oolong tea for our dessert infusions,” Matty adds. “To name but a few.”
“Okay, I get it. Pretentious as hell but worth every penny,” Kaleb concedes. “As long as you’re not serving me dice-shaped eggs with a button of sauce for two grand, I’m good.”
Looking around, I’ll admit, it was worth it. The wait, the hard labor, the careful approach. It’s elegant and comfortable and definitely Instagram-worthy.
“And don’t get me started on the plates and the silverware,” Matty says, then nods at me. “My girl splurged, and then some.”
“Alex said something about that at the shop,” Kaleb replies, giving me a curious look. “You went all the way to Singapore for the plates?”
“Correction. I went to visit the porcelain shop in Singapore during one of our holidays. It’s not my fault I fell in love with their work,” I say.
Vivian lets her gaze wander. “It looks incredible, though. It’s a dream come true, isn’t it?”
“Having my own restaurant, my own concept, yes.” But as the doors open and my husbands walk in with our twins in tow, I can’t help but smile the brightest smile. “Though my dream already came true the minute I walked into Haus of Sin that cold, fateful winter.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Kaleb grumbles.
Vivian playfully smacks him on the shoulder. “Oh, come on. Get over it already.”
“Are we ready for tonight then?” Alex asks and greets us all with a smile.
I get up to hug and kiss him, then Max, then Vincent. Asher and Emily huddle around me, and I smother each with kisses until their full cheeks turn pink. “We’re ready,” I tell Alex before I switch my focus to the kids. “And how are my little Munchkins?”
