Speak of the devil, when she looked up at the person coming in the door, she realized it was Cici. Her hair was pulled back in a chic French braid, her makeup while not overdone was perfect, and her outfit was something Elena imagined Cici would wear to a country club for lunch and drinks with the girls. She’d learned that some of Cici’s charities were clients of Brant and Phillips, and that the firm was hoping she’d tap them to market Roger’s open-secret political aspirations, but she didn’t see the woman’s name on anyone’s schedule today.
Elena smoothed down her pencil skirt, feeling self-conscious as the other woman’s kitten heels clicked across the marble foyer. She took a deep breath and smiled, trying to remember how far she’d come in her life, and that she had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of. Cici had sought out her friendship at the party, not the other way around.
“Cici, hi,” she said, standing. “Do you have an appointment? I’m sorry, I don’t have you on the schedule with anyone.”
Cici’s smile reached all the way to her eyes as a faint blush spread across her cheeks. “That’s because my meeting is withyoutoday. If you’ll agree to join me for lunch as a way to make up for my behavior on Saturday.” Her blush deepened and she looked down. “I was acting inappropriately, and I want to apologize.”
Elena reached across the receptionist’s desk and touched Cici’s arm. “Oh, Cici, no, you weren’t at all. That photographer was the inappropriate one. You don’t need to take me out.” She sighed inwardly. Cici had just put her in an awkward spot with Camden. Why couldn’t they have talked sometime over the weekend about why he thought she needed to stay away? Why couldn’t Cici be self-absorbed enough not to care if she offended Elena or not? But the woman standing in front of her looked absolutely remorseful.
“I did behave badly, and I like to take responsibility for my actions and make up for them when I’m in the wrong. My kids call it adulting.” She grinned, though her eyes still looked troubled. “Please, let me take you out to lunch. Your choice. Besides,” her grin turned impish, “you never did give me the recipe for that dip, and I’m sure you have others that are just as amazing. I’d love to discuss them.”
But you told me you don’t cook, Elena thought but didn’t dare say out loud. Was Cici just looking for any excuse that might appeal to Elena? Under her put-together façade, the poor woman looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.It’s just lunch, Elena rationalized.How bad could that be? Besides, the last thing I need is for her to break down here in the foyer. The sound of Julia’s office door opening and closing behind her decided things. She didn’t need her boss coming up front and deciding Elena was somehow star-struck and behaving unprofessionally with a client.
“I didn’t give you the recipe, did I? In that case, I’d love to go to lunch.” She quickly forwarded the office phone to the answering service and grabbed her purse from a desk drawer. Cici rewarded her with a beaming smile and they made their way out before Julia was close enough to comment.
* * *
“What a charming place,” Cici said, looking around the dining room of Delia’s restaurant. “And you know the owner?” Elena hadn’t missed Cici’s surprise when Pete the maître d greeted Elena by name before acknowledging Cici and asked if she’d prefer her usual table in the back or the one by the front window that miraculously opened without a reservation. Since her first visit a couple weeks ago, Elena had returned almost every day for lunch, usually with Lissa, and Delia had spent more and more time at their table, always asking for Elena’s opinion on a dish. The last couple of times, Delia also asked questions related to Elena’s management style back when she’d worked kitchens.
“I do know Delia. She’s an amazing chef-owner, as you’re about to find out.”
“It smells incredible. I can’t wait. Or decide,” Cici said as she scanned the menu.
“If you’re game, I always just let Delia feed me whatever new dish she’s working on.”
Cici looked up from her menu. “Oooh, that sounds fun, let’s do that.” She grinned and lifted her eyebrows. “So, she depends on your expert opinion? Smart lady.”
Elena laughed and covered her mouth. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Well, I would, judging by the food you brought to Bette Collins’ party. Delia would be a fool not to take your recommendations.”
Elena’s favorite server, Claudia, brought a silver water pitcher to the table. The young woman had an excellent sense of timing and really paid attention to her customers. “I see you’ve set the menus aside, are you ordering off them or is it Delia’s choice?” Ice clinked against glass as she filled their goblets with lemon-cucumber water.
“Delia’s choice as usual, Claudia, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Elena. Good to see you.” She smiled at Elena, then Cici, and returned to the kitchen.
Cici’s smile looked genuine and her eyes widened. “I feel like I’m dining with a celebrity.”
Elena started to demur again when she realized just how comfortable she was in Delia’s restaurant. Everyone knew her and treated her respectfully. Delia looked for and valued her opinion. She even liked the people-watching, like the stylish woman in the oversized sunhat reading from a tablet on a bench right outside their window as she waited for a table. The restaurant had become Elena’s happy place in L.A. She made a mental note to bake a batch of brownies for Lissa in gratitude for bringing her the first time.
“I’m far from a celebrity, but, yeah, I feel like one when I’m here.”
Cici tilted her head. “Have you always been a foodie?”
“I…yes, I think so. I mean, I love food, obviously, and I used to work in the restaurant industry.”
“So, why aren’t you working in a restaurant now?” Cici took a sip of her water. “I mean, no offense, receptionist work is important, but from the minute you walked in here, your whole demeanor changed. You went from taking up as little space as possible to blossoming. There’s no other way to put it.” Cici pointed at her. “You, Elena, need to own a restaurant.”
Elena nearly spit out the sip of water she’d just taken. “Oh, no, I could never.” She looked around. “I can’t imagine ever having a nice place like this.”
Cici narrowed her eyes. “Don’t ever put limits on yourself.” She picked up her purse and rummaged through it until she found a business card case. She opened it and flipped through until she found the one she wanted, then handed it across the table. “One of the non-profits I volunteer for helps women own and run their small businesses. When you’re tired of working for Brant and Phillips, give them a call. Give me your cell number, too, and we’ll get you fast-tracked.”
Elena tapped her cell against Cici’s to transfer her number. She picked up the business card hesitantly. “I don’t want to take out a loan, I—”
Cici waved her hands. “Oh, no, no, it’s not like that, they offer grants. They help women figure out business plans, teach them networking skills, sometimes even introduce them to influential people and mentors in their field. Though,” she gestured at the restaurant around them, “it looks like you’ve already got the networking and the mentorship down.”
“Huh.” Elena studied the card.My own restaurant. When she was much younger, before she’d met Antonio, she’d sometimes daydreamed about running a restaurant, a warm, welcoming place that made everyone feel as safe and comfortable as she did working in the kitchen at the group home. But those were naïve dreams, unrealistic, dreamed long before she grew up and realized all the blood, sweat, and tears—not to mention time and money—that went into owning a restaurant. No, it was too much, especially being a single mom.
