She knew she sounded too formal, but what was she supposed to do? Bend down and hug him? Kiss his cheek? None of those options seemed appropriate, either, so she gritted her teeth and continued with the professional approach, hoping that she was able to hold her nerve, especially given her staff were in such close proximity behind her.
‘I know I should have just called, but it’s been so long, so I thought…’ He groaned. ‘This seemed like a great idea when I booked it, but now that I’m here, and I’m trying to explain it, I can see it might not have been my best decision.’
‘Did you actually book our most expensive table in the restaurant for one just to say hello?’
‘Honestly?’ His voice was deeper than usual, husky almost. ‘It felt like the only guaranteed way to see you.’
Charlotte met his gaze, wanting to know why he was here; why, after so many months of silence, he’d chosen to come into her space and surprise her like this. She crossed her arms and stared at him. She’d wondered what it would be like to see him one day, how she’d react, what they would say, how awkward it would be; but seeing him was harder than she could have imagined. Especially caught off-guard like this.
‘Are you in Oslo for work?’ she asked.
‘No, Lotte,’ he said, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I’m here to see you.’
32
Charlotte blinked back at him at the same time as a crisis unfolded behind her. She heard something drop and one of the chefs curse, which usually she would have reprimanded any of the kitchen staff for when they had a guest at the chef’s table, but this time she wasn’t capable of reprimanding anyone. Her gaze was trained on Harrison, and the only words she wanted to hear were the ones coming out of his mouth.
‘You came to the restaurant to see me, or—’ She needed to hear him say it, to make sure she understood what he was trying to tell her, that she wasn’t imagining a hidden meaning.
‘I came to Oslo to see you,’ he said, his expression so earnest it threatened to break her heart all over again. ‘And then I booked the chef’s table because I didn’t know whether you’d even take my calls. It seemed like the only way to guarantee that?—’
‘Chef!’ someone called, interrupting him.
‘This is my place of work,’ Charlotte said, keeping her voice even, not wanting to get emotional or react in anything other than a professional way in front of her staff or Harrison. ‘I can’t do this here, I can’t?—’
‘After your shift,’ Harrison said, his eyes pleading with her. ‘Please. Just give me an hour. Half an hour, even. If you don’t want to see me ever again after that, then I promise I’ll leave you alone and never come back.’
‘The hotel bar. Meet me there once the kitchen closes,’ she said, hurrying back into the kitchen and wondering how she was going to concentrate throughout the entire service with Harrison sitting there watching her. But he was right; she wouldn’t have taken his calls, no matter how much she might have wanted to, because he’d already broken her heart once. She’d opened up to him and he’d left her, and it had beenmonthssince they’d last seen each other.
Harrison had shattered her trust. All the walls she’d previously built around herself were very much in place again, and she’d had no intention of ever taking them down.
‘Chef? Everything okay?’
‘Of course,’ she said with a smile, not about to let anyone she worked with sense how rattled she was. Charlotte had a reputation for always staying calm in the kitchen and dealing with any crisis that came her way, so she wasn’t about to change that tonight. ‘Now let me taste that sauce before it goes out.’
‘Do you want me on chef’s table?’ asked her head chef from across the kitchen.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll remain in charge of that table tonight. Thank you.’
Harrison might have hurt her beyond words, but she had every intention of impressing him, regardless. He was a guest of the hotel, and an important one at that, and she was determined to show him just how talented she was, and that she’d continued to thrive even after he’d walked away.
And so Charlotte did what she always did when she was nervous or upset—she began to cook as if her very existence depended on it, pouring all her heartache and hope into the mostincredible food she could create. If nothing else, she was going to ensure that Harrison never forgot his culinary experience.
Charlotte had often worked under highly stressful conditions. She’d cooked for celebrities and chefs she admired, in the very best kitchens throughout London, but nothing had ever felt as stressful as tonight. With Harrison’s eyes on her, she walked over to give him his first plate, placing it in front of him with a curt nod. Then she’d done it again and again, until now she was finally presenting him with dessert. The night was a blur of furiously fast plating and curious glances in his direction.
Each time the server had cleared his table, she’d given Charlotte the highest compliments from him, but this time, now that the kitchen was slowing down for the night, Charlotte told the server that she would take over from there. And so she took two plates of dessert and placed one in front of Harrison, sitting down across from him with her own very large slice of cake. Somehow, it felt like one of the bravest things she’d ever done.
‘I remember this, it was called…’ His voice trailed away as he seemed to search for the name.
‘Kvæfjord cake,’ she said. ‘It’s not usually something we’d serve to the chef’s table, but I remembered how much you liked it. I’m sure the other chefs think I’ve gone mad for serving it to you.’
‘It was the best cake I’d ever eaten,’ he said, taking a forkful and groaning. ‘I’d almost forgotten how good it was.’
Charlotte reached over and took his glass of wine, taking a long sip before passing it back to him. He responded by nudging it back across to her, clearly realising that she needed it more than he did.
‘Harrison, why did you come back?’ she asked. ‘What are you really doing here?’
‘I came back because I realised what a fool I’d been,’ he said. ‘I realised that I had a chance at being happy again, and instead of being open to it, I ran away.’
