“This,” he continues, gesturing at the plate with his fork, “is the kind of food that tells a story. It’s rooted in culture, in family. That’s what I love to see in a restaurant. It’s what makes it stand out.”
His words land heavily, and I feel a wave of conflicting emotions—pride, relief, and a gnawing sense of imposter syndrome. My palms feel clammy as I force a smile.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
“I more than like it,” he replies, his tone serious now. “This is the kind of dish that makes people come back for more. If this is the level of care and quality you bring to your food, I can see a lot of potential for La Mariposa.”
Potential.The word hangs in the air like a challenge, and I feel the weight of it settle on my shoulders. I glance at Valentina again, and for once, she doesn’t say anything, letting me process the moment.
Luciano’s expression shifts slightly, his brow furrowing. “But I need to see more than just good food, Isa. Running a restaurant is about vision, about being able to plan for the future. I need to see your business plan—how you intend to expand, what your numbers look like, and how you’ll make this sustainable.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Of course. I’ll have it ready soon.”
Luciano holds my gaze for a moment, his intensity unwavering. “This is about showing me that you’re ready to take this to the next level. Don’t just impress me with your cooking—impress me with your strategy.”
The gravity of his words hits me like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just about one dish or even one meal. This is about proving that I belong here—that La Mariposa belongs here.
“Understood,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
As Luciano leaves, I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. The stakes have never felt higher.
Valentina steps closer, her teasing grin returning. “Well, that sounded serious.”
“You think?” I snap, my nerves getting the better of me.
“Hey,” she says gently, placing a hand on my arm. “Relax. You’ve got this.”
“I don’t know how to write a business plan,” I admit, my voice trembling. “I’ve been winging it this whole time, Val. What if I can’t do it? What if he sees right through me?”
“You’re not winging it,” she says firmly. “You know this business better than anyone. I’ll help you figure it out.”
* * *
I’m not so convinced. She bumps me on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go pick up that piece of junk you call a car.”
* * *
Her playful tone breaks through my tension, and I can’t help but laugh despite myself. “I'm telling her you said that,” I say, shaking my head.
* * *
It wasn’t until I arrived here at the camp that I realized what paddleboarding is. I mean, I’ve seen the photos of fit people on social media living their best life, making it look super easy. They just stand on these flat boards on the water. Some would say it’s like lazy surfing. That someone would be me.
Now, with Miss Piggy safely back at camp, I take in the paddleboards lined up along the shore. It feels different standing in front of one in real life, but I’m excited to try it out. It can’t possibly be that difficult, right? It’s not like I have to worry about sharks or large waves pummeling me into the water. My biggest concern is figuring out how to get back on the board if I fall off. How does one climb up on a floating surface without the ground to boost themselves up? Maybe I finally understand why Jack couldn’t get on the door with Rose after theTitanicsank.
“So, are you ready?”
Valentina looks me up and down, framing my body with her hands, pretending that she’s taking a photo. I decided to wear a bright yellow Chanel bikini top with high-waisted bottoms I borrowed from Maria, worn under my hiking shorts.
“No. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I am fully in freak-out mode right now.”
“You’ve got this, Valdes. It’s just like standing on a board. Except you’re on top of the water. And said water is probably freezing like it was earlier this morning.”
“Great,” I take a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this. This is fine. Right? I’ve got this.” I pause, then add, “But if I fall in, I’m dragging you with me.”
Valentina gives me two enthusiastic thumbs up, and I can’t help but smile, though I avoid meeting her eyes. Ever since she said those words—“maybe I do see myself with someone else”—I’ve been thrown completely off balance. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I misheard her, but the way she looked at me makes me think otherwise.
My nerves feel as if they’re buzzing just under my skin. It’s not just the paddleboarding I’m nervous about—it’s her. Every time she’s close, my heart races and my palms sweat. I’m sure she can sense it, but part of me hopes she can’t. I’ve been avoiding her gaze, worried that she might see through me, that she’ll catch on to how much her words have unraveled me.
