“I just know I like salt.”
“Will you just taste it first?”
She did. She carefully selected a piece of chicken, a bit of broccoli, and a scoop of rice to sample. She chewed her first bite and nodded slowly. “Very nice, honey. Good job.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d still like some salt.”
I sighed. “I’ll get the shaker.”
CHAPTER 6
“Can you show the bartenders how to maximize lime garnishes? We’re a case short this week,” I said in my morning phone call with Raya the following day.
“How do you maximize lime garnishes?” Raya asked.
“Cut them into thinner pieces.”
“Right. You could’ve just said it like that.”
“I could’ve. How is everything going?” The view out the window in my bedroom was the neighbor’s fence, light brown and water stained. I really did miss the view from my apartment. I was on the fourth floor, city-facing.
“Everything is fine. We’re doing well. I have things under control.”
I didn’t want to tell her that her illusion of control was because I was dealing with all the fires from here. “I’ve been thinking about that review.”
“Stop thinking of that review,” she said.
“I can’t help it,” I said. “We need to work on the inside of the restaurant. Give it more atmosphere.”
“Like what?” she asked. “We already have all the tables and linens and artwork picked out and in place. What else is there?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I need to figure it out.”
“Or, you could stop worrying so much. It was one review. Any restaurant takes a minute to get on its feet. We are handling things. There’s nothing you can do about the inside of our restaurant for now. It will keep, Sutton.”
“You’re right. Thank you. I appreciate all you’re doing. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here. My mom is still recovering.”
“Take all the time you need. I totally understand. And remember, I have a honeymoon happening this summer, so this is helping me feel better about taking time away for that.”
“You never needed to feel guilty about that,” I said, ticking two items—discuss lime shortage, brainstorm ideas for the inside of the restaurant—off the to-do list in my daily calendar next to me before closing it.
“And you don’t need to feel guilty about this.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my eyes. “You’re right. Okay.”
“Nate came through with the meat, I see,” she said.
“That sounded wrong.”
She laughed.
“He gave me his contact, yes,” I said.
“But we still hate him?” she asked, her subtle way of asking me if we’d made up.
We had not made up. We would never make up. He broke up with me in the coldest way possible. I didn’t do second chances. “We do.”
