Rachelle cackled. “A prince?”
“He was wealthy, though,” Jack said, his eyes downcast, as though wealth was something he could never offer her.
Rachelle slid her fingers through Jack’s. It boggled her mind to think of Riccardo, who seemed like a stranger in another, forgotten time. “I never belonged in Italy. I never belonged to that family,” she assured him. “I want to build something here, in Nantucket. My heart has always been here.”
She didn’t ask him if he wanted her to give him her heart, too. She hoped he already knew the answer.
They opened Jessabelle on a brilliant mid-April evening. Rachelle was in her chef’s whites, happy as ever in a kitchen that buzzed with expectation and life. Her sous chef, a woman named Hannah, worked diligently beside her, eager to please. Hannah was a few years younger than Rachelle, looking for her big break. It was strange to feel Hannah’s eyes on Rachelle, looking at her as a mentor. Rachelle remembered looking at Diana like that.
It felt surreal to step into those shoes.
In the restaurant itself, all of the Colemans came to dine and laugh and tell stories and drink wine. Rachelle could hear Darcy’s laugh, rising over the rest of theirs. It was because of Darcy that the restaurant was full tonight. They’d sold out of spots for the soft opening more than a month ago, and they’dalready fully booked their first month of the restaurant. It seemed Darcy was made for all kinds of work. She knew her way around a marketing strategy.
When they’d plated their last dessert that night, Rachelle and the other chefs came out into the restaurant to celebrate with the diners. Jack was there with two of his friends, drinking wine and waiting for her. Jack kissed her on the lips in front of everyone, and when the kiss broke, Rachelle happened to lock eyes with Grandma Estelle, who winked.
As Rachelle settled in next to Jack and her mother for a night of celebration and laughter, she couldn’t help but reflect on that day nearly a year ago, when she’d first opened Coleman in Rome. She’d been so hopeful, so alive, so ready for the next stage of her life. She’d fallen hard after that. But she’d worked her way back to the top. She felt better and stronger than ever.
She couldn’t believe it.
24
Mid-June of that same year, Estelle released her new book about returning to romance after losing the love of your life. After much deliberation with her editor and her agent, after discussing it with Sam and Hilary for what felt like hundreds of hours, she’d called the novelIt Isn’t Over. It was simple. It was apt.
Just as they’d done last year, her publisher threw a book launch at the beautiful Manhattan bookstore that had started everything. Standing at the table heavy with books, the table where she’d do her reading in a few minutes, Estelle gazed out at the sea of women readers of all ages, marveling at how far she’d come since her tour last year. A small part of her ached for Albert to come through those doors, to stand at the back and wait before he threw his hand up with a flirtatious question that would point to how “in love” with her he still was. But the truth was, Estelle hadn’t heard from Albert since they’d met in Rome. She had no idea how anything had transpired for him back in Rome. She was okay with that, sort of.
She’d never really dated before, as Roland had been her only real love. It made her smile to think that she was joining theranks of so many women, watching men fade in and out of her life as times changed. She was open to the wide range of human experience, she supposed. She was grateful for that.
Her agent, Anne, was terribly pleased with the newest novel. “You told me it was all over after your last one!” Anne said now, a few minutes after the reading, as they drank wine and chatted. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
“The book tour changed my mind,” Estelle admitted. She lowered her voice, feeling electric. “I met someone. Nothing happened, not really. But in the same vein, everything happened. Through our conversations and long walks through European cities, I remembered what romance felt like.”
Anne grinned. “You’re a source of good in the world, Estelle. You deserve everything wonderful.”
Rachelle, Darcy, Sam, and Hilary had all come to Manhattan to celebrate the book launch. They hurried over to hug Estelle and congratulate her.
“It’s your best book yet, Mom,” Hilary said, wiping her cheeks of tears.
“Seriously! It’s so romantic,” Darcy affirmed.
“Jack is reading it right now,” Rachelle said.
“My target audience! Thirtysomething men,” Estelle joked.
“Come on,” Sam said. “You know that everyone can connect to your books.”
“Romance is not just for women anymore,” Darcy agreed. “Everyone falls in love. It’s time more people admitted they're softies. Time is of the essence.”
“Everyone should try, at least,” Estelle offered softly. She knew that, in a world of endless technology, human connection was becoming increasingly rare. That meant that love needed to be celebrated all the more, she felt.
After the book launch, Estelle and her Coleman girls returned to the hotel, where they had a mini-party in her hotelsuite before they went to bed. Rachelle was extremely tired, as she’d spent so much time at the restaurant the past couple of months and was hardly giving herself any time off. Estelle wanted to tell Rachelle to take it easy. But she knew that Rachelle wouldn’t listen, at least not yet. She needed to prove herself before she could rest. Her goal was to be featured on the “thirty-five under thirty-five chefs to watch out for” list, which a top culinary magazine would publish in the coming year. There were whispers in the chef community that a place was reserved for Rachelle, provided the restaurant's summer season went well.
Estelle saw a great deal of Roland in Rachelle, especially now that the restaurant was already a success and on its way to stardom. But she saw Roland in Darcy, too. Darcy was the business-minded sister, as it turned out. The restaurant wouldn’t have been so marvelous without them working together.
Estelle beamed at them with pride.
“Why are you looking at us like that?” Rachelle teased.
“Because I love you! You’re my beautiful granddaughters, and I’m proud of you!” Estelle said. “Aren’t I allowed to be proud?”
