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“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Ding ding ding! What has she won, Johnny? Well, folks, let me tell you, Cordelia James has won an evening with her best friend, who is about to shower her with alcohol and compliments! But wait, there’s more . . .” She hurried to the fridge and rummaged inside. “Guac and queso dip!” Liz declared, holding up two takeout containers.
“Is that from Cantina?” Cordelia exclaimed.
“It is indeed,” Liz said, opening the two tubs and grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard. “I can’t make things better for you. I can’t make Niall pull his head out of his butt and come here to beg you to take him back.”
“No, Liz, he needs to be – ”
“I know, I know, it’s his special opportunity blah blah blah. I don’t have to be that magnanimous. My only priority is to make you feel loved. By smothering you with Mexican food. You didn’t get much of that in Inishmore, I imagine.”
Cordelia cracked half a smile. “No, definitely not.”
“He’ll come to his senses,” Liz said, taking an enormous scoop of guacamole on her chip. “He has to. You two were – ”
“Please,” Cordelia said, holding up her hand. “Please stop. We were a moment, that was all.” She plunked a chip into the queso. “I could see it, you know,” she said quietly, not looking Liz in the eye. “I could see it so clearly. Him moving here. Our life together. I know marriage is a huge deal and it’s pretty crazy that he proposed – ”
“Yes, it is,” Liz agreed. “I don’t know what I would have said if you’d called me to ask my opinion first.”
Cordelia got up and left the room. She came back with the grass ring and slipped it onto her finger.
“Is that . . . ,” Liz asked.
Cordelia nodded. “He made it for me. I think . . . I want to wear it. Just for tonight. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Liz said. “Why wouldn’t that be okay? You can wear it as long as you like.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. It’s not . . . good for me. I need to move on, I know I do. But tonight I want to pretend. Pretend that he’s packing up whatever he’s got left in Dublin. That he’ll be getting on a plane soon. I’ll meet him at JFK. He’ll get to see the skyline. He can tell me how little counter space I have and the importance of keeping my knives sharp. He could – ” Her voice broke off, the tears falling thick against her cheeks. “Just for tonight,” she whispered, clenching her hand into a fist.
“Just for tonight, then,” Liz whispered, wrapping an arm around her.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Five entrées for table fourteen!” Niall shouted to his sous chef. “And I need two pavlova and a lemon sorbet for twenty-two.”
“Yes, Chef,” Michel replied. The kitchen was a madhouse in that most wonderful way – flames leaping up from burners, meat sizzling, dishes clanking, knives chopping. There were colorful rows of sauces in squeeze bottles and clear plastic tubs full of vegetables. There was light banter from the line cooks. This was the only place where Niall felt alive anymore – here he was captain and commander, looking over every dish, ensuring each plate was perfect.
Deirdre poked her head into the kitchen. “I just sat a party of nine,” she said. “Brace yourselves.”
“Ah putain, Deirdre, give us a minute,” Michel complained. “We’re slammed.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to be making money tonight,” Deirdre shot back. “Shall I tell them to piss off?”
“Michel, quit whinging and see to those entrées. Deirdre, throw some complementary champagne at them before they order,” Niall said. “Give us a minute to catch up.”
She smiled at him. “Sure thing.” Then she vanished out the kitchen doors.
“Seriously, Chef,” Michel said as he slapped two steaks into a fry pan. “You and her? I don’t see it.”
“Right, because it doesn’t exist,” Niall said. “Less talking, more searing.”
There was no keeping secrets in a restaurant. Everyone from the hostesses to the busboys knew the whole sordid tale of Niall and Deirdre and the Fallen Star.
They didn’t know about Inishmore, though. It had been over three months since Niall left the island, and he’d kept that part of his life locked up tight ever since he stepped off the plane at Heathrow back in August. The only way he could survive was by not thinking about it. Which had been pretty easy once he’d met Ritchie and they’d begun to work on the new menu, and renovate the space, and hire the staff. Niall had had to find a place to live and get to know the neighbourhood. And Ritchie expected nothing less than one hundred percent total devotion to the pub. Not that Niall had seen much of Ritchie since that first crazy month. But the time commitment was fine with Niall. He didn’t want to leave a fraction of space in his brain for anything else.
The rest of the night passed in a blur. The pub had officially opened a week ago and had been packed every evening, the kitchen straining at the seams. The work was so utterly, blissfully exhausting. All Niall needed to think about was making sure the right food got to the right table on time.
It was exactly how he wanted things to be.
