Chapter 10
CLEMENTINE
Iwas absolutely exhausted by the end of the dinner service, but it was the good kind of tired that came from a job well done. The kind of bone-deep weariness that felt like an accomplishment rather than a burden.
The evening had gone beautifully. Well, mostly. Yes, the few hiccups in the kitchen were uncomfortable, but it worked out okay. I didn’t really care if Rhett didn’t like me. But I did feel like I should apologize for mouthing off earlier.
I knew that kind of behavior wasn’t typically tolerated in any kitchen. Not even my dad would have been okay with that little outburst.
But the girl was about to cry. That was not cool. I had been in her shoes more than once. I had dropped plenty of things in my lifetime. No one got to make anyone feel small when I was around.
Even with that little hiccup, every single guest had left with full bellies and grateful smiles.
The staff had pulled together under pressure, and somehow we had managed to serve two hundred and fifty people without a single major disaster.
My hands were stained with tomato sauce and my feet ached from standing for hours, but I felt more alive than I had in months.
And it was totally worth the stress to get to watch Chef Rhett in the kitchen. Yes, he barked at me a few times but it didn’t matter. I got to watch him work. That was worth getting scolded here and there.
The dining room was finally quiet, the last of the guests having departed with warm hugs from Gineva and promises to return when the restaurant reopened for regular service tomorrow.
The servers had finished their closing duties and headed home, leaving just the core team to handle the final cleanup.
I was wiping down the last of the prep surfaces when I heard Rhett’s voice coming from the office even through the closed door. The man was loud. Not on purpose. It was just his tone. It commanded a room.
He was on the phone with Simone, who was still at the hospital with Conroy, and from the sound of his side of the conversation, the news wasn’t good.
“What do you mean, permanently?” he said. I could hear the frustration. “It’s just a few stitches, right? How bad could it be?”
A pause. “Torn ligaments? Fuck. How long?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Six to eight weeks minimum. Fuck, Simone. The entire tour is scheduled around his skill set. I can’t just… No, I understand it’s not his fault, but that doesn’t solve our problem.”
It was a disaster for Rhett. He was losing his key team member on the very first night of a month-long tour that had taken months to plan and coordinate. No wonder he sounded like he was ready to punch something.
And after spending some time in the kitchen with him, I understood why he wanted his right-hand man with him.
His team knew him. I had worked in a few kitchens.
There was always a lot of talking. But not in Rhett’s kitchen.
People knew what was expected. His voice was really the only one anybody heard.
I decided to give him some space to process the bad news and figure out his next move.
The man was clearly dealing with enough stress without having to manage my presence on top of everything else.
I knew he didn’t like me. The incident at the dinner last week was long forgotten.
He had shown up for me but that was over.
I was a pain in his ass now.
I made my way back out to the dining room, where Gineva was sitting at one of the corner tables with a basket of silverware and a stack of linen napkins.
She was methodically rolling and organizing place settings for tomorrow’s regular service.
It was the kind of repetitive task that probably helped her wind down after a busy evening.
I slid into the chair opposite her. “I’ll help.”
“Go home, bella. You’ve done more than enough for one night.”
“I don’t mind,” I replied. “Besides, I’m too wired to sleep right now. Might as well make myself useful.”
She smiled and passed me a handful of forks. “It takes time to come down from a big service like that.”
I nodded, finding something soothing in the simple, repetitive motions of rolling silverware.
My hands moved automatically while my mind processed everything that had happened over the past few hours.
I knew I should go home, but I wasn’t ready to leave just yet.
Maybe I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Rhett because clearly I was a glutton for punishment.
I was pushing my luck by staying in his line of fire.
But I did it anyway. All because I had this idea he was going to walk in and tell me I did a great job and he admired me and wanted to take me to bed.
“Tell me about this place,” I blurted out. I had to distract myself from those dangerous thoughts.
“My parents came here from Rome. They wanted to create something that would help other Italian families feel connected to home, you know. They missed the food and the family bonding over food.”
She gestured around the dining room with obvious pride.
“Look what they built. This place has seen everything. First dates, marriage proposals, anniversary dinners, birthday parties for children who are now bringing their own children here. Dozens of people in our community have found love under this very roof.”
“Really?” I asked, intrigued by the romantic notion.
“Oh yes,” she said with a knowing smile.
“Including me. I was just sixteen, working as a server and thinking I wanted a completely different life. Maybe I would go to college, become a lawyer or a doctor, something impressive. Then one night this man comes in. He had a long, hard day working as a roofer. He was covered in dust and exhausted. He sat down at table seven and ordered the simplest thing on the menu.”
Her expression grew soft and dreamy. “Spaghetti with marinara sauce. Like a little boy might order. But the way he said ‘thank you’ when I brought him his food? I was head over heels before he finished his first bite.”
I found myself leaning forward, caught up in her story despite myself. “What happened?”
“He came back the next night. And the night after that. For two weeks straight, always ordering the same thing, always at table seven. Finally, I worked up the courage to ask him if he might like to try something else from the menu.”
She laughed. Her eyes sparkling with unshed, happy tears. “He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘I’m not here for the food, beautiful. I’m here for you.’ We were married eight months later.”
The story was so romantic it made my chest ache with longing. What would it feel like to have that kind of certainty? To look at someone and just know, with absolute conviction, that they were your person?
“That’s beautiful,” I said, and meant it.
“Love finds you when you’re not looking for it,” Gineva said with the wisdom of someone who had seen it happen countless times. “When you’re focused on other things like your work, your dreams, your plans for the future. That’s when it sneaks up and changes everything.”
I thought about my own carefully mapped-out plans.
I was intent on building my career. I wanted to learn everything I could about the restaurant industry.
And maybe one day I would eventually open my own place.
Love wasn’t really part of the equation right now, at least not in any immediate sense.
It could wait until I was more established, more secure in who I was and what I wanted.
Couldn’t it?
The sound of footsteps interrupted my wandering thoughts.
I looked up to see Rhett walking out of the kitchen.
He was carrying a small tray with three steaming cups and a plate of what looked like homemade biscotti.
He had shed his chef’s coat and was wearing his black T-shirt and matching slacks.
He looked more relaxed than I had seen him all evening despite the phone call I’d overheard.
And fuck me, he was gorgeous.
I changed my mind. Black looked good on him. He should definitely keep wearing it.
He put the tea service on the table and then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the side of Gineva’s head. The gesture was so natural and affectionate that it made my heart skip.
I blinked in surprise, trying to process what I was witnessing.
“I saw you working hard tonight, Mama,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth I’d never heard before. What caught my attention even more was the way his accent shifted slightly on that one word “Mama,” revealing hints of the Italian heritage I hadn’t known he possessed.
Mama?
The plot thickened.
Obviously I knew the man had parents, but it was hard to imagine such a hard man coming from such a beautiful, soft woman.
Gineva beamed up at him, her face radiant with maternal pride and affection. “Me? You should have seen the two of you back there in my kitchen. That place hasn’t seen that kind of action in a long, long time.”
This charming, family-owned restaurant wasn’t just a randomly chosen venue for the tour’s opening night. It was his mother’s place, the business his parents had built from nothing, the foundation of everything he had become.
Rhett and I shared a look across the small table.
I felt something electric pass between us.
There was no way I was imagining any of that.
It was all very real. I was sure the man had a long line of women in his contact list that he could text right that minute and they would gladly hop in his bed. But he was definitely looking at me.
“It was something,” he agreed, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“I was just telling Clem about the many people that have met and fallen in love here,” Gineva said.
“Mama,” Rhett chuckled, shaking his head, and stared at me. “Don’t listen to her stories. She’s always been very fond of fairy tales.”
“They are not fairy tales,” Gineva admonished.
“I think it’s very sweet,” I said.
We finished rolling the silverware while Gineva told more stories about the restaurant’s early days and the neighborhood characters who had become like family over the years.
Rhett mostly listened, adding occasional comments or corrections, but I caught him watching me more than once with an expression I couldn’t quite decode.
When we finally said our goodbyes and prepared to leave, I found myself lingering on the sidewalk outside La Tavola, reluctant to let the evening end.
“Thank you,” Rhett said quietly.
“For what?”
“For tonight. For stepping up when everything went to hell.” He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. “For making it work.”
I wanted to tell him that it had been my pleasure, that working beside him in that kitchen had felt more natural and exciting than anything I had ever done.
Instead, I smiled. “You’re welcome. I had fun. What happened with Conroy?”
He sighed. “He’s out. Messed up his hand pretty bad.”
“Oh man, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
I waited for him to say it. Would he ask me to be part of his team? Or did I piss him off so badly he never wanted me in his kitchen again?
My cab pulled up. Rhett stepped off the curb and opened the door. “Thanks again,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
I got into the cab and looked up at him. He closed the door without saying another word.
Well, shit.
That was not what I wanted. But I got it. He probably had a full bench of chefs he personally trained that he would call up to the big leagues. They would be taking Conroy’s spot.
Oh well.
One day I would be on the tour as one of the lead chefs. I would have to invite him to work in my kitchen.
And I would wear fucking pink if I wanted to.