Chapter Twenty-Two
Garett
Kath looks at me with a steely gaze and offers an occasional smirk. We’re in Clive’s restaurant, which used to be our restaurant. All the additions I insisted on have gone. There’s no wine bottles decorating the rustic walls or mini candelabras on the tables. He’s replaced them with mirrors and hanging lamps. All the surfaces are white and stark instead of shabby chic wooden furnishings and a cosy ambience.
A waitress who could have fallen off a catwalk takes our order, but she doesn’t check dietary requirements.
“Hi, sorry,” I say. The waitress stares me dead. “My friend is allergic to peanuts. I’m sure you don’t cook in peanut oil, but can I check?”
Kath smiles gratefully. She’ll have her EpiPen, but she won’t want to risk anaphylactic shock.
“I don’t know,” the waitress adds with a shrug. “Does it really matter?”
She walks towards the toilets. She’s not going to find out for us. I wasn’t planning to get in Clive’s face yet—it doesn’t fit Flora’s plan—but already, my limbs are tight and demanding action.
Suddenly, one of my old team members waves me over to the kitchen door. Rumour must have spread that I’m here because familiar faces peek behind her.
Chrissy, who worked behind the bar, embraces me. “You’re back.” She has a glob of mascara stuck in her eyelashes and a patch of tomato sauce on her blouse, but her beaming smile hasn’t changed. I shake myself. It’s been three months since he kicked me out.
“Why do you look like you’ve been cooking?”
Although she’s wearing one of the tight black skirts and breast-squeezing blouses that all the model-looking servers wear, she’s also wearing a hairnet.
She worries her lip, but when one of the kitchen staff nudges her, she confesses, “Clive moved all of your staff to the kitchen and brought in younger waitresses. They’re alright but don’t care about serving and have no experience.”
“But you were—are—brilliant at your job.”
She shrugs. “But we’re not attractive enough, and we were friends with you.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m so sorry, Chrissy. I can’t believe he’s treated you all like this. You were with us from day one.”
“That’s what Flora said. But he treated you so much worse, and you were supposed to be his friend.” Former servers, who also now wear hairnets and have splatters of food on their clothes, nod enthusiastically. “Everything’s changed. Do you remember that you used to offer every diner a plate of tasters?” I nod. I was proud of that. “Not anymore. And he’s reduced the number of desserts, too. He’s trying to make the place stylish for the elite while cutting costs, too. It’s all about money.”
The pudding menu was my baby. Maybe I was foolish to want people to have an experience that sat with them for days. As much as I believe this is about cutting costs, it’s also about wiping me from the place. I’d wanted to create a cosy Italian homely feel in the middle of the town, but he’s obliterated that. This isn’t my place anymore.
My face falls.
“We miss you, Chef.”
“I miss you all, too.”
I give each one a bear hug. I was as strict as hell when I was here, but I gave love, too. I lost that side for a while. Until Ruby.
I glance around the room. I had plans for this place, including offering an opportunity for people to take extra puddings home and order them when they weren’t eating here. I wanted the experience to be more than a memory.
“Will you start another restaurant one day? We’d love to be part of it,” Chrissy says.
“I haven’t got the money. If I could, then I’d have you there in a heartbeat. You were the best bar manager I’ve ever worked with.” Her smile is sad. “You were all the best,” I add, nodding at the others. Their wincing smiles are another punch to my gut—so much talent and joy taken by one man’s ego. “I hear he’s running a competition. Why if he doesn’t want puddings?”
Chrissy leans in, and my old team gathers around. “He’s angry that you won’t tell him your secret pasta ingredients. He’s shouted at us for months, but none of us knew it.” She laughs. “Not that we’d tell him if we did.”
I give her another hug. My old team deserve better than what I left them with.
Another member of my old team adds conspiratorially, “We reckon he wants to steal recipes. We’re not sure he’ll give them a job after.” Shit. I can’t let Ruby have all her skills stolen, but this competition means so much to her and could elevate her. She needs a win after what she’s been through. “But we can’t prove that.”
“You’re thinking hard,” Chrissy comments. I look her in the eye, my brow furrowed. “You’re grinding your teeth. You did that a lot before you left.”
I chuckle despite my worries. I haven’t done that for a couple of weeks, in fact, since Ruby and I replaced our animosity with genuine friendship.
Suddenly, Clive’s booming voice sounds from the corridors.
I whisper to Chrissy quickly before he catches her out of the kitchen, “Where’s he been? Shouldn’t he be out here chatting to the diners?”
Chrissy shrugs. “He’s not you. He was probably chatting up one of the wait staff. Half of them walked out last week because of his letchy behaviour. He interviewed new ones this week. I bet he’s working out which ones will most likely sleep with him.”
Bile climbs my throat. I need to end this guy.
As if reading my thoughts, Chrissy asks, “Is there anything we can do to help your future?”
“I’m working on it,” I lie. I can’t crush them. Maybe if I keep their hope, I can find some of my own. “In the meantime, will you help me and Flora with something? I’m trying to get Cookie back.”
Chrissy and the others gasp. “He kept Cookie from you? Clive told us that you didn’t want him. I knew it was a lie. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.” Other kitchen staff behind her nod. “He doesn’t deserve that gorgeous dog.”
“You’re the best. Flora will tell you what to do when she arrives.”
I hug each one and scoot back to my seat as Clive enters the restaurant area. He’s changed in the three months, too. He’s got a rock-hard quiff that lava couldn’t destroy. He’s developed a golden tan since I glimpsed him a month ago when he taunted me about Cookie. He’s also done something to his eyebrows, and he’s wearing the tightest trousers I’ve ever seen. I can measure his cock from here.
He’s become one of the Made in Chelsea men.
The scent of garlic and tomato fill the room as Clive laughs and chats with the guests. I adore the cookery school and everyone there, but there’s nothing like running a busy restaurant. With the hustle and bustle and anxiety, you’re within minutes of chaos every day, yet every night, you run your team like you’re putting on the best performance of your lives showcasing every skill you’ve developed over your lifetime. Everyone wants to do their utmost and get that perfect reaction from a diner and nothing compares to the buzz when you change someone’s life through a spoonful of your cooking. A pull in my stomach reminds me that I must start looking for a restaurant to work in. It won’t happen in this area.
Kath nudges me, distracting me from my concerns. She side-eyes the window. Flora stands outside at an angle to hide from Clive, my Cookie by her side. She waves her phone, and mine vibrates with a message. The entire team knows their part in this plan and that we must keep the bulk of it hidden from Ruby because the competition is the most important thing for her. I can’t have anything affecting her chances of winning, and I know her well enough already that if she suspected Clive had hurt me, she’d walk away without a future. That isn’t happening, and Kath, Flora, and Jem have agreed to my terms. There’s a lot of love for her.
I check my phone surreptitiously. There’s messages from Ruby and Flora.
Ruby: You got this, Garett. We’re bringing your baby home.
I try not to smile even though it’s like popping candy bounces on my tongue before the same fizzing excitement fills my entire body.
Flora: Part one of Cookie’s Homecoming is happening in five minutes. Keep Clive talking.
I never wanted to see Clive again, let alone speak to him, but I’ll do it for my boy. I nod as Clive spots me and strides over with an arrogant smirk.
Mission: Cookie’s Homecoming has begun.