Chapter 18 Special Delivery
SPECIAL DELIVERY
LILAH
Note to self—falling for my enemy on Christmas was a very, very bad idea.
I almost wished we could take it back, that Holden would still be the boss I hated because he was a part of my ruined wedding day.
That the cozy library room where our hearts met be boarded up and locked away forever so we couldn’t visit there again.
Despite another horrible night of sleep, I tied on my apron, and reported to the kitchen the morning of New Year’s Eve.
Only my private countdown had begun. One month, I had told Holden I would stay.
Long enough to get Quest by West through the opening and into a rhythm, to stabilize the kitchen and set the tone. Then I’d leave quietly, no drama.
Better to go before my presence—or my reputation—dragged Holden’s shiny dream down. My confidence hit a low point.
“Good morning, Chef.” Ridley offered me my usual blackest of black coffee to start my day. She had the kitchen buzzing already with breakfast orders. Today, the employees could invite friends and family to visit the lodge—a sort of soft launch of the grand opening day tomorrow.
As always, I dove right into business. “How are things? Is the order and timing right? Any retraining we need to consider for making the breakfast run smoother?”
“Depends on your definition of smooth,” Ridley said.
“Ticket times are okay, but we’re falling behind at sauté.
Still experiencing food delivery shortages, the convection oven temp spiked twice already, and Julia’s on the verge of crying because she can’t get the buttercream consistency right for the caramel apple cake. ”
I nodded, falling into a role I knew well, with steadfast management of a kitchen.
It was a relief, honestly, dealing with all of this, and not my emotions.
They made an appearance anyway. Fool, you slept with your boss.
Worse—you caught feelings for him. And then his ex-fling waltzed in and hugged him like she owned the place.
The past blindsided you. Again. Therefore, you don’t do relationships, Lilah.
“How is our headcount for dinner?” I asked, shooing away any thoughts but work.
“I think some employees dug too deep into their second and third cousins,” Ridley chuckled.
“When there’s a free buffet offered, people always take advantage.
” As I knew they would when Holden announced last week he wanted every guest and employee to eat free today.
“Double the potato puree. Everyone overeats potatoes when they're free. I’ll talk to Julia about the buttercream. Then I’ll get started on Plan B for the signature dish.
If only those white truffles would have arrived.
” Every restaurant had a signature dish, and if I didn’t figure this out, then we’d open without one.
“I think Plan A is still an option,” she said, pointing to the cooler.
“Oh, did the white truffles come in? That would be amazing.”
“Go see for yourself.”
“I trust you. Now I can get to work on it.” Excitedly, I reached for a pan to warm the broth for the risotto.
I needed to do a run through on the entire dish, even though that would mean calling Holden in here eventually to have him taste it.
His lodge, his name behind everything, his restaurant’s signature dish.
But I could remain professional in front of him, I must.
“No, really, Chef. Go check the cooler.” The way Ridley said it, curiosity took over.
“Okay.” I opened the door. Inside, on the main shelf, where previously my sad, empty tray for White Truffles sat, there was now a crate of Italian white truffles, each one nestled in a bed of straw and giving off their usual earthy aroma.
My jaw hit the floor as I read the note attached:
Chef,
You said you needed these.
Told you I have connections.
Make opening weekend shine.
—Holden
“What? How did he do this?” I backed out of the cooler, staring like it might vanish if I blinked. A holiday miracle, delivered in a wooden crate. I pressed my fingers to my lips, a laugh-sob escaping.
“I don’t know. But when Holden texted me at five in the morning to meet a helicopter for a special delivery, I didn’t ask questions. I think someone has a crush on you,” Ridley mused behind me.
I ignored that, and also, wow. How Holden made this happen, I wouldn’t begin to guess, but he must have gone to great lengths to make things right for me.
My heart lurched; I glanced over to the window of the kitchen door, hoping to see him there, but he wasn’t.
Why would he be after I told him I was leaving?
At some point, I’d have to face him and thank him, and try not to fall completely, madly for him, because I already cried half the night, sad and convinced that this would never work between us. That my leaving was best for his business.
“Well, Chef, you have everything you need. Ready to create your masterpiece?” Ridley asked.
Masterpiece… Yes. Renewed energy flowed through my veins, itching to get started. “Let’s do it.”
For a few hours, we spent time perfecting the recipes, taking careful notes.
Duck was Pop’s masterpiece—but this version was going to be mine.
My voice. My dish. Made with love. It may never win me Michelin stars, but guests would love it, and I’d be proud of it just the same—until the day I left Snow Quest a month from now.
At last, sprinkling the right amount of white truffle on top, just in time for dinner service, I announced to everyone in the kitchen. “I present to you Quest by West’s signature dish—Snowfall Risotto with Seared Duck Breast rave reviews came back.
I toured the dining room a few times throughout, seeing the joy on people’s faces for myself, many stopping me to pay compliments to the chef. My chest puffed with pride. This could very well be the best day in a kitchen in my life, and I’m glad it happened here at Quest.
Still, something was missing, or someone, and I knew it. Holden should be a part of this. He’d love the dish, only I really messed things up with him. Not once did I see him around.
I didn’t have time to dwell on it. We were so busy, nonstop. I stayed focused in my element at my station, and also two seconds from collapsing.
“Chef?” Ridley tapped my arm. “There’s some people here to see you.”
“Who? A vendor? Tell them to come back next week. We’re busy.”
Her grin faded. “Not a vendor. Go on. I have the floor until you return.”
I sighed, wiping my hands on my white apron and practically stomping out at the inconvenience. When I exited into the short hallway off the kitchen, I wasn’t prepared for my parents to be standing there.
“Mom? Dad?” They’d bundled in nice sweaters and coats and boots, and must have actually taken a day or two off from the diner to join me here. Considering they hardly ever took time off, this was special.
My mother’s face crumpled into a smile. “Hi, baby.”
My dad opened his arms. “Heard there was a hotshot chef up here in the mountains. Thought we should check it out.”
I walked straight into them, hugging them both so tight I could barely breathe.
“What are you doing here?” I pulled back, wiping at my eyes.
“Holden invited us,” Mom said. “He called yesterday and said you might downplay what you’re doing, but that we should see it for ourselves because, and I quote, ‘Your daughter is pretty fucking spectacular in the kitchen.’”
“He did?” I blubbered. When? Before or after I told him we were over?
Dad looked around, impressed. “This place is fancy.”
“Holden built it. I’m trying not to ruin it,” I chortled.
Mom gave me the same look she’d used when I was six, upset I had baked crooked cupcakes, but she insisted they were perfectly edible. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You sound like your grandfather.”
The mention of him brought on a new set of tears that I attempted to swipe away. “I don’t know if I’ll ever live up to his reputation. He had stars. Reviews. People still talk about him as if he were a god.”
“My father had unreasonably high expectations for himself and those around him,” Dad explained. “Why do you think I never followed in his footsteps? For me, the diner always suited us fine and put plenty of money in the bank. We supported our family with it.”
Mom slid her arm around my shoulders. “We figured out a long time ago that the only standards we could really live up to were our own. We were proud of your grandfather. But we’re also proud of ourselves and of your siblings, with their bagel business.
We’re proud of you, too, not because of the name on your chef’s coat.
Because you’re Lilah, our brilliant daughter.
Since we arrived an hour ago and had a fine meal of your signature dish, I’d have to agree with Holden. You are pretty spectacular.”
Dad squeezed my hand. “If Pops were here, he’d be proud of you. And he’d be telling everyone in this lodge that his granddaughter is opening one of the most exciting kitchens in the country.”
I let that settle into the cracks of my doubts like glue, binding me back together. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. Thanks for being here.”
“Now, show us your kingdom.” Mom linked arms with me.
I gave them a tour of my suite first, then back down for the kitchen tour. We laughed and talked. They tasted some of our other dishes. Dad moaned at each. Mom asked for recipes. I bagged up two go-boxes of cookies and desserts for them to take home.
Although I didn’t tell them of my plan to leave yet another restaurant, I needed my family more than I realized. I had Holden to thank for getting them here in the first place.
When they left—with my promise to visit soon—I stood there for a minute, breathing in the smells of the kitchen: garlic, wine, herbs, truffle. As my team buzzed with activity, Holden’s absence became more noticeable and raw.
It terrified me that one look at him would undo me. Yet he’d somehow saved the day with truffles by special helicopter delivery. He’d sent my parents to see me. He kept showing up for me in ways no one ever had.
As I requested, he hadn’t stepped foot in the kitchen.
According to chatter from my chefs, word around the lodge was that Holden was pitching in to get everything ready for opening day like a champ.
No accidents reported. Several employees looked up to Holden for how he was stepping up as a true leader, keeping everyone motivated to get things done and be ready for tomorrow.
I filled with pride hearing these things about him, like he’d finally found his stride to manage the lodge. Taking true ownership of it. Through it all, I doubted he’d stopped to eat or even tried my signature dish yet.
I plated a perfect portion, slipped a note beneath it—Compliments of the Chef—and asked Ridley to deliver it to him.
Resisting him suddenly felt impossible if I were to see him again.
But more than that, as I reflected on the day, maybe I’d been wrong.
My past had ruined nothing today. The kitchen ran like a dream, guests raved over the signature dish, and even my parents beamed ear to ear praising my recipes. I wasn’t a liability.
Today hadn’t fallen apart because of me or my past. It thrived despite itself.
If Madison’s interview ever aired with every messy headline from my time in Europe? People might gossip and whisper. But it wouldn’t burn Holden’s dream to the ground the way I’d feared. Not when the work he put in screamed louder. Not when the truth had legs of its own.
Suddenly, I no longer wanted to run from my fears, but face them head-on. I wanted to run to him and hold on tight, and see where we might end up a year from now. What if staying didn’t break Holden’s dream… but helped build it?
Or was it too late to try to fix things between us and revive the fling?