Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
LEXI
The next morning, Wilder showers with me, fingers gentle as he helps clean every inch of me after how filthy we both were last night. He makes himself at home in my kitchen and whips up breakfast while I get dressed.
Rory insisted I meet her at the diner before it opens today, and with the grand opening tomorrow, I have a sinking feeling settling in my stomach that makes it hard to swallow the breakfast tacos Wilder made, even if they’re an eleven out of ten.
His hand in mine on the way to my car is another first, since he insisted on taking the early shift today, prepping for service and letting Charlie have a rare Friday off. The stroke of his strong thumb against the back of my hand, it’s almost enough to curb the knot in my stomach. Almost.
When I park in the same lot as always, I try to rush out of the car and in to face Rory and get this over with. One massive hand on my arm stops me before I get the chance.
“Hey,” Wilder says in that way of his that sounds like an order instead of a greeting.
I turn to face him, not trusting my face not to betray me after the emotional roller coaster of the last few weeks, and those loop de loops from last night in particular. My nervous system has been through the wringer lately, but tears won’t help anything today.
His gigantic palm cradles my cheek, forcing my eyes on his. “I’m with you, Lex. We got this.”
It’s a feeling I’m not sure how to process, someone offering to clean up a mess they had no part in making.
But it’s one echoed by Rory, when I walk in the dining room and see she’s let herself in.
Seated at a four-top in the middle of the floor that she’s already covered in papers, highlighters, and pens.
I haven’t wanted to know what she’s been up to. I still don’t. But looks like my Olympic gold medal-worthy avoidance streak is just about to come to an end.
A sigh slips from my lips as I pull up the chair across from her. I guess it’s better to get this over with.
Rory offers to give me a whole story before we dive into the paperwork, but I hold my hand up to stop her. I sign where she points instead, and find myself praying that the new owner will let my team keep their jobs.
Even if they take over running the place as an owner/operator, I can find somewhere else to work.
But Wilder, Samuel, Charlie, Dishy, they belong in the kitchen here. My girls in the front? Elite tier.
I don’t think I could stand it if Rory found some investor from the city who wants to bring their own team in. This place wouldn’t be Heights Bites without who we have now. There’s no one better for this place.
I’m not sure I have the courage to ask.
The pen in my hand weighs more than physics could explain. But it’s nothing compared to the ball in my chest by the time Rory flips to the very last signature line.
She’s been talking the entire time, I’ve just been tuned to a different station. I refocus on her words, try to hear what she’s saying now.
“Last one, Lex,” she says softly.
With a deep breath, I scribble my name on the solid line and order my nervous system to stay steady for just a few more minutes.
“We did it,” Rory says, smiling for some reason. “It really is the best case scenario, Lex.”
“Yeah,” my lips say.
“No debt,” she continues, tapping the pages of the agreement on the table to get them in perfect order, the only way she knows how to do things. “Everyone keeps their jobs.”
My ears perk up at that. “Really?”
Her brow twitches. “Haven’t you been listening?”
“I missed that part,” I tell her, but my gut eases.
“Did you also miss the part where they want to keep you on to run the place?”
“You bitch!” If there was heat behind the words, it’s lost in the giggle that breaks out between us. “You didn’t say that part!”
“Okay, maybe I held that back for the grand finale,” she admits.
“Careful, Aurora,” I tease. “You keep smiling that big, you’ll end up with laugh lines around your eyes.”
She pops a shoulder. “Today might be worth it.”
“And tomorrow,” I remind her. She’s only been working toward this moment for three years now.
“That too,” she agrees, grinning even brighter now.
The sensation in my chest should be documented for medical science. “You’re serious though? We’re all staying on?”
“Every one of you,” she confirms, lips pursed to keep that smile under control.
“So who is this mystery investor then? Who’s the new owner?” I ask, the lead ball inside me finally evaporating.
“You’re looking right at him,” comes a voice I know all too well.
A gruff, Brooklyn drawl that belongs to a 6’5” beast of a man.
The whole package comes out from around the corner of the hallway.
My jaw drops, eyes bouncing between my sister and my chef-whose-relationship-status-has-yet-to-be-defined-beyond-“mine.”
“You?” It’s the only word my brain can form.
“You didn’t even skim that contract, did you?” My sister chuckles, tucking her supplies away inside a brown suede tote.
“Who reads the paperwork?” I toss back at her with a scoff.
“I do. It’s literally my job.”
“Exactly, which is why I didn’t need to,” I defend myself with an eye roll for good measure.
Wilder gets two feet closer with every step he takes, until he’s standing above me, and I rise to get closer.
“How?” I ask him.
His mouth tilts at one side, making him look almost boyish instead of as lethal as he usually does. “This seemed like a good place to put that cash I’ve been stashing. Don’t need it if I’m staying here.”
“You didn’t take the job?” It comes out as a whisper.
He shakes his head once. “Nowhere I’d rather be than in the Heights, at this café.”
I hear my sister’s footsteps fall away as she excuses herself and gives us a private moment.
With a resigned sigh, I say, “You’re not going to let me call it a diner anymore, are you?”
His grin is deadly. “My first and only decree as the new owner.”
“But you resigned,” I object, pushing his chest like I stand a chance at knocking him back.
“As chef,” he says, a glint in his eye. “And you didn’t ask me a damn thing.”
Toppling forward, I let my forehead crash into his firm body and relish the comfort of his arms closing around me.
“I’ll be happy to be owner slash executive chef,” he says, lips pressed to the top of my head. “As long as you keep managing the joint.”
I laugh against him, head rolling along his chef jacket.
“Yes,” I agree, pulling back to look at him again.
“Yes, what?” he asks, one brow raised.
“Yes, Chef.”
He leans down, hand buried in my curls, against the nape of my neck as he kisses me deeply, openly, in front of the plate glass windows that anyone in this town can walk by.
When he pulls back, something in me falls at the realization I’m hit with.
“I guess you got your Salt + Spice,” I say, voice sounding more wistful than I’m proud of.
He doesn’t respond with words, but the twisted half-smile on his face pushes the knife in a little deeper.
Why does this still sting?
It should feel like the best possible outcome, as close to a victory as even Rory could’ve dreamt up.
But my inner compass is still spinning.
At the end of the day, I’m still losing Heights Bites. I haven’t mourned the death of my dream yet. “I’m going to take a walk,” I tell him, heading for the front, then halting. “Actually, I’m taking today off. I’ll see you at the grand opening.”
Before he can stop me, I’m out the door.
There’s only so much a few hours of walking followed by a few hours of gardening and some uneasy rest can do for a soul that’s been cracked. They gave me space and perspective, sure, but this might be a wound that only time will heal over.
Still, nothing would make me miss the grand opening today. The hustle and bustle of the event is even larger than I thought it would be. And I expected this to be Rory’s best work yet, which is saying a lot.
Main Street is packed with pedestrians, it’s the closest the Heights will ever get to Times Square for the ball drop, but without everyone having to wear diapers.
Cameras from news crews are set up in front of the podium and the makeshift stage that’s at the top of the street, where the oversized ceremonial scissors wait for my sister’s opening snip.
Lined up behind her up there are the owners of all the downtown businesses.
I can’t help but let one side of my mouth rise when I see our stepfather up there, beaming with pride at Rory.
Based on the picture texted to Rory and I a few minutes ago, I think our father is somewhere near the first row, probably beaming up at my little sister too.
On stage, Wilder towers over them all, chef jacket on, bandana tied in place to hold his black hair out of his face.
My stare lingers on him longer than I give it permission to, soaking in the way he fits in somehow.
Cracking jokes with Duke and the old man who owns the hardware store, even the version of me from months ago would have to admit he looks like he belongs here.
My gaze must go on too long, because his eyes snap to mine, like he can feel me watching. I flash him the briefest of smiles, let him know I’m okay—or I will be—and then I turn and bob through the crowd, disappearing. Pretending I can’t hear him calling after me.
Ducking through the crowd, I’m wrangled in briefly by Weston, long enough to hug Amelia and nod to Billie before I escape their happy little family and fall to the back of the crowd.
Far enough away that when I see that new sign revealed, see Salt + Spice make its debut, no one will hear the sobs that might escape me.
The bittersweet feeling that’s overtaken me these past twenty-four hours, it’s not so heavy that I can’t see the rainbow through the storm. I’ll be able to put on a smile when we open tomorrow, while still grieving the dream I lost.