Chapter 6 Naomi
My father used to say this desert—this land that belonged to our ancestors—cures everything. Maybe that’s why after years of traveling the world, I ended up back here—to recover from that blow Tyler Brady delivered to my heart seventeen years ago when he left Sageview Ridge without telling me.
Or maybe that’s the excuse I like to use instead of admitting that I failed miserably.
"Chef!" Kelvin shouts from the freezer, yanking me out of my thoughts. "We’re running low on vanilla custard!"
"Do we have enough for tonight’s dinner?"
"Hard to say. There’s a basketball game tonight."
"Jimmy’s may have some!" Sonia supplies from behind the counter, where she’s prepping fresh salmon.
"Call them before you go," I instruct Kelvin.
"Yes, Chef!"
"You really don’t need to call me chef, K," I remind him. This isn’t an episode of The Bear. I prefer people use my actual name."
"You got it, Chef." Kelvin grins and disappears into the tiny office to call Jimmy’s Market.
The preparation for rush hour completely erases any thoughts of Tyler Brady or the fact that’s it’s only been a week since we buried Dad, and for the next thirty minutes, my mind is focused on the cutting board and the spices I stir into the sizzling pan.
Kelvin is off to Jimmy’s to get that extra custard.
We can’t risk not having enough dessert if both teams show up at the casino after the game.
I hate having items on the menu and not being able to serve them.
Dad was the same way with The Gobbler. He’d write out the menu on the board by hand before he opened up every single day.
"Hey." Sonia elbows me as she passes by. "That guy at the bar has been staring at you like you owe him a million bucks."
I turn around and look through the glass wall separating the kitchen area from the dining room and see the tattooed ghost sitting at the bar counter, facing me. He's by himself, glaring down at the drink in his hand.
What the hell is he doing here?
My pulse immediately ratchets up. Then, before he notices that I’m looking at him, I tear my gaze away and shift my eyes toward the stove.
Unfortunately, I feel Tyler’s presence more than I’d like to admit. He shouldn’t be here. I thought he wouldn’t have the guts. I thought he’d be long gone. Doing whatever it is rockstars do.
I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. Damn onions.
Sonia rounds the corner with an empty tray but slows down next to me and asks, "You need help?" Her smile is wide but concerned.
"Yeah, if you don’t mind." I pass her the wooden spoon after she puts the tray down. "Stir it every thirty seconds. And if you smell smoke, call the fire department."
She fakes a frown. "Real funny, mami."
I wipe my hands on a towel I keep in the back pocket of my work pants. Then I walk into the bar area.
"You need anything, Naomi?" the bartender, Javier, asks while mixing a margarita.
I shake my head. "No. Just wanted to say hi to a customer."
"Right on." Javier smiles and resumes his task.
Tyler’s tapping his fingers on the counter, staring at his drink like he’s not sure if it’ll bite him.
There’s a plate next to him. My signature appetizer trio.
Roasted artichoke, heart of palm, and edamame hummus bites.
He’s eaten almost all of it. It’s weird how I pay attention to whether people finish my food.
Because if they don’t, I must not be very good at this.
And that’s the worst. All the years you spend perfecting your skills don’t count if no one wants to eat your dish.
But he did, and somehow, that makes me happy, even though I’m mad.
I go up to him with a million sharp words on the tip of my tongue.
"Wow," I say. "I thought you’d be in LA by now."
He looks up, his blue eyes catching mine. The memory flashes like lightning. Kissing him in the park. Telling him I’d follow him anywhere.
I shut it down. I’m older now. Wiser.
"Hi," he says, straightening up on his stool. He hesitates, runs a hand through his messy hair. The hair I used to love touching. The hair I haven’t thought about in yea—no, days.
"Food is great," he supplies. "I’d like to thank the chef, but I hear she’s got a grudge."
"She doesn’t." I eye his tattoos sticking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his black crewneck T-shirt.
I wonder if he still has the one he secretly got in high school on the inside of his arm.
I looked for it at first in all of his interviews, when he started to appear on TV and in magazines.
But it was in a spot that was hidden from the view.
And when he ended up in The Deviant, he was always wrapped in all back on stage, his entire body and face covered up.
I started losing track of how he looked.
I started forgetting the little details.
And now, he’s different. Hair, body, eyes, face.
"I wanted to see your place," Tyler’s voice interrupts my thoughts. It's low and careful, like he’s testing the waters. "I didn’t know if—"
"If you’d be welcome?" I finish for him. "I’ve got news for you. You’re not."
He shifts in his seat, and the fabric of his T-shirt pulls against his chest. I try to ignore the sudden tug in my heart, the one that remembers every curve of his body.
"Are you going to exercise that ‘We have the right to refuse service to anyone’ rule with me?"
"I’m not that petty. You can eat and drink here all you want. I only kick out people who make a scene."
"Got it." He nods like he’s memorizing some complex information. "Avoid causing disturbance."
I find myself smiling but immediately shut it down.
"It’s been a long time, Ty," I say. "A long, long time. You do whatever you want as long as you leave me be."
"I’m just trying to make things right," he says, tapping his fingers on his glass, a slow, cautious rhythm.
"Yeah, well, usually actions speak louder than words."
I think of my father, the way he used to say a person’s worth is in what they do, not what they say. And here’s Ty, saying all the right words. Saying them like he means them. But what do words mean when you’ve got nothing to show for them?
There’s a long silence, and the noise of the restaurant fills it. A kid drops a glass. Gasps and apologies bounce off the walls as the tattooed man I don’t know anymore sits across from me. He knows it’s time to go. He can see it in my eyes.
"It was really good." He stands and shoves his hand in his pocket to retrieve a credit card. "Great seeing you, Naomi. Even if you don’t believe it."
I believe it, all right. Just not the way he thinks I should.
He leaves in the same manner he came, unannounced and unresolved. I watch his figure until it disappears into the neon lights of the casino, and the space lingers with old, familiar pain that stretches across the bar and into the restaurant, touching everything.
I go behind the counter and pretend to check receipts, even though I know Sonia will have them squared away.
My hands move quickly, efficiently, as if I’m trying to prove that I can survive Tyler Brady.
His sad blue eyes. His toned tattooed arms. His messy rockstar hair.
Those damn long legs. I hate it. Hate that he’s again occupying every corner of my mind.
Sonia ducks out of the kitchen, balancing another tray of food for Morgan, our new waitress. The girl's still a little slow and needs help, but she’s good with the patrons, and I intend on keeping her.
Sonia’s eyes are bright and curious, like she wants to ask but isn’t sure she should.
I try not to look at her as I pass her on my way to the kitchen.
I put some distance between myself and my best friend, hoping she’ll get the message and give me time to process.
But it’s Sonia. If she gave people space, she wouldn’t be Sonia.
I double back to the counter and shuffle some orders around, making sure we’ve got everything set for tomorrow. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Sonia’s at my side now, her hands on her hips.
Her red shirt is the liveliest thing in the room.
The restaurant is packed, and the kitchen is busy, but she’s ignoring the staff and staring right at me.
"Was that the guy you dated in high school?
" she asks, her tone casual yet probing, but she's not loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Yes," I say firmly. "Yes, he’s the one."
There’s a pause as she draws closer.
She gives me her pointed look. "And he shows up here? He’s got some nerve." Sonia doesn’t know the whole story, but I’m certain she’s heard bits and pieces from others. Even though we didn't know each other back then, she was just a couple of grades behind me in school.
"Don’t they all?" I mutter, grabbing a pile of napkins and stuffing them into my apron.
"Is he the one who’s in that band?" She gestures at her face and makes a circling motion with her index finger. "Where they’re all in makeup? Didn’t he replace Chance Hollowell?"
"Yep, same guy."
"It's wild to think this city birthed a celebrity," she muses, staring at the door like she expects Tyler to walk back through it.
"I don’t know if you can call him that," I reply dismissively, but it’s a lie. Tyler Brady is rich and famous. He’s number fifty-six on a list of the top one hundred most sought after bachelors in some music magazine. Yes, I’m guilty of looking him up.
"But he’s definitely handsome," Sonia says, not giving me an inch.
My voice gets sharper. "That doesn’t give him the right to be an ass."
Her expression softens, and she puts her hand on my arm. "You okay?"
I blink back at her, changing the subject fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid. "You want to know what’s not okay? Tomorrow’s children's art fair. It’s a bigger deal than we thought. Apparently, some people from the city council will be present."
"Not scared of those buffoons."
"You think we have enough buns? Utensils? Drinks? Paper plates? What about those light blue cups with flowers? I set those aside specifically for this event."
"You think we’re feeding the whole town?" Sonia laughs, rolling her eyes at my compulsive lists. "You’re such a perfectionist."
"Maybe." I pretend it’s no big deal, but it is. "I’d rather have extra than run out. We can always donate any leftovers to the homeless shelter."
"We have plenty of buns," Sonia assures me. "Relax. You always stress like this before events."
"Yeah, and then what happens?" I give her a half smile, challenging her to prove me wrong.
"They turn out great," she admits.
"Like I said." I tuck an errant strand of hair back behind my ear. "Bigger deal than we thought."
She leans back against the counter, the clatter of dishes barely audible as she keeps her eyes fixed on mine. "Aren't you already prepared for a bigger deal? Look at the menu you wrote."
"What’s wrong with it?" I know the answer: absolutely nothing. I worked on it for a week.
Sonia laughs again. "Three types of burgers for the kids? Why not just do PB&Js?"
"Potential peanut allergy nightmare."
"And the veggie wraps for their parents?"
"Who might actually like our food and book us for something bigger next time," I remind her.
"You’re ambitious." She shrugs. "And a control freak."
I nudge her with my elbow. "And lucky to have a manager who puts up with me."
"Yes, very lucky." She checks her Apple watch and then glances back at me. "I think we better start hustling. Dinner crowd is almost here."
"You’re right." I push the lingering thought of Tyler Brady from my head. I have people to feed. I don’t need him distracting me.