Chapter 17
SUTTON
Seattle, Washington
I run my finger over the long pewter bar top.
It’s just like the one at Gloria’s, which was my idea.
I loved the old bistro style counters that reminded me of the quaint family-run restaurants all over Paris.
I practically lived in them during culinary school—financed by Slade after his first restaurant took off and got notoriety.
He wanted me to be as good as him in the kitchen so we could expand.
As always, his idea worked. I learned so much in France, and then later working at restaurants in Amsterdam. That’s probably why I’m even here in Seattle, on a Monday morning. I flew in yesterday after brunch wound down at Gloria’s.
Was it how I wanted to spend my precious days off? Not exactly.
I would have rather spent them doing anything possible to get Kelsey to look at me the way she did two nights ago.
What I thought was going to be a routine Saturday night at Gloria’s turned into one of the bright spots in my year.
Brighter than the days the glowing reviews kept flowing in for Gloria’s.
Brighter than the news we’d be opening this restaurant.
Yes, Saturday night was easily the best night of my year.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Slade asks, leaning against the far end of the dull metallic bar top. I click my tongue and walk toward him.
“Yep. It looks great. Everything else on track?” I gesture toward the mostly finished dining room.
I don’t know why I even ask. He’s been giving me weekly, or even biweekly, updates on this place and I already know that it’s actually ahead of schedule which is a damn miracle in this business.
He nods with a smug grin. When I get closer to him, I lean one elbow against the bar and look my brother in the eyes. I can see the bags under his eyes and I have to wonder how much sleep he’s been getting.
My work-life balance might be shit between helping Dad and Sly while running Gloria’s, but it’s practically like summer camp compared to what Slade puts himself through.
He runs the restaurant in Denver full-time, makes time to stop into the Park City restaurant at least twice a month, and has been here in Seattle at least three to four times a month.
He is running himself ragged, but I know if I ask him about it, he’ll just brush me off and say it’s part of the job.
“That’s good news. The place is beautiful. It’s going to be great.”
His smug grin widens, baring his teeth. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want you to run it.”
“What?” I knew this question was a possibility, but it still comes as a surprise. I figured he’d ask me to help get it up and on its feet, but running it is an entirely different proposition.
He must see my shock because his grin fades and his shoulders slump.
“Come on. You know you want it.” He grabs my shoulder and gives me one firm shake.
He runs his other hand through his slicked back hair and I notice more than a few new gray hairs mixed in near his temples.
“You’ve earned it. This place could blow up and be something huge—something special. Maybe even get your first star.”
I nod because he has a point. The odds of me getting a star in Seattle are vastly different than Wyoming.
There was a time when I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes.
After years of running Gloria’s though, there’s a good part of me that doesn’t know if I want that anymore.
I obviously still want a star—that hasn’t changed.
I just don’t know what I’m willing to give up anymore to get it.
Gloria’s has been my dream restaurant. I love the closeness I have to my diners.
I also love the small catering business that I’ve been juggling on the side.
Working those intimate gatherings, like weddings or big family dinners, is what I enjoy the most about cooking for people.
Getting to be a part of making their memories.
I even think about my food truck project.
I’ve always dreamt about taking it to events and being right in the middle of the action with the people eating my meals.
That’s why I love my tasting counter where I get to serve the people eating it.
There’s something so intimate and personal about it and I could do the same thing with a food truck.
I’d still run Gloria’s, but I’d love to have that change of pace for special events.
And while he might say there’s no rush and even delude himself into believing it, I can’t ignore what I’ve watched him do for the last six months.
After seeing the way he’s pushing himself to the limit, something is going to give sooner or later.
I don’t know how I can say no even though that’s exactly what a voice in the back of my head is screaming.
“I’ll think about it. I already told you I’d help get it up and running, and that hasn’t changed. I’m just not sure about picking up and starting over again.”
He snorts a laugh. “Oh, come on. It’s not like you have anything holding you back in Jackson.”
I let out a halfhearted laugh.
I don’t even want to start to unpack that right here, in front of him though. Kelsey is finally giving me the time of day, and while it might seem insane, the fact that I have even the slimmest of chances with her is something I can’t ignore. So I just shrug and ignore his comment.
He must sense my unease over this topic because he tilts his head and gives me a knowing look. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that girl—whatever her name is—from that night at the bar. That was two years ago. You have bigger priorities, like helping me.”
My fist clenches at my side, but I somehow manage to not punch my brother right now.
“Is there anything else we needed to talk about?” I ask through gritted teeth.
He pats me on the back. “Alright, let’s go eat before your flight.”
He heads toward the exit and I follow along absentmindedly. Just like I’ve followed him for years.
Today though, my mind swims with his expectations of me. But I know one thing for sure.
I can’t get to the airport and back to Jackson soon enough.