Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Sadie
I was turning into Lockhart’s driveway, only feet from his gate, when my phone rang, and my boss’s name appeared across the screen of my dashboard.
Shit.
I quickly rolled down my window and hit the button on the call box to notify Lockhart that I was here. As I rolled the window back up, my finger hovered over the screen to accept the call.
The timing was horrible.
But if I sent my boss to voice mail, I wouldn’t be able to call him back until the morning, when I left Lockhart’s house, and I feared that would be too late.
I tapped the screen, connecting us, and the sounds of whatever he was doing in the background came through my speakers.
“Hi. ”
“Good evening, Sadie. I’m sorry for the late call. Today got away from me, and this is the first chance I’ve had to reach out.”
I pulled into my usual parking spot, and as Lockhart appeared in the doorway of his house, I gave him a finger and pointed at my phone so he knew I was talking to someone and I’d be there in a second.
He nodded in response and closed the door.
“It’s no problem. What’s up?” I asked.
“I just wanted to update you with the results of the Charred article.”
I knew the results.
My social media had skyrocketed from the moment the piece went live. What helped was that The Weston Group had an extremely large following, and they’d shared my review, which then sent their followers to me. Days later, I could still feel the effects. Engagement was at an all-time high. My following was increasing by the hour.
If this was happening for me, I could only guess the same was true for Seen .
I held the steering wheel as though it were a set of fingers. “Are you pleased with the outcome?”
“Pleased?” He huffed. “It’s the highest-read article that’s been published in Seen . Ever.”
That should have been some of the best news of my career.
I should be dancing in my seat.
I should have this burning desire to go celebrate.
But all it did was make me ache.
I hit the back of my head against the cushion as the pain moved through my body. “So happy to hear that.”
“You don’t sound as happy as you should.”
“No, I am,” I replied, forcing my tone to change, hearing how flat it was. The last thing I wanted was for my boss to think I was ungrateful. “Sorry, it’s just … I’ve had a really long day to o. I honestly couldn’t be more thrilled about this. What an accomplishment for all of us.”
“Indeed.” He paused. “You’re all set to go to Musik, yes?”
“I am, yes.”
“Excellent. We’re already hinting that there’s more coming from The Weston Group—I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You won’t.” I took a deep breath. “And I’m almost done with my other review that’s due—you know, the Thai fusion restaurant in Huntington Beach that you wanted me to go to. I went last night and worked on my write-up this morning. I should have it over to you in a day or two.”
“Perfect. And, Sadie …”
Oh God.
Why did I sense something else was coming?
My eyes squeezed shut. “Yes?”
“I want to talk to you about one additional article that we haven’t discussed. I suppose I was waiting to see how the Charred review did, and to no surprise, it exceeded my expectations.”
“Okay …”
“What are your thoughts on a comparison piece? Charred has locations across the world. I’m not saying you have to fly to Scotland or Alberta, where they have restaurants, but what if Seen flew you to some of their other locations in the States? You’d order the same things you got in LA, and you’d highlight whether the brand was consistent across the board or if somewhere other than LA was better.”
My eyes flicked open, my heart pounding.
He was obsessed with the Westons.
Or did it just seem that way because I was in the middle of this nightmare?
And why did he want more written about them?
For views—that was why .
Seen was on fire. He didn’t want the temperature to die down; he wanted to ride out this wave.
I couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be a part of it.
“But Seen is LA-based,” I offered. “Why would I write about a location outside of the area?”
I needed an excuse.
An out.
Because … I couldn’t do this.
“The question is, does LA have the best Charred? Or does Laguna Beach? Or maybe Boston is better than the ones in our territory. Or maybe Park City, Utah, is far superior compared to Manhattan or Las Vegas. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Yes.” I sighed. “I see.”
“It doesn’t seem like you think it’s a good idea.”
He wanted me to go on tour, tasting their other restaurants, opening my boyfriend up to another opportunity of possibly being shredded.
I wasn’t the right person for a task like this. And I didn’t think I ever would be.
I would fulfill the three Weston reviews I’d promised.
But that was it. I wouldn’t do any more.
I just didn’t know how to have that conversation with my boss.
So, I said, “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. It’s a commitment—I understand that.”
He understood nothing.
“Thank you,” I said. “Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”
“We’ve covered it all. I’ll be in touch soon.”
We hung up, and I stared at Lockhart’s front door, my hand on the bag of food that I’d brought. I felt like I was sinking into the seat, the guilt piling on top of me, weighing down every part of me.
I couldn’t stand this feeling.
And I didn’t know how to make it stop, but I needed to.
I turned off the engine and grabbed the food, and I made my way to his door. Letting myself in, I headed straight for his kitchen.
“Baby, hi.” He was walking in from the living room with two drinks in his hands, both his famous old-fashioneds.
I set my bag on the island and grabbed one of the glasses, and without toasting him or returning his greeting or even pulling him in for a hug, I downed every drop.
“Thirsty?” He smiled.
I wiped my lips, my chest scorching from the liquor, and I banged the center of it, urging the cocktail to go down faster.
“If I’d known you wanted to drink like that, I would have poured you a tequila shot.” He took the empty tumbler from me.
“It’s … been a day.” My body slumped—my face, my shoulders, my entire posture.
“Are you all right?”
I shook my head, and when I noticed the concern in his expression, I changed my gesture to a nod. “Work stuff. I’ll be fine.”
I wanted nothing more than to tell him about the conversation I’d just had with my boss.
To unload not just that, but everything.
To give Lockhart all the pieces of me.
I’m Dear Foodie . That was all I had to say. Once that was out, the rest would follow. It was that three-word sentence I just had to get past.
“I’m …” My arms wrapped around his neck, and I gazed at his face .
He deserved the truth. Every single bit of it. I could do that. I could confess. I could put everything out there and see where it took me.
So, I started over, much more confident this time, and I voiced, “I’m …” But I got stuck again. Like there was a wall between the tip of my tongue and my lips and nothing could get through it.
He studied my eyes. “You’re what, Sadie?”
“I’m …” I tried again. Again. And again. And the only thing that came out was, “Starving.”
He chuckled. “Me too.”
“But what I brought over is going to need about thirty to forty-five minutes in the oven. I did bring some homemade guacamole. We can snack on that in the meantime.”
I hated myself. I hated that I didn’t have the courage to tell him. I hated that I was waiting for the perfect moment, and I knew there was a chance that would never come, depending on how the review went with Toro. If it was bad, could I ever forgive myself? Could he? And if it was good, could I admit I’d been keeping this from him the whole time?
“How was your day?” I asked.
He sucked in some air before he pressed his lips against mine. “Things have been a little wild at the office.”
“Yeah?”
“Since Dear Foodie’s review of Charred, Walker has been off the wall. He’s working day and night to make sure Toro opens without any hiccups. But so much of that is out of our control.” He set down my glass and took a drink from his. “What if the staff has a shitty night? What if a patron asks a question our servers aren’t trained well enough to answer? What if we cross-contaminate food and serve it to someone with an allergy? What if an appliance breaks? What if someone calls in sick? So many variables, and that’s not even a tenth of them.”
Why the hell had I pushed him for this answer? Hadn’t I known deep down this was coming?
Especially with the review Dear Foodie had posted?
Of course it affected him. And of course it’d only added to the stress they had already been feeling.
“It’s a lot, huh?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Since her review posted, we’ve gotten thousands of new dinner reservations—not just in LA, nationwide. But that means if Dear Foodie reviews Toro, it could really make or break us.” He focused on my right eye and then shifted to my left. “We’re feeling that pressure.”
I nodded. “I get that.”
He stared up at the ceiling for a second. “Walker said if her review isn’t positive, it could put the restaurant under.”
My stomach dropped, my lunch threatening to rise. “No way. I don’t believe that?—”
“She has that much power, Sadie. Her review of Charred brought up reservations by over twenty percent throughout the country. There isn’t another influencer in this space who could replicate that result.”
Just like my boss’s compliment on what the article had done for Seen , I should have been flattered by what Lockhart was saying.
I should have been proud that all the years of hard work had paid off.
But I didn’t feel that way, not even a little.
I felt ashamed, knowing so much was riding on my opinion. I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t come clean. I felt distraught that once Lockhart found out the truth, nothing would ever be the same between us .
I pulled my hands back from his neck and positioned them on his face. “Listen to me. Everything is going to be perfect. You and your family are a team of rock stars. The build-out will get finished, and it’s going to be spectacular. The staff will get trained. Walker will get the kitchen in the shape it needs to be. And the diners are going to flock to Toro. Not because Dear Foodie sends them in, but because your company has a reputation that’s untouchable and you’ve worked your ass off for it.” I gave him a soft kiss. “You have nothing to worry about. So, I don’t want you to focus on the things that could go wrong or what she’s going to say or any of that noise. I want you to focus on what you guys know how to do right, and that’s opening restaurants that exceed everyone’s expectations.”
He rested his forehead against mine. “I appreciate you.”
“I’m just speaking the truth.”
I was—I believed that.
But I wasn’t fully speaking the truth, and that killed me.
I pulled my face back, separating us. “How about I pop dinner into the oven, and you make us another drink—or, I guess I should say, make me another drink?” I tried to laugh, although I was sure it sounded forced.
“You got it.” As I went to move away, his hand lowered to my ass, and he stopped me from leaving. “Are you sure you’re okay? You feel … tense.”
When I swallowed, my throat felt extremely tight. “Just one of those days when anything and everything has kicked my butt. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”
He nodded. “I do.”
As I pressed my lips to his, I realized where the tightness was coming from. It was the knot that was wedged in the back of my throat, and every second it sat lodged there, the emotion was threatening to spill from my eyes.
“I just want to make sure that whatever it is, it has nothing to do with us,” he added .
I flattened my hands against his chest, and as I tried to breathe through the anxiety, I knew the only thing that could make this situation feel worse was if my experience at Toro turned out to be a fail.
“No, it’s not you,” I said to him. “I promise, this is all on me.”
I gave him a light kiss, and then I turned toward the counter, pulled out the pan of enchiladas I’d prepared this afternoon, and set it in the oven without even bothering to preheat it. I set the correct temperature, and as I faced Lockhart, I realized he hadn’t moved. He was still in the same spot, staring at me.
“Do you want another old-fashioned?” he asked. “Or do you want—” His voice halted as he reached into his pocket.
“Sorry, my phone is blowing up. I just need to make sure someone isn’t dying or there isn’t a fire …” He looked at his screen. “The Weston and Spade group chat. I should have known.” He shook his head. “Everyone is chiming in about the hockey game since Brady just got into town. They can all wait. It’s date night.” He smiled as he put his phone away. “Are you sure you and Bryn can’t come to Beck’s game? You know I would love to have you there. And Eden and Colson are dying to meet you.”
Things couldn’t get worse unless Toro was a flop. I believed that in my heart.
Until now.
“I wish I could. I want to be there. So badly.” I was running out of air, my throat getting narrower as I held off the tears. I held my neck and added, “But I can’t.”
He nodded. “I’m going to make that drink. What are you feeling?”
The only words that would come out were, “Surprise me.”