Chapter 19 #2
"We just wanted to say that dinner was absolutely incredible," I say. "We're both chefs ourselves, and I think we both agree it was the best meal we've had in a very long time. Everything was perfect."
"Oh, thank you so much," the woman says, and I immediately catch the accent. French, but softened by years of living in the U.S.
"Sorry, I have to ask," I say, unable to help myself. "Are you from France originally?"
She nods, her face lighting up. "Yes, from Provence actually. The Luberon area. We both are," she gestures at her husband who smiles and nods. "But we fell in love with Napa Valley on a trip in the early eighties and decided to move here permanently in 1987."
"Wow!" I say, feeling that same pull of connection I felt looking at the fig tree.
"My father's side of the family is from that area too.
I still have cousins in the region and I spent summers there as a child with my grandmother.
I was just telling Alex earlier how much this place reminded me of her house there, and the food was so authentic, so true to what I remember. "
"Oh, that's so wonderful to hear!" she says, clearly delighted. "We try our best. I mean, we're combining our two favorite places in the world here—Provence and Napa—so we want to honor both of them properly. It's a love letter, in a way."
Alex smiles at them. "Well, we're only here in Napa for a short time for work, but I'd honestly fly back from Washington just to eat here again. It was that good."
The woman's expression shifts, becoming a little sad. "Well, I'm sorry to say this, but we're actually thinking of closing by the end of the year. We haven't made a final decision yet, but it's looking likely."
I feel genuine distress in the pit of my stomach, like this place is already a home to me somehow after just one night, a place that feels safe and right, and it's being taken away before I even really found it.
"Oh?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "What's making you consider it?"
The man shrugs, his expression wistful. "We've both been doing this for decades now, and want to retire, spend time with our grandchildren who moved back to France, and travel without worrying about service.
It's bittersweet, and honestly we still can't quite imagine actually letting this place go—it's been our baby for decades. Nothing's final yet, but…"
He shrugs and I nod, feeling a heaviness settle in my chest. I look at Alex who looks sad at the idea too, but ever the charmer he turns and smiles at them warmly. "That's completely understandable. It's such a special place, though. Whoever ends up with it will be lucky."
We stand there for a few more minutes, chatting with them about Provence and Napa and the restaurant business. They're so warm and down-to-earth that you can't help but like them immediately, can't help but feel comfortable in their presence.
I lean against Alex naturally and love how right this feels, standing here with my boyfriend—my boyfriend, who would have thought that would be a word I'd use?—talking to these kind people about food and family and places that feel like home.
As we finally say goodbye and make our way outside, I pause and look back at the restaurant one more time, taking it all in.
The warm light spilling from the windows, the sound of conversation and laughter floating out, the gardens and the view.
I turn to Alex, glancing at that fig tree one more time.
"I hope someday I love the NYC place this much, you know?
" I say quietly. "Like I can make it mine enough to feel this connected to it, this at home in it.
Because it's strange. I think if you told me tomorrow that my father's flagship restaurant in New York was closing, I would be sad but.
.. I don't know, not devastated. Not like this.
Yet a place we ate at once, hearing it might close actually breaks my heart a little bit. That probably doesn't make any sense."
Alex nods slowly, pulling me closer. "No, I get it. I felt the same way hearing that. Sometimes a place just speaks to you."
We stand there for a moment longer, looking at the fig tree in the fading light before finally making our way back to the car.
The drive back to Solstice is quiet and peaceful, winding down dark country roads under a sky absolutely packed with stars.
We make our way through the vineyard paths when we arrive, choosing to go to his cottage tonight by unspoken agreement, neither of us wanting to be apart.
Inside, I don't even bother turning on the lights.
I just reach for him in the darkness, and he's already reaching for me, pulling me close and kissing me deeply.
We stumble toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as we go—my dress pooling on the floor, his shirt tossed aside, a trail of discarded garments marking our path.
When we finally make it to the bed, I push him down onto it and climb on top of him, straddling his hips. The moonlight coming through the window is bright enough that I can see his face, see the way he's looking at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted.