Chapter 21 #2
I think I've met him once at some charity dinner in New York—older guy, successful, a bit full of himself in that way successful men often are.
Should be interesting enough with all the restaurant industry talk, though Doug struck me as somewhat tedious the one time I met him.
At least Alex will be there to make it bearable.
"Isabelle," my father calls, gesturing me over to where he and Alex are standing.
"Come here. You see this entire section where the bar is currently positioned?
This is all critical when you're scouting locations.
You want to really think about sight lines, about how customers will move through the space, where the energy naturally flows. These details matter enormously."
I nod, walking over and trying to look interested. But my mind keeps drifting to Alex being here in Seattle, me being stuck in New York, and how miserable I'm going to feel separated like that.
I want to run back to Napa with Alex, back to our bubble away from the real world, back to the California sun and the vineyard paths and our cottages where we could just be together without my father's controlling, suffocating presence looming over everything.
But I smile and nod at whatever he's saying, all the while feeling like I'm being pulled in two different directions and about to be torn in half.
Doug and my father are standing outside the restaurant on the patio, both on their phones, gesturing emphatically while talking to the realtor's office to hammer out some final details about the building inspection timeline and closing costs.
Which means Alex and I are suddenly alone at the table, watching them through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"I'm going to say something crazy," Alex says quietly, glancing at me after checking to make sure my father is still occupied through the window.
"You always say crazy things, though you usually don't give me a heads-up beforehand," I say, sipping my wine. "The warning is new. Should I be concerned?"
"Well, I think you'll definitely want the warning on this one." He looks at me seriously. "I want to tell your father the truth. About us."
I actually gape at him, my wine glass freezing halfway to my mouth like I've been turned to stone mid-movement.
He smiles a bit, though he looks mildly concerned by my reaction. "You alright there? You've stopped blinking."
"I think I just had an aneurysm," I say dryly, setting my glass down carefully before I drop it. "Have you lost your mind completely?"
"I wouldn't do it if you aren't okay with it," he says gently.
"I'd never blindside you like that. But I want you to know that I think it's the right call. I think we can make him understand with a little time and the right conversation. It’s worse if he finds out any other way.
And if telling him means Seattle falls apart, then it falls apart. I'm okay with the consequences."
He squeezes my hand under the table and continues.
"It's feeling more and more uncomfortable to build a restaurant on a lie, especially with how serious this is for me.
Hiding a casual fling is one thing—that's nobody's business but ours.
But hiding how I actually feel about you is something else entirely, and I don't like it. "
I feel dizzy with the weight of it all, with what he's saying and what it means and all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong.
"I just…” I start, uncertain of what to even say. “You've wanted this restaurant since before you ever met me. And I saw how much you loved that building today. You're saying if it falls apart it falls apart, like it's nothing, but Alex, I am not going to be the reason your dream dies."
"It wouldn't die because of you," he says firmly, leaning closer "It would die because your father can't handle the idea of his adult daughter making her own choices about her own life. That's on him, not you."
"The end result is exactly the same," I say, frustration bleeding through.
"You lose Seattle. You lose this perfect opportunity.
And you lose it because you were involved with me, which means I'm the cause whether you want to frame it that way or not.
And I refuse to carry that weight, Alex. I won't do it."
"I can still make Seattle work," he says, and there's a quiet determination in his voice. "I have money saved, and I could get a loan for the rest. There are options without your father. It wouldn't be as easy, and it wouldn't be as big as what he's offering, but I could still do it."
I shake my head, feeling my throat tighten. "You said yourself that my father's backing was bigger than anything you could do on your own. That was the whole reason you finally decided to leave Harbor & Ash. Without him, it's a downgrade from what you actually want."
He's quiet for a moment, still holding my hand under the table, hidden from view, his fingers warm and steady against mine.
"I want to be really clear about how I feel about you," he says slowly. "The restaurant is something I've wanted for a long time, yeah. Though if I'm being completely honest, it's probably been more about ego and proving myself than I like to admit."
He pauses, the server passes our table with a tray of drinks for another booth, and we both wait until they're out of earshot, both of us automatically shifting slightly apart before resuming our conversation.
"You've become everything to me." His voice drops lower.
"And if keeping this secret risks dooming our possible future together, if it builds a foundation of lies that could collapse later, then I'd rather just deal with the fallout now and know where we stand.
I'd rather lose the restaurant and keep you than the other way around. "
I feel the warmth in that, the sincerity.
Part of me wants to sink into it, let myself believe it could work out that simply.
But it's tainted by the very real risk to him, to everything he's worked for, and I can't ignore that.
I can't let him sacrifice something this important and then watch him resent me for it later, even if he doesn't think he would.
I bite my lip, looking out through the windows at the Seattle city lights starting to twinkle as dusk settles over the water, at my father and Doug still gesturing animatedly on the patio, completely absorbed in their conversation.
"Alright," I say slowly, an idea forming as I speak, piecing itself together in real time. "I don't want to tell my father yet, and you do. So what if we compromise?"
He leans back slightly, studying my face with curiosity and maybe a hint of wariness. "I'm listening."
"You take the deal and build Seattle," I say, and it physically pains me to say it, like the words are cutting my throat on the way out.
"I go to New York as planned, open the restaurant there like we've been preparing for.
It's a long flight but it's manageable. We'd see each other when we can.
Weekends, days off, the gaps between major services.
We make it work. Lots of people manage long-distance relationships.
We can figure out a flight schedule that works. "
"Long distance," he repeats, looking thoughtful.
"For now," I say quickly, leaning forward slightly, warming to the idea as I articulate it.
"Not forever. I'm not saying forever. Maybe I get sick of my father’s place in New York.
Maybe you somehow decide you want to be in New York, open something there instead.
We figure out who moves where, or we find a third option somewhere in between, or something presents itself that we can't see from here because we're too close to the problem and too caught up in the immediate panic. "
"That's a lot of maybes and ifs," he says carefully. "It sounds like we're building two completely separate lives in two completely separate cities and hoping they somehow magically merge later. Not to mention, running these restaurants is going to mean eighty-hour weeks for both of us."
"I know it's not perfect," I say. "But I'm not ready for either of us to sacrifice our dreams, our careers, everything we've worked for. And I'm not ready to let you go either. This way we get both. It's not ideal, but it's something."
He nods slowly, processing. "And the compromise about telling your father?"
"We wait," I say, and the plan solidifies as I speak, gaining shape.
"We wait until the deal is completely done.
I know that's sneaky and manipulative, but Jean-Pierre is sneaky and manipulative all the damn time.
He can handle someone finally using his own tactics against him.
And it's not like he can't afford this investment.
It's barely a blip in his portfolio. He'll be fine beyond his wounded pride. "
Alex opens his mouth, probably to object, but I keep going before he can interrupt.
"And then I'll be established in New York too by that point.
He can't pull me from NYC, can't back out of your deal because it'll already be done and signed.
Then we tell him, and we show him how serious we are, that this isn't just some Napa fling.
That we're committed to making this work despite the distance. "
Alex looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then glances out at my father and Doug, who are both still facing away on the patio, pointing toward something in the distance while apparently still on their phone calls.
He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses it gently, and I exhale, the gesture both soothing me and lighting me up at the same time. He lowers my hand back down to the table, squeezing it once more before reluctantly pulling away.
"Alright," he says quietly. "We'll keep it secret, if that's what you want. That's a long time of sneaking around though—secret flights, hidden hotel rooms, lying about where we're going and who we're seeing. That's going to be exhausting."
"I know," I say, looking at him intently. "But this way we both get what we want professionally, and we keep each other. And I want both. I want you and I want my career, and I refuse to choose between them if there's any possible way to have both."
He smiles at me. "As you wish."
I smile back, feeling some of the tightness in my chest ease, the vise that's been squeezing my ribs since we landed in Seattle this morning loosening just slightly. "Good. I'm glad. And you're okay with long distance? Really okay with it?"
I need to hear him say it, need the reassurance that he's not just agreeing to make me happy.
Maybe in the beginning I thought this would be a Napa fling, an intense month that would end when the residency ended.
But there's no way now. I'm falling in love with him, rapidly and terrifyingly, and I can't imagine breaking up just because of distance.
He looks at me with that easy, warm smile that always makes me feel like everything's going to be fine, like he's never worried about anything in his life. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? I'm definitely down for long distance. We'll figure it out."
I tilt my head slightly, studying him, taking in the way he's looking at me like I'm the most important thing in the room. "You're really good at that, you know."
He leans back slightly, his expression amused. "Good at what?"
"Calming me down," I say. "I can get so worked up, so intense about things.
But you just… you never get mad or mean, you never spiral with me.
You always make me feel better about stressful things instead of worse.
My family all runs hot and weaponizes anxiety.
But you don't do that. I dunno. I really like that about you. I just… wanted you to know that."
His expression softens, something tender crossing his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I say quietly, holding his gaze.
He glances out the window toward the patio, then back at me. "I really wish I could kiss you right now, so know that I'm thinking about it."
"Well, add it to the raincheck list. Maybe you can sneak into my hotel room later tonight."
His eyebrows raise, amusement flickering across his face. "Scandalous, Isabelle. I wasn't sure you'd be up for sneaking around like that under your father's nose."
I shrug, taking a sip of my wine. "Well, if we're going to do long distance and lie to my father for the next year, I might as well start practicing now. Consider it a training exercise."
He laughs, and we both straighten slightly as my father and Doug start walking back toward the table, both looking pleased with themselves, their conversation clearly concluded successfully.
I glance out the window at the Seattle skyline, the lights twinkling against the darkening sky, the water reflecting the city glow.
Maybe Seattle isn't stealing him from me, isn't the enemy I've been treating it as in my head all day.
Maybe we really can make this work—him here building something that's entirely his, me in New York finally stepping out of my father's shadow, both of us building something we're proud of while staying connected, staying us.
It won't be easy, but nothing worth having ever is.
We have a plan. It's complicated and messy and requires more coordination than I want to think about right now, but it's a plan. And for the first time today, I feel like I can actually breathe.
My father slides back into his seat across from me, already launching into some story about the realtor and how impressed they were with his timeline for closing, and I nod along like I'm paying attention, making appropriate sounds of interest. But under the table, where no one can see, I press my foot against Alex's, just a small point of contact, a secret touch that says I'm here, we're in this together.
And when he presses back, steady and sure, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep the smile off my face.