42. Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter 42
Risto
E ar-splitting construction noise jarred me as I navigated the hive of workers putting finishing touches on Boricua 2. We were less than two weeks away, and I longed for this next phase to begin.
Electricians on ladders installed wall sconces while contractors on scaffolding affixed sound proofing tiles to the ceiling. I wanted our cavernous space to welcome intimate conversation once filled with diners.
I rounded a bar area where glass shelving was being carefully fixed in place. The foreperson nodded to me as I passed through the archway to the work of art that was the kitchen. Having just remodeled at my home location in Easton, I supersized the same models here. I also ordered the additional equipment we needed to simultaneously cook the “paired” dishes I’d centered the menu around.
Then my eyes landed on Brock.
Once he returned my call and agreed to behave, we’d started a new chapter. I explained how his urging almost tanked the whole deal, and he blanched in shock. I could tell his apologies were insincere, so encouraged him to dig into the information I shared from Leslie. He admitted his rail-thin mandate might be overkill and eased up on me and a few of his other clients. Since then, I’d received six emails of hearty thanks from other chefs, alongside offers for unlimited free dining at their restaurants. I laughed it off at first, but Leslie insisted we collect.
With the restaurant opening and my favorite journalist planning her battle royale with Kaelen Reed, our leisurely dinners would have to wait. NewsOne launched a huge campaign, featuring Leslie and Kaelen sneering at each other. A bus rolled by me this morning on my walk to the Boricua 2 site, so I snapped a picture to text Leslie.
Looking good, I’d written.
Back atcha , she’d answered.
Eating normally had me feeling myself, and Jose gave me his thumbs-up when I returned home for a week to check in. Not once did I skip lunch or dinner. Though the few dishes he’d introduced from his family recipes made that impossible. Boricua was in excellent hands with Jose and Freddie, but I missed them terribly. All the recent staff hires in Manhattan reminded me about my second job: forging close working relationships with my new team. If I was lucky, they’d eventually turn into friends as Freddie and Jose had.
Brock’s shoes clacked on the concrete floor as he approached.
“They just posted a billboard of your wife smack opposite my apartment window. Is that your doing?” he joked. Though he knew Leslie and I weren’t married, I’d stopped correcting him.
I loved the sound of it.
My wife.
I’d dreamed about it for years. But with everything going on, adding wedding chaos to the mix was out of the question right now. Leslie and I had begun talking about our unified future as if it were given. We were a firm “us” and made choices together. Such as planning my move to Manhattan. I’d keep my house, but with the new restaurant location, a permanent relocation was only logical. Right now, it was undeniable that the career action for both of us was in New York.
Brock gestured to the photographer he’d hired to capture candid construction shots. My agent was also hard at work building buzz for the restaurant and pitching me to culinary shows as a guest panelist.
“Okay, we’re ready,” he called over. “Stand by those blueprints and hold them up like you’re looking at them.”
I did as he asked while the photographer snapped away. Then I unboxed pots and reviewed the long-since decided paint samples. Ruben would die laughing when he saw these. I left most of the interior design to him and the experts once we approved the digital mock-ups. Provided the restaurant looked like their proposal, I was good.
“Hello, hello!” Ruben shouted over the din of sawing, drilling, and nail guns as he entered the kitchen with his partner.
Steve swept the room with his eyes. “It’s coming together. Won’t be long now.”
“We’ll be ready for the launch party. No worries.” I answered Steve’s unspoken question. The pace of construction had left us behind schedule until a spike in the number of workers over the last few days got work back on track.
“Perfect. We have top food industry influencers coming,” Steve said. “We’ve also invited some politicos and local celebrities. The permit came through for the red carpet outside, and Brock’s client list will ensure we get lots of media coverage.”
Ruben moved close to whisper. “Maybe Brock’s not all bad.”
“Yeah, he’s growing on me too.”
“Good. Because we’re going to have you doing a lot of press for this opening. We’ll funnel all the requests through him.”
“As long as none conflict with my appearance on Chopped . Brock landed me a guest judge gig, and I’m fanboying big-time over that one.”
Ruben squeezed my shoulder. “Get used to it. All this? You deserve it, and more. Be right back.”
Ruben walked across the kitchen to Steve, and the pair left in search of the general contractor.
I shook my head, imagining young me, an orphan with dreams. What would he think of my life now? Grown, with two restaurants, a red-carpet event, and a woman I loved. It was more than I had a right to dream of. But here I was.
A flashbulb startled me back to the present.
“That’ll be a good one,” the photographer said. “You were lost in thought.”
“Probably dreaming of that woman of his. Do you need me to get a stage pass for Leslie’s spot on The Kaelen Reed Show ?” Brock asked.
“Thanks, no. Leslie has it handled. I think I’m more nervous than she is.”
Leslie had been relentlessly preparing, digging deep into Reed’s past. That approach surprised me. I couldn’t tell if it was a Sun Tzu tactic to know thy enemy, or whether she planned to take this debate in a different direction.
With the face-off scheduled for tomorrow, I’d finally find out.