42. Booth
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
booth
The calendar hanging on the noticeboard in the kitchen is a big slap in the face.
Every time a new ticket prints out, I’m forced to look at it.
I want to tear that calendar to fucking shreds.
Working together like a well-oiled machine, my chefs scrub down each surface and stock up, ready for a new day tomorrow.
Simon is filling up one of the stations to my left while I jot down what items need ordering tonight.
Since we fired Kyle , he’s really stepped up his game.
Which I didn’t think was possible.
“Hey,” I catch his attention.
“ You ever thought of being a head chef?”
He turns to me, surprised.
“ Here ?”
“Um, I guess, in general?”
His brows pull together as he thinks.
“ I mean, yeah… I love working here, but I suppose if the opportunity ever came for me to run my own kitchen, I’d be open to it. Why do you ask?”
Not wanting to rouse suspicions, I resume my task.
“ No reason, just curious.”
“Oh, right.” He studies me closely .
Dumb. Dumb . Dumb .
That was a stupid question to ask.
Ever since the call from Pedro at the Silver Goddess , my mind has been working overtime.
Aly doesn’t know, and the more time that passes, the less chance I’ll tell her.
At first, I was pissed, thinking she’d put him up to it after I confided in her.
According to Pedro , it was in fact Daniel , Aly’s dad, who passed my name and contact info to the executive chef.
Turns out, Pedro has been looking to open a seafood restaurant in Manhattan and, after hearing about my experience, wanted to chat.
Face-to-face.
In New York .
Next month.
He wants someone who has years of experience handling seafood to help curate the menu and to oversee the first few months after opening.
Me . He was interested in me.
Stunned speechless, it took me a few minutes to collect myself before I asked him for some time to think it over.
That was a week ago.
Obviously, I have to turn it down.
So why haven’t you?
It’s at my fingertips.
The untouchable dream I’d laid to rest long ago.
If I close my eyes, I can see it.
Full creative freedom.
Patrons who aren’t intimidated by fancy-sounding dishes.
In a city where people from all around the world could walk in and try my food.
Behind my eyelids, it’s a yes.
But when my eyes open to see the kitchen my dad helped install, it’s a no.
I make a promise to myself to call Pedro tomorrow.
After I send the team home, I head out front to find Johanna is the only front-of-house staff still here.
She’s tidying up the server station when there’s a knock on the window.
We both turn to find a couple standing out in the snow.
“Oh, Booth , will you get that? I’ve got my hands full.” She holds up the empty ketchup bottles.
“Got it.” I’m already walking over to unlock the door and greet the couple with a warm smile.
“ Evening folks, you okay?”
A light dusting of snow coats the sidewalk.
The streetlamp outside the restaurant flickers, so it’s hard to make out their faces.
The woman speaks first, her voice cheerful but tired.
“ Please tell us you’re still serving food?”
Their shoulders deflate at my apologetic expression.
“I’m sorry. We closed the kitchen an hour ago. Are you just passing through?”
“We’re staying in Jacob’s Bluff , but my husband suggested we try here.” She gestures to the man behind her.
“ Clearly he forgot to check the closing times.”
He chuckles.
“ I didn’t have my readers. It’s been a while since I’ve had Maine clam chowder, can you blame a guy?”
“The only place I can recommend that would be open at this time is two towns over.” I scratch my jaw, feeling bad.
“ Why don’t you come in from the cold while you make a decision?”
They murmur their thanks, stomping their feet before coming inside.
Johanna looks over at us curiously.
Under the restaurant’s lighting, I can make them out.
She has dark skin and cropped, straight brown hair, a similar shade to her eyes.
When I turn to her husband, an odd sense of déjà vu hits me.
He notes my curious expression and smiles timidly.
“Sorry, have we met…” My words trail off when he tugs his hat off.
Black hair. The color of coal.
Curling tightly around his ears.
Pale skin flushed pink from the cold .
A sharp chin and nose.
But it’s the eyes that hold me captive.
I’ve only met two people with eyes like them.
If someone asked me to guess his age, I could say with the utmost confidence he’s forty-six.
Forty -seven next month.
I know what he looks like as a baby, crying in his mother’s arms.
I laughed at his disgusted expression as he held a wriggling trout in his arms.
He doesn’t need to respond.
We haven’t met. But from the handful of photos Aly has shared, standing in front of me is Harvey Willis .