Chapter 31
The restaurant looks nothing like it did the first time I stood in the empty space, dust in the air and a lease agreement burning a hole in my pocket.
Now it’s finished. Alive in a way that doesn’t feel real.
Soft lighting glows against dark wood and brushed metal, catching on the edges of glassware and the clean lines of the tables spaced carefully across the dining room.
Every detail, down to the specific shade of cream for the cloth napkins, has been argued over and agreed upon. Every decision intentional.
It’s exactly what Julian and I pictured.
And somehow, not what I’m focused on at all.
My phone sits heavy in my hand, screen dark, thumb brushing over it every few seconds like that might magically make a message appear.
But no amount of manifestation seems to be working.
“It’s barely five o’clock.” Julian’s voice cuts through the quiet as he steps up beside me, adjusting the cuff of his jacket like this is just another night of service instead of the biggest opening of our careers.
“And you know that girl has the propensity for being late.”
I glance at him, then back at the door.
“She didn’t say she was coming.”
He huffs out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “And in your hand-delivered invitation, did you ask her to RSVP?”
A crease furrows my brow, but I don’t answer his question, because no, I didn’t ask her to RSVP. That’s a little desperate, isn’t it?
“Thought so. You can’t send an open invitation like that with no context and expect a response.”
“I expected one,” I grumble.
The early invitation had felt like the right move at the time. Taylor’s invite was custom and should have her arriving a full hour before anyone else. It ensures there will be enough time for a conversation we’ve been dancing around for months.
Enough time to say what I haven’t said.
Assuming, that is, she actually shows up.
I drag a hand over my jaw, exhaling a slow, measured breath as I glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar.
Ten minutes.
She’s ten minutes late.
Or she’s not coming—a possibility I hadn’t given much thought to until now. I’ve been nervous about seeing her after all this time, not concerned she wouldn’t show up.
For a second, I consider what that would mean. What it would feel like to walk through this entire night, shaking hands and smiling for investors and critics and guests, knowing the person I want here the most couldn’t bring herself to attend.
My grip tightens around my phone.
“That’s not happening,” I say under my breath, like I can demand it to be true.
Julian watches me for a second, then claps a hand against my shoulder. “Relax. Worst case, you open a wildly successful restaurant without her being here tonight. You’ll survive.”
I shoot him a look.
He shrugs. “Best case… she walks through that door, and you stop looking like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
My gaze drifts back to the entrance.
The glass windows reflect the interior of the restaurant back at me. All I can focus on is how empty the space is.
I check my phone again.
Still nothing.
“Jesus,” I mutter, shoving it into my pocket.
Fine, she isn’t coming. I should be focused on tonight’s opening anyway. On the fact that everything I’ve worked for is finally here, tangible and within reach.
Instead, every thought loops back to one thing.
Is she coming?
The handle on the door shifts; my head snaps up so fast my neck cracks with the motion. Adrenaline spikes in my system as I will time to speed up, to show me who is behind the door.
She’s here.
Taylor stands just inside the doorway, one hand still resting lightly against the door as it swings closed behind her. The city lights catch on the smooth fabric of her dress—black, simple, elegant in a way that startles me.
Her hair is pulled up, soft and neat, exposing the line of her neck. A few loose strands frame her face, but it’s controlled. All her reckless curls smoothed straight into a smooth chignon.
No one looking at her would guess the kind of chaos she carries just under the surface.
The kind I know by heart.
My chest tightens.
“She came,” Julian murmurs beside me, like I hadn’t already noticed. He gives me a reassuring smile before slipping through the swinging doors to the back of the house.
I don’t answer or watch him go, because I’m already moving.
The distance between us closes faster than I expect, my steps steady, though my chest is hammering out its own erratic beat.
She watches me carefully as I approach, and for a second, there’s something unguarded in her expression before it immediately smooths over.
“Hey,” she says softly.
Her smoky, charcoal-lined eyes survey the room, taking in every detail. She’s looking everywhere but my face. If I didn’t already know her better, I’d wonder if she was just shy.
“Hey.”
I stop just short of reaching her.
And then there’s that moment.
The one where neither of us is quite sure what to do.
Six months ago, this wouldn’t have been a question. I’d wrap her in a tight embrace and kiss those glossy lips until they’re swollen and bright pink.
Now, I step forward first, pulling her into a hug before I can overthink it. One of us has to break the tension. I don’t mind being the one to cross the line.
She folds into me easily, arms wrapping around my back, but there’s a hesitation in it. A slight delay that wasn’t there before.
I notice everything as she’s pressed against me.
The smooth fabric of her dress under my hands.
The familiar scent of her—something citrusy, something sweet that hits me all at once like muscle memory. I breathe her in before I can stop myself.
“Hi,” she murmurs against my chest.
“You came.”
We don’t let go right away, and I wonder if she’s being sucked back through time and space to every shared moment back in LA like I am.
I step back just enough to look at her, taking her in properly this time.
“You look…” I trail off, shaking my head like I can physically disrupt the million different thoughts running through my head. “Different.”
“Good different or bad different?” Her lips curve into a small smile.
“Good,” I say immediately, eyes wide, afraid I might have offended her. “Just… different.”
She huffs out a quiet laugh. “I’ll take it.”
A beat passes between us, both of us just taking the other in. I want to kiss her so bad it hurts. To take her in my arms and erase all the distance that’s grown between us.
The thought hits hard and fast, instinctive in a way that makes my fingers twitch at my sides. But I don’t move toward her, because I don’t know if I can. I don’t know where we stand. I don’t know if she wants me to.
“Shall we?”
Her brows lift, glancing around the otherwise empty room. “Where’s everyone else?”
I clear my throat, not wanting to explain the invitation I slid into her door had an earlier time printed on it than everyone else. “I wanted to show you around before everyone gets here.”
“Okay.” She falls into step beside me, and for a second, it feels almost normal. Almost.
We start in the dining room.
It’s the easiest place to begin. Neutral ground in a way we desperately need right now. Something I can talk about without overthinking every word because it’s just furniture and aesthetics.
“This is the main dining floor,” I say, gesturing around us.
“Seating’s a mix of tables and booths. We kept it open so it doesn’t feel cramped, even when it’s full.
We also have a private dining space upstairs we’ll eventually use for hosting small events, but right now it’s being used as a makeshift training room. ”
She turns slowly, taking everything in.
“It’s beautiful,” she admits, and there’s no hesitation in it.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Something in my chest loosens at her tone. It’s soft and dreamy in a way that I’ve come to associate only with Taylor.
I nod once, then lead her toward the back. “Kitchen’s this way.”
We move through the space together, close but not touching. There are moments where our arms brush, small accidental contact that lingers just a second too long before we both shift away.
The silence between us sits just shy of uncomfortable.
There’s too much simmering underneath it.
I push through the swinging doors into the main kitchen, already alive with last minute prep before the first official dinner service of Northern Flame.
“This is where the magic happens,” I say lightly.
Her eyes light up immediately, scanning the room with interest. The chefs and line cooks don’t acknowledge us, completely absorbed in their task at hand.
Exactly as they should be.
Distractions equal mistakes and mistakes have consequences, especially for new concepts.
“Okay, this is incredible,” she says eyes sparking to life, stepping further in. “Look at this setup.”
I watch her instead of the kitchen.
How she moves through the space, carefully staying out of the way, curiosity pulling her forward. My attention hyper-focuses on the trail of her fingers over the counter as she looks around.
Having her in the space I built is almost as surreal as owning my own restaurant. And, while this is the first time, if I have it my way, it won’t be the last.
I look away before I get too caught up in the thought.
“There’s more,” I say, nodding toward the back hallway.
She follows without question. We walk in silence for a few seconds before I stop in front of a closed door at the back of the kitchen.
“This is the last part.”
My heart starts beating wildly in my chest, hands going clammy with nerves. This is the moment I’ve been working toward these past few months.
“Oooh, mysterious!” She tilts her head, teasing.
“Something like that.”
I push the door open, stepping inside and flipping the light on.
“This space is separate for a reason,” I start, leaning casually against the counter as she steps in behind me. “Savory kitchens are brutal on pastry. Too many smells, too much heat. It messes with everything.”