Chapter Twenty-Eight
As soon as he’d walked in that morning, Ben had told Willow there would be a meeting before service, and since then the restaurant had buzzed with an energy that felt off-kilter, like a violin string tuned too tight.
Lexie stomped around, muttering curses under her breath.
Ollie pretended to polish glasses but kept shooting anxious glances toward Raj.
Willow practically vibrated with nervous energy, twisting a napkin into knots.
When Ben finally stepped out of the office, the chatter stilled in a heartbeat. His posture was rigid, as if every muscle in his body was braced for impact. Keeping his expression neutral took every ounce of effort he possessed. He waited until everyone was seated before clearing his throat.
Lexie crossed her arms. “For God’s sake, Ben, you look like you’re about to read out someone’s last rites.”
Ben’s mouth twitched. You have no idea. Leading in gently was obviously not an option.
“I’ve decided to sell the restaurant.”
The words dropped like a rock into deep water, and silence rippled out, swallowing the room. Several mouths fell open, facial muscles slackened, and everyone froze.
“What the actual fuck ?” Lexie exploded. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”
Raj’s brows knitted together, his usually calm face contorted with unease.
Mina let out a small, strangled sound and covered her mouth, her wide eyes shining. “Ben… what? Why?”
Ben drew in a slow breath, steadying himself. “I bought this place because I needed a fresh start. Because I thought I could make something here. But somewhere along the line, I lost sight of what that meant. And I… I think I made a mistake. I don’t belong here.”
“You mean you don’t belong with us ,” Lexie shot back, her voice sharp enough to make him flinch. She narrowed her gaze, her body stiff. “This is because Franco went off to Florence, isn’t it? He’s gone, so now we’re not enough for you. Is that it?”
Ben’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t about Franco,” he said evenly. “This is about what’s best for me—and for the restaurant.”
“Bullshit,” Lexie spat. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for us like you’re crunching numbers on a spreadsheet. We’re not data points. We’re not disposable. We’re—”
“A family,” Mina whispered, her voice cracking.
The word tore through Ben, but he forced himself to stand straighter. His chest felt too tight, his ribs aching with the effort to keep breathing. “No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “That’s the problem. Because families don’t play games with each other.”
Confusion flickered across a few faces. Ollie stilled, the glass of water in his hand slipping slightly. Willow’s eyes widened, panic flashing in them.
“I know about Operation Sunshine,” Ben said quietly, but his words carried through the room like thunder. “Or should I call it what it was to begin with? Operation Distracto?”
Silence fell again, heavier than before. Lexie’s mouth dropped open. Ollie’s knuckles whitened around the glass. Willow’s lips parted, her face paling.
Raj was like a statue.
“I’m sure you thought it was clever,” Ben continued, his voice low and controlled. “Get Franco to… occupy me. To stop me being so difficult, make me easier to deal with. A joke, right? A bit of fun. But it wasn’t a joke to me. It was my life. My trust.” He swallowed. “My heart.”
Willow sucked in a sharp breath, as though he’d struck her.
“The people I thought I could rely on,” Ben went on, his voice catching despite his best efforts, “the ones I believed were on my side, turned me into an experiment, into something to be managed.” His throat tightened.
“I thought you respected me. Hell, I thought you liked me. But clearly, I was just a problem to be solved.”
“Ben…” Lexie’s voice was softer now, her face flushed, her chin quivering.
He shook his head, cutting her off. “I’m not saying this because I want apologies or even excuses.
I’m saying this because it made me realise I can’t stay, not when the foundation is already cracked.
” He scanned their faces. “Not when the people I trusted most were willing to treat me like a punchline.”
Mina pressed her hand against her chest. “Ben, I… I didn’t know. I swear I had no idea.”
“I believe you,” Ben said quietly. He moved his gaze to the others, lingering on Willow, Lexie, Raj.
.. “But the rest of you? You knew. You probably laughed about it. I don’t know, maybe you didn’t mean it to go this far.
Maybe you thought it was harmless. But that doesn’t alter the fact that you still did it. ”
Lexie lowered her arms, her shoulders sagging. “We didn’t think,” she admitted, her face tightening.
“I know,” Ben said, his voice rough. “But knowing doesn’t erase the hurt.
It doesn’t change what I felt when I realised I’d been made into a game.
” He drew in a long breath. “That’s why I’m selling.
Not because I don’t care, or because I don’t love what we built, but because I can’t keep standing in a place where my trust was so easily broken.
Where what I thought was loyalty was in fact a joke. ”
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, until Ollie finally set down the glass he’d been gripping like a lifeline. “It seemed harmless,” he said at last, his cheeks burning, his breath hitching. “A bit of fun. I never thought it would hurt you like this.”
Willow’s eyes shimmered. “Ben, I’m so sorry. We thought… we thought we were helping. We thought we were making things lighter for you. We never meant to—”
“Intentions don’t matter,” Ben said, not unkindly but with finality. “Actions do. And those actions made me realise I can’t do this anymore. Not like this.”
He looked around one last time, at the stunned, guilty faces of the people who had once felt like family. His chest tightened, but he held on firmly to his resolve. “So, yes, the sale is happening. Hopefully soon. I need to protect what’s left of myself, even if it kills me to walk away.”
Silence closed in again, broken only by Lexie sinking into a chair, rubbing her temples. “We… we really messed up, didn’t we?”
Willow closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Ben stood in the middle of it all, consumed by the hollowness of victory. He’d spoken his truth, but it didn’t feel like relief.
It felt like loss.
Ben closed the office door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, his forehead resting on the wood, trying to breathe past the ache in his chest. The murmurs of the staff outside were muffled but insistent, like the low thrum of a storm he couldn’t shut out.
He sat heavily at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight.
The laptop screen glowed with the documents he’d pulled up: valuation reports, lists of potential buyers, emails he’d drafted and redrafted but never sent, numbers, contracts, options, exit strategies, all the things that used to ground him.
Today they blurred together.
His eyes skimmed rows of figures, but nothing stuck.
His hands hovered over the keyboard, useless.
Every time he tried to think of the restaurant’s worth, of what he could walk away with, Franco’s face intruded.
Franco’s laugh, low and warm. Franco in his kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, his eyes bright with mischief.
Franco’s body pressed against his on that last night, when he’d let Ben see him fully, unguarded, open, raw.
Ben rubbed at his temples, frustration burning at the edges of exhaustion.
Why am I doing this?
Because you can’t stay where trust has been so easily broken. Because you need to protect yourself. Because it’s the right choice.
Under that neat list of reasons, something else gnawed.
What happens if Franco comes back?
He’d been so sure Franco wouldn’t. Three months in Florence would be the beginning of something new for him, a chance to step into a life beyond Ben.
But what if he did return? What if he walked back into the restaurant, eager, expectant…
only to find Ben gone? Would Franco see it as abandonment?
Proof that what they’d shared had been as fragile as a soufflé that collapsed the second the oven door opened?
Ben swallowed hard, staring at the untouched documents on his screen. He told himself he’d made peace with the possibility of never seeing Franco again, that it was better not to hope. But the truth pressed in, undeniable: he wanted Franco to come back. He wanted the chance they hadn’t taken.
That made the decision to sell feel like betrayal, not just of himself, or the staff, but of Franco too.
Hours slipped by, measured only by the changing light outside the office window.
He didn’t move. His stomach grumbled but he ignored it.
He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t summon the will to do anything but sit there, staring at nothing, caught in a loop of regret and longing and stubborn self-preservation.
When a knock came at the door, he almost didn’t answer. His voice was rough when he managed a gruff, “Yeah?”
The door cracked open, and Willow’s face appeared, pale and hesitant. She lingered there, her eyes uncertain. “It’s late,” she said quietly. “We finished up an hour ago. And you haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m fine,” Ben muttered.
She stepped in, holding her hands together in front of her as though she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Ben… we need to talk. All of us. Please. Just… come out for a bit.”
He met her gaze, and for the briefest moment he saw her not as part of “the staff” who had betrayed him, but as Willow, the woman who had fussed over his meals, who had laughed too loud at his terrible jokes, who had stood beside him through the chaos of running this place.
His chest tightened. He didn’t want to go out there, to hear their excuses, their apologies, their guilt. But he also knew hiding out in this office forever wasn’t an option.
He pushed the laptop closed with a long, weary exhale. “Fine.” His voice sounded flat, but Willow gave the smallest nod of relief.
As he rose from the chair, the thought struck him again like a blow.
Franco should be here. He’d know what to say, how to make this easier. He’d know how to reach me.
But Franco wasn’t here. And Ben had no idea if he ever would be.
Ben stood behind the counter, his arms folded tight across his chest, his shoulders hunched. The kitchen felt too small, the air thick with nerves as the staff crowded in, everyone shifting from foot to foot .
Lexie was the first to speak, and for once her fire was nowhere to be found.
“Ben… we’ve been talking.” Her voice was quiet, hesitant.
“We screwed up. Operation Sunshine… It was supposed to be harmless, a stupid way to distract you, to lighten things up. But we crossed a line. You didn’t deserve that. ”
Ben’s jaw tightened. The words he’d been swallowing since the day before burned to get out. “You treated me like a… like a joke.”
“I know.” Ollie stepped forward, his cheeks flushed, his usual charm stripped away. “And I’m sorry. All of us are. We thought we were helping, but we weren’t thinking about how it would feel for you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed sharply. “About what it would do to you.”
Willow wrung her hands, her eyes glistening. “You’ve always cared about us, Ben. You made this place a family, and we almost ruined it. We don’t want to lose that. We don’t want to lose you . Please…” She gave him a beseeching glance. “Let us try to make it right.”
Ben let out a long breath, his throat tight. “It hurt,” he admitted. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “Not because of Franco, but because I trusted all of you. I trusted this place. And when I found out… it felt as if that trust didn’t matter.”
A heavy silence settled.
Lexie nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. “We get it. And we want to earn it back, step by step, however long it takes.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Whatever you need from us to make this work.”
Ben looked at them, regret written plain across their faces, and for the first time since he’d overheard Willow and Lexie, he let himself believe they meant it. The hurt was still there, sharp and real.
Too sharp. Too real to be ignored.
“I need to think about this,” he said at last.
He registered their disappointment, but he wasn’t about to roll over so quickly, not when he could still feel the sting of that overheard conversation .
“That’s fair,” Raj said, his tone flat.
“Yeah,” Lexie murmured.
“Take as much time as you need,” Willow offered.
“But in the meantime, we’ll keep our fingers crossed,” Ollie added.
Ben had no idea how much time it would take to erase the hurt, but he meant what he said.
He would think about it.