Chapter Twenty-Nine
The end of September settled over the restaurant with a strange, unexpected calm. After the storm of revelations the previous week, things ran a little more smoothly, but Ben was always conscious of inquiring gazes, of silences when he went into the kitchen to speak to Raj.
They’re waiting for the axe to fall .
Willow stuck her head around the office door. She glanced at the coffee pot before addressing him. “I thought you might have run out. There’s some freshly brewed in the kitchen if you’re interested.” Then she withdrew before he could respond.
The feeling that everyone was walking on eggshells was a reminder all was not right.
Ben got up and went in search of coffee.
It was still early, and the restaurant smelled faintly of fresh herbs.
He stood at the threshold to the kitchen, letting the quiet of the early morning wash over him, and allowed himself to breathe.
No emails, no orders, no chaos, only the faint hum of the fridge and the clatter of pans as the staff prepped for the day .
He poured himself a mug and leaned against the counter, drinking it all in.
Lexie moved between stations with an ease that had him momentarily distracted. She was humming under her breath, arranging knives and chopping boards, her usual sharp fire replaced by focus and diligence. She didn’t glance once in his direction, however.
Ollie carried a box of wine bottles through to the bar. He smiled when his gaze met Ben’s, a small, sheepish acknowledgment that made Ben’s chest tighten. He’d forgotten that smile.
Willow popped her head around the corner of the prep station, holding a small stack of papers. “Menu ideas for October,” she said in a low voice, placing them on the counter. “Thought you might want to take a look before service.”
Ben took the papers without a word, letting his gaze sweep over her, Lexie, Ollie, Raj, and Mina, noting the subtle movements, the quiet care, the unspoken effort to make this place work, even after what had happened.
They aren’t perfect. They’d made a mistake, a big one. But the thoughtfulness, the drive, the small moments of consideration? Those were real.
He thought of Franco, gone for four weeks, and his chest constricted. Franco’s emails continued to be careful, polite, distant, impersonal. Nothing that bridged the gap between them. Nothing that let Ben feel he was part of Franco’s days.
God, I miss him.
The thought of Franco returning to a restaurant that had been sold, or worse, left in shambles because Ben hadn’t trusted his team?
It made his chest ache in a way that words couldn’t reach.
He couldn’t let that happen, not now. Not when the bonds he’d built with the staff were already fragile but real.
He closed his eyes, letting the steam from the coffee curl into his face.
It wasn’t only about the restaurant, it was about the people who had become his family here.
It was about what he’d built with Franco.
He couldn’t undo months of trust, effort, and love—with either of them—by walking away in anger or hurt.
A faint sound brought him back. Raj brought a tray of ingredients to the island, setting them down gently. “Figured you might want to test the new risotto before service,” he said, his deep voice low, deferential.
Ben smiled despite himself. He lifted his mug in a small, silent toast. “Thanks,” he said, his voice a little rough.
Lexie glanced up, catching the motion, and nodded once.
Willow gave a small, encouraging smile. It wasn’t a grand gesture.
No one got on their knees or shouted apologies.
But it was real enough to remind him why he’d bought this restaurant in the first place, why he’d risked so much, why he had let people in when he normally kept walls higher than the city skyline.
Ben set the mug down and ran a hand over his face. The hurt hadn’t disappeared, and it probably never would completely, but he could see something better: the beginnings of trust being rebuilt, step by cautious step.
And then there was Franco. Ben could picture him walking through the door any day now, tired from several long flights, full of stories about Florence and kitchens and the Arno at sunset.
Ben wanted that moment to happen with the place intact, with a team he could rely on, with a life he hadn’t abandoned.
He exhaled slowly, the decision settling over him like the warm morning sunlight through the front window. “All right,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s do this. Step by step.”
Raj glanced up, his gaze inquiring. “Do what?”
Ben looked around the kitchen, meeting each pair of eyes with a quiet intensity. “Rebuilding. Earning back the trust that was broken. Together.”
Lexie’s mouth fell open, Ollie’s smile widened, and Willow’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. Even Mina, quiet as ever, let out a small breath, a shimmer of hope in her eyes .
Ben lifted the mug once more, this time toward them. “It won’t be easy,” he said, in a low but firm voice. “But I believe it can be done. And as long as I’m here, I want this place to be ours. All of ours. And when Franco comes back…” He swallowed. “I want him to find a home, not a battlefield.”
The staff murmured their agreement, a quiet chorus, but Ben didn’t need words. Ollie exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath for hours, Willow blinked away tears, and Lexie’s usual steel softened into something vulnerable. Raj’s eyes were filled with hope.
Ben could hold onto that hope. He could trust again.
And maybe I can keep the future I envisaged—both with this restaurant and with Franco—intact.
He wanted Franco in this future. He didn’t know if that was possible, didn’t dare assume, but God, he wanted it. For now, though, he’d taken the first step. The restaurant wasn’t gone, and neither was he.
There’s hope for all of it. For all of us.
Ben glanced up from his laptop at the sound of laughter from the kitchen.
I’ve missed that this past week.
Come to think of it, the laughter had been missing ever since Franco’s departure.
He went back to his task of tapping through invoices. The office door creaked open, and Raj slipped inside, shutting it behind him.
Ben frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not a thing. It’s just….” Raj straightened. “Can I say something personal?”
Ben blinked, putting his pen down. “That sounds ominous. Go on.”
Raj squared his broad shoulders. “You need a holiday. ”
Ben barked out a laugh. “I see. Do I look that much in need of one?”
“Yes.” Raj didn’t miss a beat.
Another blink. “I had no idea. To be honest, a holiday is the last thing on my mind.” The arrival of spring had brought with it more customers.
The restaurant had even got a mention in the local press, a very favourable review that had resulted in an influx of new faces Ben hoped would become regulars.
“I’m not saying you should take months off,” Raj remonstrated.
Ben gave a dry smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I was beginning to think you wanted to get rid of me.” It had been only a couple of days since his announcement, but life at the restaurant had settled into a comfortable rhythm.
The smiles were back, for one thing.
“A week would do it,” Raj continued. “Enough to clear your head.” He paused, then added casually, “I hear Italy’s nice this time of year. Florence, specifically.”
Ben’s mouth went dry. He tried to scoff but the sound came out choked. “Florence. Right.” He leaned back in his chair, forcing a smile. “Let me guess who put you up to this.”
“No one.” Raj stepped forward, his expression earnest. “This is all on me. Look, Ben… you deserve a break. And you also deserve to know a few things.”
“Such as?”
Raj shifted from one foot to the other, and Ben stared at him. He’d hadn’t known the man to have an awkward bone in him since the day they’d met.
“I know a little about how Franco feels—about you.”
Ben’s heartbeat raced. “Oh?”
Raj huffed. “He wasn’t as subtle as he thought. And since he’s been gone, he’s been asking about you. A lot. He asks about the restaurant too.” He held his hands up. “I didn’t say a word about recent… events. He doesn’t need to know.”
Ben agreed. Franco needed to focus .
“Go to Florence, Ben.” Raj’s voice was firm. “For both your sakes.”
His chest ached. He looked down at his desk, trying to steady the mess of hope and fear knotting inside him.
Raj’s tone softened. “It’s your decision. But if you want to go… I’ve got the restaurant covered. I did it before, remember? Nobody burned the place down.” A rare smile tugged at his lips.
Before Ben could respond, there was a knock at the door. Ollie poked his head in, then slipped inside without waiting for permission.
“I’ll keep it quick,” Ollie said, glancing between them.
“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Raj was through the door in a heartbeat.
Ollie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you remember what I told you a while back? When we talked about my drinking?”
Ben frowned. “You said a lot of things that night.”
“I said I drink to stop thinking about what I could’ve done differently.
About what I’ll never be able to fix.” Ollie speared him with an intense gaze.
“Right. Well, you’ve got the chance to fix things.
Whatever’s eating you up? You don’t have to sit here and wonder.
Because there’s a man in Florence who loves you.
And if you don’t at least try, you’ll regret it. ”
The words hit Ben like a blow and a balm all at once. He opened his mouth, but Ollie was already halfway out the door. Ben got up to follow him, his head in a spin, but when he opened the door, he collided with Willow.
Ben groaned, throwing his hands up. “If you’re here to tell me to get my arse to Florence, don’t bother. I’ve already had the memo. Twice. They beat you to it.” He returned to his desk, then snapped his laptop open, his fingers already flying over the keys.
Willow blinked. “What are you doing?”
“Looking up flights,” Ben muttered. “Adelaide to Florence.”
Her face lit up like Christmas morning. “There’s one at 9:40 p.m. Thursday.
Four-hour layover in Doha. Then Heathrow Friday morning, another four-hour layover.
You’ll land in Florence at 10:15 p.m.” Ben gaped at her, and she gave him a sheepish grin.
“I did a little research. Just in case. And can I remind you Franco doesn’t cook on the weekends? ”
Then she was gone.
Ben’s throat tightened. For a moment, he could almost see it: stepping off the plane, walking through the streets of Florence, finding Franco’s apartment… The risk was terrifying, but the idea of not trying, of doing nothing , was worse.
He spent ten minutes searching travel options, only to realise Willow had found him the perfect flight. He stared at the details glowing on his laptop screen. Thursday, 9:40 p.m. Doha. London. Florence. The cursor blinked on the “Confirm Purchase” button, mocking him with its simplicity.
It should have been easy. A click. A transaction. A string of numbers on his credit card bill. But his hand hovered over the pad, frozen.
What if Franco doesn’t want me there? What if I show up, my heart in my hands, only to be turned away? What if I ruin everything? What if—
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing air into his lungs. The what-ifs had ruled his life for too long. He’d run from them, buried himself in this restaurant, and built walls so high even he couldn’t see over them. And still, Franco had slipped past them, disarmed him…
Loved him.
Ben’s hand trembled as he clicked. The screen flickered. A confirmation number appeared.
Flight booked.
He sat back hard in his chair, his heart pounding. Relief, terror, excitement, dread—all of it surged at once, leaving him dizzy. He ran a hand down his face, then let out a laugh that was closer to a sob. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to the empty office. “I’m actually doing this.”
When he finally emerged into the restaurant, he glanced into the room. Only two of the tables were still occupied, the lunchtime rush all but over.
The staff were gathered near the pass, their voices dropping the moment they saw him.
Ben cleared his throat. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Ollie leaned forward as if this was the moment he’d been waiting for all day. Lexie crossed her arms, her eyes sharp but hopeful. Willow bounced on her heels, barely containing her grin. Mina and Raj stood side by side, quiet but intent.
“I booked a flight,” Ben said, the words falling heavy into the silence. “I’m going to Florence in forty-eight hours.”
The small space erupted.
Lexie let out a loud whoop and threw her arms in the air. “Finally! About bloody time.”
Ollie punched the air, grinning like a fool. “Yes, boss! Go get him.”
Willow actually clapped, bouncing like a kid. Mina smiled so wide it looked as if her face might split. Even Raj’s usual calm features cracked into a grin.
Ben held up his hands. “All right, all right, calm down before you scare the customers.” But he couldn’t hold back his smile. Their joy was contagious, enough to eclipse the terror gnawing at his stomach.
Then his smile faltered. “There’s one condition. None of you—and I mean none of you—are to tell Franco I’m coming. Not a word. Not a text, not a whisper. I want… I need to do this on my own terms.”
The buzz of laughter and cheers dimmed into thoughtful silence.
Willow bit her lip. “But don’t you want him to know? To be ready?”
Ben shook his head firmly. “No. If this is going to work, if it’s real… it has to be raw. Unstaged. No warnings, no planning, just me, showing up. If he wants me, he’ll know it’s because I wanted him enough to be there, not because anyone tipped him off. ”
They exchanged glances, a silent chorus of questions left unsaid. But then Lexie gave a short nod. “Fair enough. Your call.”
“Damn right, his call,” Ollie agreed. “Don’t worry, boss. We’ll keep our mouths shut. Scouts’ honour.”
“Somehow that doesn’t reassure me,” Ben muttered, but his chest loosened a little at their agreement.
For the first time in weeks, this was forward motion—scary, exhilarating, unstoppable. In forty-eight hours, he’d be on a plane. And in less than three days, he’d be standing in Florence.
In front of Franco.