39. Emerson
Emerson
“Hot damn!” Beau hollers, slapping me on the back while the rest of the pit crew continues to congratulate me. “Emerson Lane’s back! Congrats, kid, on making it through the qualifiers. You’ve put in the hard work, and it paid off. Now, get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
As I walk down the tunnel toward the locker rooms, eager to text Hen, someone shoves against my shoulder. It throws me off balance, and I have to press my palm against the wall to right myself. When I look to my side, I’m met with an all too familiar face.
Axel Graves.
He steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Out of my way, Axel. I don’t have time for this,” I huff.
Instead of moving, he folds his arms across his chest and snarls.
“Fine. I’ll move.” I sneer, shifting around him. As I pass, he grabs the collar of my race suit, holding me in place.
“Tomorrow, you stay in your lane. Pull one more stunt like our last race and I will do everything in my power to end your racing career.” A smug grin forms on his face as he releases me and shoves his way past me.
As soon as I get into the locker room, I send a text to Henley. My phone lights up almost immediately with a congratulations and a promise that she’d call soon. By the time I walk through my hotel room door, my phone is ringing in my palm.
“I’m so happy for you!” Her voice squeaks through the phone a little higher-pitched than usual.
“I can’t believe I get to see you race for the first time ever.
I mean in person—obviously in person. Even though I was mad at you those years we didn’t speak, I may have pulled them up on the computer every once and a while. You know—”
“Hen?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you nervous?”
“Yesss.”
When I hear her little whimper chime through, my chuckle vibrates against the phone, and I try to collect myself so that I can work on calming her down. Henley always rambles when she’s nervous.
“Okay, deep breaths. Walk me through everything. From the appetizers through the desserts. Wine pairings. Everything. And if you need to do it again, we will.”
By the end, she’s breathing easier. Before we hang up, I make her promise to call me right after her interview.
“Have fun at dinner. I think I’ll turn in early tonight as well. My flight leaves early tomorrow, and I have a feeling that after I cook tonight, I’ll be exhausted both mentally and physically.”
“When will they tell you?”
“Since I’m the last chef they’re giving a trial to, they said I’ll have my answer tomorrow. I told them I’ll be flying out early to see you, so hopefully that means they tell me before I get on the plane. Or else it’ll be a long two hours alone with my thoughts.”
I laugh. “Everything’s going to all work out, you’ll see. Good luck, baby.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Hey, Henley.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is muffled by a yawn.
“Love you.”
She hums sweetly through the phone, and I can almost feel her smile as she answers. “Love you too, Emerson. I’ll see you soon.”
HENLEY
Seth James shakes my hand as I enter the empty restaurant. Though my exterior may look calm and collected, inside my mind is running like a hamster on a wheel.
“I’m pleased that you decided to take me up on my offer, Henley,” he says, guiding me though the small boutique-style restaurant.
“I am as well, and I appreciate this opportunity you’ve given me, Mr. James.”
“Please, call me Seth.” His smile is just as warm and inviting as yesterday, and it instantly calms my nerves.
When I stepped inside the restaurant yesterday, it had taken my breath away.
The entire space was light and airy, immediately drawing you in with just its ambience.
Quite the opposite experience of Sadie’s, Le Beurre, which was drenched in deep burgundy satins and dim, intimate lighting. It screamed ‘VIP only.’
Every detail in Seth’s restaurant beckons that all are welcome.
Long oak tables with live edges, adorned with vibrant florals, promote community-style dining.
Greenery hangs from the ceiling and around some of the booths, filling the restaurant with a fresh scent.
The table settings are a crisp white, the cutlery dipped in gold.
The entire place makes you feel like going for a stroll in the Conservatory Garden, except you can sit and enjoy a meal.
The most jaw-dropping part, however, is the massive open kitchen right in the middle of the restaurant.
Yesterday, while I was cooking, I let myself imagine its potential.
A fully booked dining room, the room buzzing with conversation and celebrations, and me being able to take it all in as I prepare the meals.
Though I didn’t create this restaurant myself, it’s far closer to my dream than anything has ever been.
“Henley.” Seth’s deep voice draws me back. “I’d like to introduce you to some of my business partners and their spouses.”
I shake hands with each of them then take a steadying breath and pour each of them a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc that I know pairs nicely with the oyster appetizer I’m about to prepare.
“I’m delighted to be your chef for this evening, and I hope you enjoy the meal I’m about to prepare for you all.”
“Looking forward to it.” Seth lifts his glass and nods at me. As he takes a sip, I make my way into the kitchen.
As I prepare each course, the conversation flows as much as the wine. They ask me everything about my life. Where I grew up, what inspired me, even my favorite music and meals. Each answer I give them stokes my excitement, quelling the anxiety when it begins to kindle inside of me.
And every single answer reminds me of home.
For the next two hours, I manage to cook the greatest dinner service of my entire life.
“Thank you for the lovely evening, Henley. We’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
Outside, the cool September air swirls around me as I stroll down the sidewalk toward my hotel. Unlike Oakley Falls, the city is still alive and bubbling with life, even at ten o’clock. One of the magical things I’d grown to love about this city.
However, tonight it makes my chest ache. Pedestrians swerve around me as I pause in the middle of the sidewalk to glance up at the sky. No stars tonight.
Hugging my chef’s coat a little tighter in my arms, I keep walking.
Since I landed two days ago, everything has been perfect. I managed to make a flawless meal, in the restaurant of my dreams. Emotion builds in my chest as the realization sets in. This is the first time I’ve let myself feel proud of something that I have done.
Yet, even with all of that, there’s a pit in my stomach and a piece of me that is left wanting.
I’m searching for the still nights spent staring at the blanket of stars above.
The quiet mornings, watching the sun paint the valley with its brilliant light.
Girls’ nights with Harper and Mel.
Lyla and her cookies.
Dinners with my family and the Lane boys.
Emerson.
I miss him most.
Though I know he’s probably still asleep, the need to just speak with him overpowers me. Not wanting to stir the sleep he needs for tomorrow’s race, I send him a text, so he’ll see it when he wakes.
ME: The night went perfect! You’d be proud. I think I just cooked the greatest meal of my life. Love you, and I can’t wait to see you win tomorrow!
EMERSON
Tossing the sheets off the mattress, I grab the water bottle on my side table and take a big swig. As I do, I stare at my phone. Swiping it open, I read Hen’s text once more. Releasing a heavy breath, I stand and head over to the hotel window to look out over Indianapolis.
The IMSA organization hosted an event for all of us tonight. I left early to get some good rest for tomorrow’s race. I was so exhausted I passed out immediately. Then, two hours later, my phone chimed with Henley’s text. Ever since then, I haven't been able to fall asleep again.
Back in Oakley Falls, I’d meant every word I said to her in the car on our way to the airport. I don’t care where we live, only that we do it together.
When I crossed the finish line for qualifiers earlier today, I was elated. It reminded me that I was still capable of doing what I love.
But since I’ve been back, I can’t help but feel like something is just . . . missing. I’ve felt unsettled. The one vibrant thrill just seemed dull in comparison to the last few months.
No laps around the track with my Dad’s laughter booming beside me.
No helping him around the ranch, or family dinners.
No Ryleigh to share a glass of whiskey with after long nights of work.
No late-night skinny dipping in the lake with Hen.
No Henley.
I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, and the answer becomes clear. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dial. A groggy and slightly annoyed voice grumbles through the line.
“You alive?” Beau grunts.
I try to contain my chuckle. “Yes.”
“Fantastic. Then why are you waking my old ass up?” I hear more grumbling, and a rustling of what sounds like sheets. “Some of us need our beauty sleep, you know. Everyone can’t wake up to a glorious six pack and flawless skin like you.”
That makes me laugh out loud. Once I calmed down, took a deep breath and prepared myself to share what I’d decided. “We need to talk.”
HENLEY
“Flight 810 to Indianapolis, Group B, now boarding.”
Making my way over to the boarding line, I slip out my phone to pull out my ticket when it starts to vibrate in my palm.
Fate is calling, yet for some reason I’m finding myself incapable of answering.
Closing my eyes, I finally let out the air I’d been holding and answer the call.
“Hello, Seth.”
“Good morning, Henley. I’d like to discuss an offer with you.”