11. Vivienne #2
“We both got perfect scores on that final exam, Reid.”
The line between his brows disappears, and a look of relief washes over his face.
“There she is.”
The kitchen goes silent.
Roman has actually stopped moving, his knife suspended in mid-air over his cutting board.
“What?” I say, and it comes out breathless.
“You.” Callum’s looking at me like he’s just found something rare, and it makes my heart do complicated aerobics.
“The girl who’d argue with me about knife techniques for thirty minutes straight.
And defend her organizational system like it was a matter of life and death.
The girl who never ever backed down from a fight, even when she was wrong. ”
“I was never wrong.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
“You were wrong about the butter sauce.”
“I wasn’t even involved in the butter sauce!”
“You took his side!”
“Because you were being ridiculous!”
And just like that, we’re both smiling again. I can feel my eyes crinkle, and my face starts to ache because I haven’t done it in so long.
“That’s who I —” Callum looks away and clears his throat. “That’s who I remember. From Paris.”
“She’s been here the whole time.”
“I know.” He meets my eyes again and holds my gaze for a second too long to be professional. “Glad to see her again anyway.”
Roman makes a sound that might be him choking on air.
“Don’t,” Callum warns him, not looking away from me.
“I didn’t say anything.” I can hear the grin in Roman’s voice.
“You were thinking it. Focus on your station before I make you redo that sauce eight times.”
“Yes, Chef.” Roman chuckles, and when I finally tear my eyes away from Callum to look at him, he’s got the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen.
I turn back to the dishes, my hands shaking slightly as I plunge them back into the warm, soapy water.
There she is.
Like he’d been looking for her. Just waiting for her to come back.
Like maybe, he’d missed her.
I grip the edge of the sink, trying to get my breathing under control. This is dangerous. This feeling of warmth spreading through my chest like I’ve swallowed the sun.
I can’t do this. I can’t let myself feel this.
Because nothing has changed. I still can’t tell him what happened. I’m still broken in ways he doesn’t know about. I’m still going to have to leave eventually. Another job will come, and I’ll be on to the next city.
That’s what I do.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, pulling me from my thoughts.
I ignore it. I’m elbow-deep in dish water, and whatever it is can wait.
It buzzes again immediately. And then a third time in rapid succession.
“You gonna get that?” Callum asks from across the kitchen. He’s back at the window, but I can tell he’s still aware of me. Still paying close attention to me being in his area.
“It’s probably just —” I pull my phone out with wet, soapy hands, and water drips onto the screen.
NEAP & SPRING INVESTORS
The name flashes at me like a warning light, and my stomach drops straight through the floor.
“Actually,” I hear myself say, and my voice sounds wrong. It’s too high pitched. “I need to take this.”
“Vivienne? What’s —” Callum’s voice follows me, full of concern, but I’m already moving toward the back door, phone pressed to my ear with a wet hand, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.
“Hello?” I push through the door into the alley behind the restaurant. The cool air hits my face.
“Vivienne! Brad Henderson here.”
Brad. The lead investor. The one who hired me. The one I send weekly email updates to but haven’t actually spoken to since I started.
“We’ve got Jim Kozlowski and Cameron Chen here with me,” Brad continues, his voice aggressively cheerful in that way finance guys are. All teeth and confidence and underlying threat.
Three of them. All three of the main investors.
“Hi, Brad. Good to hear from you.” I pace the length of the alley, my free hand coming up to push stray hairs away from my face. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, here’s the thing. We’re actually in the area right now. Up in Crescent Bay for another portfolio visit, and Jim suggested why not swing by Neap & Spring? Kill two birds with one stone. See the progress firsthand, chat with you and Chef Reid about the plan.”
The world tilts slightly to the left.
“You’re … in the area?” I repeat stupidly.
“About forty-five minutes out. We were thinking we could meet around four thirty? Before your dinner rush hits. Get a sense of the operation. Hear what you’ve been working on. Sound good?”
I look at my watch with the hand not holding the phone.
2:47 p.m.
Less than two hours.
They want to be here in less than two hours, and I —
I don’t have a plan.
I mean, I have notes. Pages and pages of notes saved on my laptop.
Observations about the restaurant, ideas about marketing strategies, thoughts about menu optimization.
But an actual, concrete, presentable plan?
The kind of thing you show investors who are paying you thousands of dollars to save their investment?
No.
“That sounds great,” I chime back, because what else can I possibly say? “We’ll be ready.”
“Perfect. Looking forward to it, Vivienne. This is exciting stuff.” Brad’s voice is encouraging. Completely unaware that he’s just detonated a bomb in this seaside restaurant. “See you soon.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there in the alley, phone still pressed to my ear even though there’s just silence now, and try to remember how to breathe.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
The investors. Here. In less than two hours.
And I don’t have a plan.
“Shit,” I breathe into the empty alley.
A seagull screams from somewhere above me, like it’s agreeing.
I shove my phone back into my pocket. It’s still wet from my hands, and I’ve probably just destroyed it, but I have bigger fish to fry right now.
I push back through the door into the kitchen. The door swings open hard — harder than I intended — and hits something solid with a thud.
“Ow — shit!”
Callum stumbles back a step.
“Oh my God!” I’m through the door immediately, reaching for him without thinking. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were — are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” But he’s rubbing his shoulder, wincing slightly.
“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t looking —”
“Vivienne.” His hand catches mine, stopping my frantic hovering. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have been standing right there.”
We’re close. Too close. I can see the concern in his eyes even though he’s the one who just got hit with a door.
“Were you —” I look at the door, then back at him. “Were you waiting by the door?”
His ears go pink. “You sounded … I wanted to make sure —” He runs his hand through his hair. “Everything okay?”
Behind him, I can see Roman watching us with barely concealed interest. Cora has paused mid-pipe. Even Danny has stopped chopping.
Callum meets my eyes, and whatever he sees there makes his whole body go still.
“We need to talk.” My voice is just above a whisper, trying not to draw attention to us.
Callum’s face goes deathly serious.
“Now?” he whispers back, matching my need for this to be just between us.
“Right now.”
He studies my face. I watch him process the way my hands are shaking slightly, the way I’m standing too rigid, the probably panicked look in my eyes that has nothing to do with hitting him with a door.
Then he nods once and turns to face the kitchen, raising his voice. “Roman, you’re in charge. Cora, help Danny finish his prep. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
“Heard, Chef,” Roman replies, but I don’t miss the concerned look he shoots me over his station.
Callum gestures toward the small office at the back of the kitchen. “After you.”
I walk past him, weaving between the stainless-steel stations, acutely aware of him following close behind, my mind already spiraling.
Two hours. We have two hours to come up with something that sounds like a plan. Something that will convince three finance investors in expensive suits that their investment isn’t circling the drain. Something that will buy us more time.
This is fine.
This is totally fine.