22. Vivienne #3
Beckett puts a chair in the wrong place twice, the second time so confidently — hands on his hips, nodding to himself with satisfaction — that Hayes simply walks over, picks it up without a word, and relocates it to where it actually belongs while Beckett is still talking about why that is the perfect spot.
Frannie has abandoned her logistics post and is now actively directing traffic, pointing at tables and calling out placements. “That two-top needs to rotate. No, the other way. Yes, perfect. Roman, can you get the one by the window?”
Iris stops mid-step, tilting her head as she surveys the back corner with narrowed eyes. “Wait. That four-top needs to swap with the two-top. The sightlines are completely blocked for anyone sitting there.”
“You’re right.” Callum’s already moving toward it. He’s at one end before she even finishes the sentence, hands gripping the edge, waiting.
I cross the room and take the other end without thinking about it.
We lift together, turning it carefully to clear the chairs. Our movements sync up automatically. He shifts left, and I mirror him. He takes a step back, and I match it. We navigate around Patrick and Wesley coming through with another table, sliding past them with inches to spare.
We set it down in its new spot, lowering it in unison. It settles with a soft thunk against the floor.
Callum leans in just close enough that only I can hear him.
“Such a good girl,” he breathes against my ear, and then he’s gone, heading back toward the kitchen like my entire nervous system didn’t just short-circuit.
I stand there, my hands still tingling from where they gripped the table, watching him disappear through the swinging doors.
Around me, the room is still in motion. Cora is adjusting another table leg.
Roman is wiping down the windows. Frannie is directing Beckett to move a chair six inches to the left, then six inches back when he overcorrects.
Through the windows, the rain is still coming down.
I press my lips together and look back down at my clipboard and absolutely do not think about the way his voice sounded when he said that two nights ago.
“Better.” Iris appears beside me. She’s wringing water from the ends of her hair, creating a small puddle at her feet.
“Yeah,” I agree, looking around at the transformed space. I slowly take in all these people working together to make something beautiful happen and smile. “Better.”
A car door slams outside, the sound cutting through the rhythm of rain on glass.
I glance toward the front windows just as two figures appear on the porch, both hunched against the weather. One is tall and moving with the kind of unhurried confidence that suggests she’s walked through worse. The other is shorter, carrying what looks like a knife roll wrapped in plastic.
“Oh shit,” I breathe.
“What?” Iris follows my gaze.
The front door opens, bringing in a gust of wet wind and the smell of rain and ocean salt.
Then Chef Amara Singh steps into Neap & Spring, shaking water from her jacket with a laugh that fills the entire dining room.
I picked her up from the airport yesterday — a forty-minute drive, and we couldn’t stop talking the whole time.
She’d asked about the restaurant the moment she climbed into the passenger seat, and by the time we hit the coastal highway, she’d already pulled out her notebook.
We talked through the event structure, the menu pacing, the vendors, and the layout of the dining room.
There was no small detail we did not cover.
She had opinions about everything, and I loved her for it.
At some point she asked, casually, whether the chef at Neap & Spring was someone I’d worked with before.
I told her yes. And left it at that.
What I didn’t tell her was that thinking about that chef for more than thirty consecutive seconds made me feel like I was losing my footing on a very slippery surface. I kept my voice completely even and professional. I stared very hard at the road, and I did not smile at all.
She spots me immediately, and her whole face lights up.
She’s tall with warm brown skin and thick dark hair pulled back in a tight, practical bun at the nape of her neck.
She’s wearing black jeans, well-worn boots, and a simple black long-sleeved shirt under a leather jacket that’s now spotted with rain.
Small gold studs in her ears catch the light, and delicate gold bangles on one wrist clink softly when she gestures.
There’s a brightness to her presence. She’s warm and magnetic, and it makes you want to lean in when she talks.
“Vivienne!” She’s already crossing the room, arms opening. “There you are!”
Before I can respond, she’s pulling me into the biggest hug, lifting me slightly off my feet. She smells like rain and cardamom and rose water, maybe.
“I told you I’d find the place,” she exclaims, pulling back but keeping her hands on my shoulders. Her bangles chime with the movement. “This is stunning. The building looks like it grew out of the coastline!”
“I’m glad you made it.” I’m smiling, caught up in her energy.
The person behind her steps forward. A young man with dark hair pulled into a small bun and the kind of intense focus in his eyes that immediately marks him as kitchen staff. He’s clutching his knife roll like it’s precious cargo.
“This is my sous, Marcus.” Amara gestures to him with a graceful wave of her hand. “He got in early this morning. He doesn’t talk much until you feed him, but he’s a wizard with vegetables.”
Marcus gives a small nod, his eyes already scanning the dining room, taking in the layout with professional assessment.
The kitchen door swings open, and Callum emerges, wiping his hands on a towel. He stops when he sees Amara, and I watch him shift into professional mode, shoulders straightening, the tired edge in his expression smoothing into something more welcoming.
“Chef Singh.” He crosses the room with his hand extended. “Callum Reid. Welcome to Neap & Spring.”
“Amara, please.” She takes his hand in both of hers, shaking it warmly, her bangles singing softly.
“This is beautiful. Vivienne wasn’t exaggerating.
” She turns in a slow circle, taking in the windows, the ocean view, the carefully arranged tables.
“This space is incredible. The energy here? I know you can feel it, can’t you?
It’s like the ocean is part of the dining room. ”
“Thank you.” Callum’s voice has pride in it that he rarely shows. “This is my sous chef, Roman.”
Roman appears from the kitchen, his wild blond hair even more chaotic than usual. He wipes his hand on his chef’s whites before extending it. “Roman Delgado. Good to meet you.”
“Roman.” Amara grins, her eyes sparkling. “Vivienne told me all about you.”
Roman shoots me a look that’s equal parts surprised and curious. “Did she now?”
“This is Marcus,” Amara continues, pulling her sous chef forward slightly with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He’s been with me for ages. Trained at the Culinary Institute and specializes in vegetable-forward dishes. He makes the best charred leek agnolotti you’ve ever tasted in your life.”
Marcus’s ears go slightly pink, but he nods at Callum and Roman with respect.
“Why don’t we head back to the kitchen?” Callum suggests, already moving toward the swinging doors. “We can go over tomorrow’s menu, talk through timing and stations.”
“Perfect.” Amara shrugs out of her wet jacket. “Marcus, bring the notes. Vivienne, you coming?”
I’m standing there, slightly bewildered by how quickly she’s taken over the room and how effortlessly she’s made herself at home. “I — yeah, of course.”
I want to be just like her when I grow up.
“Good. I want your input on the third course. I’ve been thinking about it since the airport, and I have ideas.
” She’s already following Callum toward the kitchen, Marcus trailing behind her with his knife roll, and suddenly the whole energy has shifted from disorganized furniture arrangement to focused preparation.
Roman catches my eye as he turns to follow them, grinning. Uh, she’s amazing, he mouths.
I watch them disappear through the kitchen doors, Amara already talking animatedly about plating concepts, her hands moving expressively, and Callum leaning in like he doesn’t want to miss a word.
And I realize, standing here in the middle of this restaurant, that they’re the first chefs I’ve been around in five years who made me feel completely at ease.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed that until right now.