Chapter 40
“Port, we need you in the lounge.”
Porter wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel and plated up another order of crab cakes, checked on the lobster tails and called for more remoulade sauce.
It was busy for a Wednesday night, and while Porter certainly wasn’t complaining, he really didn’t have the time to step away. Not that the staff would mind; Porter was well aware that he’d had a chip on his shoulder all week.
And he was exhausted. He’d barely slept all week, and he’d been up way too late with David the night before, drinking beer and talking about all the ways he might have messed things up with Fiona. He was sure David was sick of hearing him moon over Fiona, but he didn’t care. He’d listened to David pine endlessly over Kim in their early dating days.
“Not a good time, David,” Porter said, and called again for the remoulade.
“Franklin has it under control,” David said.
“I got it, boss,” Franklin said, and stepped in to plate the crab legs. “We’ll be fine.”
Porter glanced around the kitchen reluctantly. They had all handled busy nights without him, and their staff was perfectly capable. But it still wasn’t ideal.
“Fine,” Porter said, and stepped away to wash his hands. “Will this take long?”
“I’m not sure how long it’ll take,” David said. “But you might want to hang up your coat.”
Porter paused just for a moment to stare at him, waiting for more information. When none came, he shrugged out of his chef’s coat and hung it on a hook next to his office.
David looked him over, narrowing his eyes on Porter’s hair. He reached out and swatted at it.
“What the hell, David?” Porter brushed at his hair himself, now thoroughly confused.
“You had caramelized onion in it, man,” David told him. “Now you’re ready.”
“Ready for what, exactly?”
“Just come to the lounge,” David said. “Quick meeting.”
The lounge space had come together so spectacularly that Porter couldn’t believe it hadn’t been a part of their restaurant all along. They would be opening it in two days, so today he and David had worked with Kim and their mothers to finish up some of the cleaning and final details. The french doors leading to the space were an antique find from Kim’s store, and they fit the space perfectly.
David motioned for Porter to walk in first, and David closed the doors behind him.
It was so dim that Porter wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first. Someone had lit candles on all the tables, and a Frank Sinatra ballad played from the newly installed speakers.
He’d been so overwhelmed seeing the lounge in its fully completed splendor, that he almost missed the woman smiling at him from the corner of the room.
Porter squinted, his eyes still adjusting to the moody lighting.
“Fiona?” he said, not quite believing his eyes.
She stood, straightening out her dress and fixing her hair as she did so. He thought she looked just a bit nervous, and now, he was beginning to feel the same.
She nodded at David, and he walked to the back of the lounge.
“Hi,” she said, and waved him over.
Porter felt like he couldn’t move for a second. He was still trying to process everything he was seeing.
“Hello,” he said, stopping in front of her.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of emotion, before she turned away.
“Sit, please,” she said, and sat across from him.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, looking around the lounge. “David told me you guys just finished up today.”
Porter nodded, still bewildered. “We did. Seeing it with all the candles and the music is…” He trailed off, looking at her. “I’m sorry, why are you here?”
She took in a shaky breath, before David arrived back at the table, two drinks in hand.
“Two glasses of our Cabernet Franc, plus a bottle for the table, and our brand new handcrafted charcuterie. Enjoy, and let me know if you need anything.”
He smiled politely at Porter, who was beginning to realize Fiona and David had worked together on whatever this was.
“Cab Franc?” he asked, raising a brow.
Fiona smiled shyly. She was many things, he thought, but “shy” wasn’t usually one of them.
“I asked David to bring us your favorite wine.”
Porter nodded, enjoying his first sip.
“As thrilled as I am about all of this,” he said, gesturing with his glass, “I have no idea what is happening.”
“Right,” Fiona said, taking a bit more than a sip of her own wine. He thought he saw her hand tremble as she lifted her glass.
“You’re nervous,” he said, reaching for her free hand. He knew things had been off between them, but he pushed that thought aside for the time being.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes finally meeting his. She cleared her throat, and his pulse kicked up as she placed her hand in his.
“I came to Savannah to be on my own. To build something that was mine. When I lived in New York, I was too quick to let other people dictate what I should do, and how I should do it. I felt powerless then. And I thought I was starting to feel powerless here, too.”
She took another sip of wine, and continued.
“I thought you were making a decision for me, when really, you were giving me the opportunity to grow beyond what I even imagined for myself.”
Porter steadied his hand on his wine glass, hanging on her every word. The uncertainty, the confusion…it had been eating away at him, and he couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I confused powerlessness with caring about someone else,” she said, her voice quieter now. “And I’m not who I was four years ago. I’m stronger now, and I know who I am. But I still wasn’t strong enough to face my feelings for you. Not yet.”
Porter was silent. He knew he was too stunned to say anything, even if he tried.
“I don’t know when it happened, Porter, but I fell for you, and it scared me. So I retreated, and hoped I would just get over it, but I haven’t. And I’m really, really tired of pretending that I have.”
She looked at him then, her breathing heavy, her hand still in his.
“Um…” she said, staring down at their intertwined hands. “That’s all I had planned to say, so I will just drink this wine now and try not to freak out.”
Porter smiled, and rubbed his thumb over her palm.
“Would you like to dance with me?”
Fiona stared at him, a piece of cheese halfway to her mouth.
“Very much,” she said, dropping it on her plate. “I told David to give you the rest of the night off. Did he pull it off?”
“He did,” Porter said, guiding her to the middle of the lounge. He pulled her in close as Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong serenaded them on the makeshift dance floor.
“Good,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Because we have some lost time that I am very eager to make up for.”
Porter gasped. “Are you hitting on me, Fiona?”
“Listen,” she said, glancing up at him. “I’ve had to keep all these comments to myself for a little while. Buckle up.”
He chuckled, wondering how so many of his dreams could come true at the same time.
He wouldn’t tell her the truth just yet.
How he’d fallen head over heels for her months ago.
How images of her haunted his thoughts during the day, and his dreams at night.
How empty the restaurant felt without her laugh.
One day, he would tell her.
For now, he would bask in the glow of this one perfect moment, and the steadying sensation of feeling totally and utterly home.