Chapter 30
If I thought my body hurt yesterday, today is even more of a doozy. I know I had a lot of excuses last night, but I’ve long past aged out of being able to drink with abandon. Combine that with going to sleep well after morning had already begun, and I am feeling it.
Thank god it’s Monday, the Palio nonsense is over, and I have the day entirely off.
Oh, right. The call with the investors.
I roll over and let myself lie in the misery of my hangover. It’s a gray day outside, with a bit of lightning in the distance, so why should I move at all?
But the longer I lie there, the more everything from yesterday flashes through my mind.
Nico’s grin. The drop in my stomach when he fell.
That damn kiss in front of everyone. The heat of his body on mine late at night (or early morning).
The way his hands were gripping me like he never wanted to let go.
I have to get moving.
I take the hottest shower I can handle and let the water run over me for so long it eventually starts to go cold.
I make myself do my usual walk (just a bit later than I normally would do it) but skip the vista with its poetry and opportunities to dwell.
I grab a cold sandwich and some snacks from the alimentari, since I know Emilia has fully shut Belpagna today in anticipation of her hangover.
I head home and binge a show I love, happy to veg out for a few hours.
By the time 8:00 p.m. rolls around, I’m almost back to normal, and I can handle being professional for a little bit.
“Hey, Kit, it’s great to get you on the phone!” I hear as soon as I dial the number.
This guy Brian is ready. He’s been ready since the minute we connected.
Anita’s right that there’s really not that much to discuss, since the original offer was meant to go overboard and entice me.
We’ve already done the expected negotiations over ownership percentages and payout structures, so all that’s left to debate in the contract now is small-fry items like levels of right of refusal on design things or who the point person on PR will be.
“Thanks,” I reply, my professional muscles clearly atrophied from spending too much time with Gia’s grunting.
“We looked over everything your lawyers sent, and we’re on board with it. We’ve capped design overages at twenty percent, but obviously we’re happy to put language in there about how if the construction ends up taking longer, we can have cost estimates rise with inflation. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” I reply, surprised that he’s so ready to capitulate on everything. It’s wild how much money some of these investors are willing to blow to get the prize they want. And I guess I have to get used to being the prize in this scenario.
“John and his team want to get the press release out the night of the reopening,” he continues.
“We’ve started working on the wording for a joint announcement.
So if you’re comfortable signing the version of the contract your lawyer just sent, we are too.
And then we can hash out the statement once you’re back in New York, since we’ll have a few days. ”
“Oh,” I say, shocked that this was that easy. “Well, that sounds like we’re ready to announce, then.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” he continues, earnest excitement lining his voice. “I thought it was a good idea to get on the phone, though, because I want to pick your brain about how much detail you want to share publicly now, or if you’d rather keep things under wraps a little more.”
I pause and sit down on my couch. This isn’t a position I’m used to being in.
My job has always been to stay in the kitchen and execute.
The power dynamic has always been lopsided.
I’m there to cook and be a show pony when they want to trot me out to the media, but I’ve never even considered offering my opinions or thoughts on aesthetics or anything related to the business.
John always made it feel like he was clearing my way by handling that and not bothering me with it.
This continuing realization makes me sheepish every time I’m reminded of it.
But the more I’m reminded and the longer I’ve been in Manciano—the freedom that being here has given me—the more I’m ready for this conversation. I’m ready to take more ownership, not just berate myself for not having done it in the past.
The minute Brian and I start talking about early concepts and directions, it’s so clear that I can do this.
That I’m ready to do this in a way I probably wasn’t before.
Maybe I needed my dad to give me direction when I was young, and then John to oversee my first restaurant.
Maybe those were the periods where I was supposed to perfect my craft and ignore everything else.
But it’s a new era for me, with new people guiding me. Anita and Emilia hammering at me from both sides has chipped away at whatever was holding me static in the place where I’d always been. This sabbatical has made way for something new.
We’ve been talking for twenty minutes when I hear my phone beep with another call.
I look and see it’s Nico. I let it go to voicemail and keep chatting about the benefits of having a wood-burning oven as well as a full-fire wok station (I’m thrilled that Brian is as into this nerdy tangent as I am).
But then the phone rings again. I look at my screen as Brian talks about some Italian artisan who imports ceramic ovens, and I feel the pull. I shouldn’t, so I try to ignore it. I can call him back later.
But he’s never called me twice in a row.
My finger hovers above the green button to answer, but I don’t want to interrupt Brian. This is my future; this is going to be a person who I need to collaborate with, and I’m lucky to be off to such a good start. I need to focus on what he’s saying and make sure this conversation goes well.
Then a text pops up.
Nico: I need you.
Tension stills me. I go into autopilot, those three words having flipped a switch. “Brian, I’m so sorry—I’ve gotta go. I have an emergency.”
I don’t even wait to hear his answer. I just hang up and pull on my shoes.
I hear my phone ping in my pocket, but I’m already out the door and on my scooter. I fly down the road, and within ten minutes I’m pulling up to Nico’s house.
As I approach, it’s clear my instinct to hurry was the right one.
The sky is lit up, with smoke obscuring the view of flames licking higher and higher.
One of Nico’s older trees is fully engulfed—leaves, branches, and olives turned into heat and dancing color.
Small fires dot other trees and across the ground, stars next to the blazing sun of the central burning tree.
Crackles have overtaken the quiet of the night, the sound dry and fast, and the usual music of the bugs Nico and I have heard whenever we’ve slept outside have been silenced.
“Nico!” I call out, my stomach in my throat. My eyes are watering from all the smoke, but I’m desperately searching for him in the mayhem. The memory of my restaurant’s fire spins through my mind, and fear claws at me.
I hear Luce first, his barks cutting through as he runs toward me. He spins in circles at my feet, simultaneously happy to see me while clearly panicking, his manic energy so familiar it almost makes me laugh.
I bend down and let him jump into me, both of us needing the closeness. “Hey, boy . . . hey, you’re okay,” I say softly as I pet him.
Nico comes up behind him, and I pick up Luce so I can hug them both at the same time. “What happened?” I ask, my face pressed into his chest, my heart rate lowering at simply the smell of him.
“There was a dry lightning strike, and it caught the tree. It hasn’t spread much—”
“Because the trees are planted far apart and the cows keep the brush clear,” I say, allowing a smile to peek through the madness, remembering what he said the first time I came here.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling back to look at me.
His face is dirty from soot, and he looks so damn tired.
He’s got a fire blanket at his feet and a singed set of branches he’s clearly been using to try and stop any of the fires on the ground.
“I called the fire station, but it’s a few towns away and it’s going to take them a little bit to get here.
I really need to get all the cows into the enclosure and far away from all of this.
Can you stay here and just watch? If you need me, either for the fire department or . . .”
His words trail off, and I can see all the panic under the surface of his calm exterior. It’s amazing that his natural stillness continues to radiate even in this scenario, but I know him well enough now to know that he’s scared. And I’m desperate to find some way to soothe him.
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” I say, grabbing his forearms and trying to give him some solidity to lean into.
All I want is for him to have someone he can count on while his world is literally on fire.
“I’ll keep stamping out the smaller fires when they catch.
Do you want me to go get pots of water or anything else?
I know how much you love these trees. I promise I’ll do anything I can to keep them safe. ”
He blinks at me, like he almost didn’t hear what I said.
“What?” I ask, confused, my grip on him loosening and taking a step back.
“Just please don’t try and save anything,” he snaps with a force I’m surprised by.
“I’m . . . ?” I don’t follow.
But he grabs my shoulders and looks at me with desperation in his eyes, his calm exterior finally snapped. “The trees are not the thing I love here, okay?” he growls out, and my jaw drops.
I have no idea how to respond, and my mind is buzzing, but I know I need first and foremost to just give this man the assurance he’s clearly craving so he can go do what needs to be done.
“Okay,” I say, nodding, the relief in his gaze palpable. “I’ll be careful.”