10. Chapter Ten
Chapter 10
Risto
D ot’s surgery was today, and I needed a distraction. I tapped my desk, staring at my cell phone like it was the problem and not me. I’d tried dialing the investors three times in the last day, but each time I hung up in defeat before the first ring. Starting down the “expand to New York City” path had me cooking a mystery dish.
No recipe.
No ability to taste the ingredients.
Only vague confidence that I had what it took to get it right.
But exploring had consequences too. I knew myself that well. Starry visions would blind me to all else. I’d start yessing over nos, and before long, my life would swirl in utter chaos.
But wasn’t that how my success started?
When I abandoned college to go to culinary school?
When I rented a beat-up house to open a restaurant?
When I took a chance and asked Leslie out on a date after being “just a friend” for 11 years?
And we saw how well that ended.
I’d long since convinced myself I made the right choice. That it’d never work out between us. She dedicated her life to one just cause after another, never considering her own needs or mine. Leslie’s allergy to me being a chef made matters worse. When we broke up, her complete shock surprised me. Leslie never shared my misgivings. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, of course, she supported my career and was proud of me. But how could that be true when every action she took said otherwise?
Leslie did everything in her power to avoid the restaurant. She’d promise to come, then last-minute deadlines would surface and drag her away. A few times, I watched her approach the restaurant’s rear screen door. My heart would swell in anticipation until her hand landed on the doorknob. That’s when Leslie froze, sighed, and fled back to her car, only to call me and say she wouldn’t make it. I never mentioned I’d seen her, and why would I? Anyone could see she hated being around me. She rarely ate at Boricua—hell, she’d have to enter when it was open to do that. None of it made any sense. Even when we were alone together, something unspoken lingered between us. Driving us apart. I thought breaking up would come as a welcome relief, but her reaction said otherwise.
Was my choice a terrible mistake? Leslie looked stunned to see me that first day, then avoided all my attempted chance meetings.
Walking by Dot’s house when they were on the porch. Dropping by to say “good luck” this morning before they headed out to the hospital.
Each time, Leslie scurried away before I had a chance to speak.
You hurt her.
Yeah, I know.
I sighed, scratching my beard. Leslie being near made me feel that much more alone. Jose was my best friend, but I tried not to be a burden, being his boss and all. Soon, I’d be her boss too, and I didn’t need Jose and Freddie teasing me every damn second, though they probably would.
Beyond my closed office door, grinding sounds filtered through from the kitchen as the team readied marinades for the trays of chicken, pork, and beef waiting in the fridge. Prep time at Boricua was joyous. Everyone had their tasks, working with purpose, and of course, a healthy dose of playful ribbing.
Found brothers, we became a family with a shared passion for making magic with raw ingredients. Our common heritage sizzled to life on the plate for diners to enjoy. The investors craved a piece of what we had. But could I replicate this success without Jose and Freddie? As good as we had it now, the competitor in me itched to try. Like an acclaimed coach wanting to win without his star players. Thrilling, yes. But it still sent icy chills down my back at the thought of doing it all over again, from scratch.
The investors would have to fill the void, but their intentions would always be suspect. They would be in it for the money and would expect me to deliver, likely not caring much for how the sausage was made.
Fuck me.
I lifted my cell and dialed. The phone rang three times before he picked up.
“Chef Zaldo! I was wondering when you’d call,” said investor number one, Ruben Santiago from the Pibb Equity Group.
He must have programmed me into his cell.
I relaxed into my chair, my shoulders easing. That tiny gesture made his inquiry feel genuine. Like he planned to be around for a while.
“I’m honored by your interest in Boricua. Expansion to another city wasn’t something I entertained before Silas raised the idea.”
“Silas has been a great scout for us, and he rarely misses.” I’d never seen Ruben before but could hear his broad smile. Like the one he wore on the firm’s leadership page, his dark, tanned skin and black, spiky hair silhouetted against a blue sky. The headshot oozed confidence. As if only success lay ahead for him and anything he touched.
“I’ve never worked with outside investors, so don’t know how this all works.”
“If you’re open to it, we’d love to swing by and see your operation. Sample your food and talk in person. Then we’ll hang around to witness the restaurant in action. Observe how you operate at peak capacity. If all goes well, we’ll schedule a time to sit down to review financials. When are you busiest?”
I chuckled. “When isn’t it busy? We started taking reservations because I hated to keep people waiting outside like cattle.”
“For lunch too?”
“Yes, we had no choice. But we hold a few tables for walk-ins. Hate to turn guests away.”
We agreed that he and two partners would visit on a Tuesday, in between lunch and dinner. A test to be sure. With most restaurants closed on Mondays, Tuesdays were crammed with food deliveries, stocking, and inventory. It meant he was trying to catch us at our absolute best. Fresh ingredients. Rested staff. Game on.
I called the other two groups and made similar plans, each stopping by for a weekday dinner to check out our operations and sample the menu. After hanging up, I crossed my arms, satisfied. There were worse things than having three top restaurant investors vying to give me a bigger platform.
I could do this. I would even whip up some of those conceptual dishes I’d been wanting to try. They’d either love us and want in or walk away.
I didn’t care which.
Liar.
Sadness fluttered across my mind at the prospect of all three taking a pass.
Shit. I was already emotionally invested. I hated placing all the power in someone else’s hands, but that was how it worked. Those with cash got to decide where to put it.
I slipped into my chef’s coat and opened my office door. In the kitchen, Freddie’s favorite music mix blared as he sang along. Jose danced a salsa in front of the stove while Freddie looked up from the butcher block.
“?Jefe! Where you been?” Freddie deveined shrimp at a furious pace. Damn, that boy was good. How would I ever find his equal?
“We need to talk. Turn that down, please,” I said.
Jose flipped the switch, and the room went silent, except for the comforting gurgle of sauce simmering on the gas range and the whoosh of the hood vent.
“What’s up?” Jose asked.
“Remember that Philadelphia Metro critic who barged in the other day?” I asked.
“Hard to forget our Lord Dark Helmet!” Jose said with a laugh.
“The Force is strong in him,” Freddie said in his best Yoda voice.
As tall men, it was easy to be entertained by folks a foot shy of our chins. Toylike, they instantly amused, especially when agitated. The Silas Greene episode was epic.
“Well, he crowed to a bunch of New York City restaurateurs and three different outfits are interested in helping us expand to Manhattan.”
Freddie laid down his paring knife. “No joke?”
“Yeah, no joke.”
Jose and Freddie exchanged glances before landing on me, speechless. This wasn’t the reaction I’d expected when breaking news that had me stupidly giddy.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Jose spoke for them both. “We have our hands full here. How are we supposed to run two restaurants? Would we need to move? And if you’re gone, what happens to us here?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. They’ll be stopping in like any other guest to taste our food. If they’re interested, we’ll see where it goes. The point of them being involved is so we won’t be alone. No decisions have been made on either side. For now, these people are just another reservation.”
“I can handle that,” Jose said.
“Are you doing this because that douche, Chase, is on TV all the time?” Freddie asked.
That had bothered me, but no. I wanted this because it was stupid to ignore signs blinking brightly in one direction. Success.
“My grandparents were humble people and taught me to be grateful for what I have. But everything I have would never have happened if I hadn’t put myself out there and taken a chance. We have a huge opportunity to partner with world-class restaurateurs. We’d be stupid not to try. My gut says there’s more out there for me. For all of us. I’m committed to making this happen.”
“Okay. I’m in,” Freddie said.
“Me too.” Jose reached over and switched the music back on. Just like that, prep resumed as if I hadn’t just broken life-changing news.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed by their reaction. If this New York thing was going to work, I needed them on my side. But I’d also be lying if I said my interest in opening a New York location had nothing to do with getting closer to Leslie.