“We should,” he agreed.
“Let’s go to my office.”
Surprise jumped all over his face. “Now?”
“Listen, I’m over here just assuming the worst. Let’s talk about it and I’ll adjust accordingly. And I’ll also work better today. This is important to me.” I turned to Eduardo and Caden. “Can you all hold down the fort for five minutes?”
Their eyes bugged and it made me seriously question my example of leadership in this place. Why did no one want the sous chef job?
Was I as bad as Wyatt?
“You’ll be fine,” I told them gruffly. “All you have to do is follow the ticket. You got this.”
“That’s not necessary,” Blaze cut in, sounding as surprised as Eduardo and Caden looked. “We can talk later, Chef.”
I hated that he was bossing me around right now. He was totally messing with my power trip. And my authority in the kitchen. Leaning forward, I forgot all the advice Vann had imparted on me and lashed out with my emotions. “We’ll do it now, Chef. If you don’t mind.”
His gaze flashed to mine. “It’s really not necessary, Chef.”
Something in his tone caught my attention. “What are you saying?”
He shrugged and turned back to his task. “I’m not leaving.”
“Say that again?”
His grumpy glare was somehow endearing after all this time with him. “I’m not going anywhere. So, can we move on?”
“Wait, like this weekend? Or ever?”
I could tell he was really starting to lose his patience with me, and I couldn’t help but relish torturing him after he’d put me through such hell the last few weeks.
“Ever. I’m not going anywhere ever.”
“You’re serious?”
His cheeks burned red. I grinned. “I’m serious. I thought I would be happier in a more established kitchen, but to be honest… you’ve grown on me. I’ve been impressed with how you’ve handled yourself and this restaurant. You can cook your ass off. And I can’t help it. I’m curious to see what happens.”
Arching an eyebrow, I waited for the truth. When he didn’t volunteer it, I was forced to pry. “Seems a little risky to stake your reputation on curiosity.” His frown deepened. “I’m just saying… you could always follow us on Twitter.”
“You’ve earned my respect, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I expected you to be this entitled egomaniac that thought she knew everything, but you’ve turned out to be the opposite. And on top of that, I am impressed with the changes you’re making. You’ve somehow managed to make me excited for this place. And since I figured that was a miracle, it might be good to stick around with a woman that can work miracles.”
I smiled and it was genuine and full of emotion and all the gratitude that could possibly pool inside me. “Hey, those are some nice things you just said.”
His lips lifted in what I could barely call a smile. But there was a hint of something that wasn’t a frown. “They are nice things. That I just said. I like you, Chef. I guess I’m hitching my horse to your wagon.”
“Well, yeehaw then.”
He completely ignored me after that. Apparently, he liked my cooking style. Not so much my jokes. Which was fine with me since he was staying.
I was a walking, talking praise hands emoji.
To be honest, if push came to shove and Blaze had wanted to walk away from Bianca, I could have managed. I would never have gotten a break and I wouldn’t have had anyone I could have relied on as much as I relied on him. But the rest of the kitchen I could have figured out.
It would have been painful. I might have gone entirely gray and developed a cluster of ulcers. But we could have done it.
I was ultra-thankful we didn’t have to do it. Blaze had decided I was worthy. That this kitchen was worthy. That for now, he’d rather be here than anywhere else.
And that was enough for me.
Basically, our first attempt at brunch was already a success. Who even cared about the rest of the day?
Oh wait, I did.
And it was a good thing because the kitchen got busy after that. More praise hands emojis.
Seriously, I had not worked this hard at Bianca until this morning, our first brunch service. I didn’t think anyone had worked that hard until today. We managed to keep up, but our kitchen muscles were atrophied, and we didn’t have the sharp orchestration other kitchens like Lilou operated with.
After we sent out three wrong orders in a row, I knew I needed to do something to get our heads back in the game. I played basketball in high school and this was the point of the game the head coach made key substitutions—second half, down by ten, three starters with four fouls, it was time to shake things up. Only I didn’t have bench players to sub in. So, I needed to be spectacularly creative. Or at least very stern.
“Hey, everyone, can I have your attention please?” Yelling was a good option. Also throwing things. Once, in culinary school, I’d shadowed one of the best chefs in Charlotte and watched him punch his fist into a brick wall over and over. He’d gotten his point across very effectively. His sous chef had also had to give him six stitches. Something she was apparently used to.
Every chef had their own, unique way of dealing with stress. I’d seen Wyatt smash plates and dump just-shy-of-perfect filets in the trash. Most chefs I knew of subscribed to the might is right philosophy. To be fair, we were passionate creatures on a schedule.
And while it was easy to get irritated and scream at all the people that should be working as hard and perfectly as you, it was also dumb. I wasn’t a yeller by nature. I certainly wasn’t going to start yelling now just because I got a promotion.
And today, I was in a particularly good mood now that Blaze was staying, and brunch was going so well. That didn’t mean I would continue to send out subpar plates.
People paused what they were doing and looked over at me. When I was sure I had the attention of the room, I cleared my throat and said, “I appreciate what you all have done here. The change in schedule. The change in vision. The change in leadership. Y’all have managed to weather me like champs. And a part of me wishes that I could stop asking you to do impossible things. A part of me would love to tell you we’re just going to coast from here on out. That what you’re doing right now is good enough. That who you are right now is good enough. But it’s not. And you’re not. And I will never, ever settle for good enough.” They were staring at me. Not smiling or scowling or showing a single emotion with their faces. They were just staring at me and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or if they were ten seconds from staging a walkout. “I have audacious dreams for this place. I have giant, larger than life aspirations for this kitchen. I have huge, career-changing goals for all of you. And if you stick with me and help bring this vision to life, I know you’ll be proud of your work and your career. It’s not going to be easy. To be honest, it’s going to be hell most days. But that doesn’t mean it won’t also be good and worthy and the best fucking ride of your entire life.” A chef named Bryan smiled from the back and I found courage in that one encouraging expression to push on. “So, stop sending out wrong dishes. Stop doing half-assed work. Stop assuming that what you’re doing is good enough. Because it’s not. It’s time to strive for utter perfection. Let’s be better than the competition. Let’s be better than we are right now.” I paused for dramatic effect, and to catch my breath. I could hardly believe I was the person demanding excellence from my kitchen like this. I had never considered myself a leader before, never even wanted to be one. But here I was, rallying the troops and digging deep to inspire excellence. “Let’s be the best we’ve ever been!”
A cheer rose up around me, men and a few women clapping, a few of them drying their eyes. I felt like a general, inspiring my troops to win the war.
I nodded, once—a proud, proficient chin bob—and the kitchen burst to life again as my chefs poured over their work and did the best they could possibly do.
Adrenaline coursed through
my veins, my blood bubbling with the rush of victory. For the first time since I’d stepped inside Bianca as executive chef, she felt like mine. And I finally felt up to the task of running her.
What I’d said to my staff applied to me as well. I needed to get better. Be better. Do better. Always. I could never sit back on my haunches and coast. If I was going to do this well, then I would have to try hard at it every single day.
I took a steadying breath, accepting the challenge.
Okay, Bianca. I’m all the way in this.
“Chef?” a nervous server wrung her hands in front of me.
Oh great. What now? “There’s a table out front demanding to speak with you.”
Nerves plunged my stomach to my toes. This was never a good sign. And right after I’d given the speech of my lifetime no less. To the server, I went about looking busy and asked, “Did they say what it was about?”
She shook her head. “No, just that they needed to speak with you about what you were doing back here.”
To Blaze, I said, “You got this?”
He nodded. No problem. He was my second in command. For real now. Of course, he could handle this.
I wiped my hands on my apron and followed her from the kitchen. Bianca’s dining room wasn’t especially large, and it was totally open so I spotted the demanding table immediately.
I tapped the server on the shoulder and pointed toward it. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Okay, I got this. Thanks, Chrissy.” I marched past her toward the rowdy patrons at least two cocktails deep. “What is going on here?”
Molly grinned at me, waving her Breakfast 75. “We’re supporting you!”
I smiled at my friends. They’d taken up the largest booth in the restaurant, a circular monstrosity that barely held them all. Molly and Ezra. Vera and Killian. Kaya and Wyatt. Vann.
Butterflies jumped off cliffs in my stomach, plummeting toward my knees before soaring toward my chest. Everything fluttered in me at the sight of Vann. He smiled at me from where he was only half on the edge of the bench. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I whispered back.
“We’re not here for you,” Killian announced while he stabbed a piece of potato cassoulet, gesturing at his wife. “We’re scoping out the competition.” His chin jerked toward everyone else. “But they wanted to support a friend or whatever. We figured two birds.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing at his teasing. “Now that Salt’s open, make sure everyone knows who started brunch first.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure they know it was us.”
Kaya leaned forward, giving both of us the evil eye. “It was me. I did brunch first.”
Killian and I shared a guilty smile. That was true. She did. But Sarita wasn’t even in the same zip code as Bianca so surely, she meant over there, in her specific area. Just like I meant here, in this specific area.
Or something like that.
“This is something else, Dillon,” Molly announced, her voice filled with awe. “This is the busiest I’ve ever seen Bianca!”
I looked around at the full tables and hot dishes being brought out of the kitchen. The bar was packed with people. Outside, clusters of waiting diners dotted the sidewalk in front of the patio.
“I’m so impressed,” Vera added. “You’ve done the most incredible thing with this place.”
“And the food…” Wyatt kissed his fingertips. “It’s like you had a really amazing mentor or something, because, Dillon, you’re killing it.”
My eyes misted with their thoughtfulness and super kind words, but I bossed the tears back. I didn’t want to scare off customers by breaking down into obnoxious sobs in the middle of Saturday morning breakfast. “You guys! Stop! Before this all goes to my head.”
Vann reached out and grabbed my hand, holding it gently in his. “It should go to your head, Baptiste. Be proud of what you’ve done. You’re wonderful.”
No, he was wonderful. And it was currently taking all my willpower not to jump on his lap and attack his mouth with my own.
“Do you want a tour?” I asked instead. I could attack him in private at least.
His eyebrows jumped. “You can do that?”
“Sure. It’s my restaurant.”
My brother leaned forward and butted in. “Technically it’s my restaurant.”
Obviously, I ignored him. “Come on,” I told Vann. “I’ll show you around.”
“Can we come?” Killian asked.
Tuning to the people around us, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t need to come. You know what the inside of a kitchen looks like.”
“This kitchen, specifically,” Vera added. To the table, she said, “We’ve all helped here at one time or another.”
“Hey, thanks for stopping by,” I told them as Vann stood up next to me. “You can go ahead and tell me it was the best meal of your life. You’re supposed to lie to your friends.”
“It’s up there,” Kaya insisted. “Like for real. No lies necessary.”
My cheeks flushed at her compliment. Kaya wouldn’t lie to me, even if I asked her to. She was too much of a straight shooter. Besides, she’d want me to get better if I was doing something wrong and telling a chef exactly what they wanted wasn’t the way to do that.
“Y’all are seriously the best.” I felt the tears threatening again, so it was time to leave. “I’ll tell Chrissy this meal’s on me.”
“Not happening,” Killian ordered, his mouth full of a croissant.
Vera gave me an apologetic look. “We’re here to support you, friend. Which means we’re paying for this meal.”
Ezra’s face became a little less mottled. “That’s a good idea.”
Everyone ignored him.
“We should make Ezra get it,” Wyatt murmured as he took another sip of his water and avoided everyone’s eyes.
“That’s a great idea!” Molly agreed, slapping Ezra on the back. “We’ll take the check.”
The purple color was back, painting Ezra’s expression. I smiled at my big brother, so thankful for everything he’d done for me and all his support. He was seriously the most amazing person I knew. And he believed in me from the very beginning. I’d never had to prove myself to him. He just automatically thought I was the perfect person to help his restaurant.
Still, I couldn’t not tease him. What kind of little sister let her brother out of stuff like this?
“I’ll let Chrissy know. See you guys later.”
Vann and I left them to bicker over the check. I could hear them all the way to the kitchen, but it only made me smile.
This was my vision for Bianca—this right here. I wanted a loud, busy dining room. I wanted friends and family meeting here, celebrating, laughing, spending some of the the most important moments of their lives together here. I wanted first dates and anniversary dates and lunch dates. I wanted business meetings and girl nights out and small business pitches. I wanted this dining room to be a revolving door of the chaos of life.
Because the food would be an afterthought. The good food would be a perk of knowing the perfect spot to handle all of your unique and individual needs.
I wanted the answer to the question, “Where do you want to go tonight?” to always be, “Bianca.”
But more than anything, right now, I wanted to share this victory with Vann.
“This is the dining room,” I told him as we passed through it. “And that’s the bar.” I pushed through the in and out doors, introducing him to the other half of the restaurant.
The noise paused for only a moment as the scurrying chefs acknowledged the stranger in their midst. And then they turned back to their work and ignored us.
“This is where the magic happens,” I told him.
He was silent, thoughtful, as he followed me through. We hurried past the varying stations and all the food being prepared. Not because I was anxious to be alone with him, because he hadn’t washed his hands and I was super conscious about food s
afety.
Mm-hmm.
The hallway was marginally quieter, but it wasn’t until we were inside my office that I finally felt as though we had some privacy. He closed the door behind him, grinning at me.
“Are we in a hurry?”
I launched my body at his, wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging to him like this embrace was the only thing holding me together.
His hands landed on my back, rubbing, soothing, putting the scattered, nervous pieces of me back together. “That’s quite the operation you got out there. I had no idea you were so official.”
I looked up at him, taking in the short stubble along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved this morning and there was something so sexy about that and Saturday morning Vann and the way his body wrapped around mine so naturally.
Curiosity sparked inside me and I couldn’t help but ask. “What did you imagine I did?”
“I mean, I don’t want to diminish your accomplishments or anything, but I kind of pictured like a McDonald’s fry cook or something.”
I slapped his chest with my hand, laughing at him. “You’re a brat.”
He caught my face in his hands, the callouses from riding his bike so often rubbing along my jaw. “And you are beautiful, Dillon Baptiste. I knew you were talented, but I didn’t even know someone could be this talented. You’ve blown my mind.”
I rolled my eyes, loving his words of affirmation, but knowing they weren’t entirely true. “Your sister’s a chef, remember? And light years ahead of me. Thanks, though.”
He wouldn’t let me walk away. Instead, he held me tighter, dropping the sweetest kiss to my lips. “You’re light years ahead of Vera. Are you serious?” He dropped his voice. “It’s not even a competition.”
It wasn’t a competition. And Vann’s opinion wasn’t super informed because he wasn’t a chef. But I loved the tummy flutters and light head his compliments brought.
I smiled at him, drinking him in and this moment and how close our bodies were. “Thanks for coming this morning. It means a lot to me.”
“You mean a lot to me,” he murmured, dipping his head to trail kisses along my jawline. “I’m so proud of you, Dillon. You did what you set out to do. You rescued the restaurant. You became a chef that can handle all this. You’re amazing.”
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 117
