The Fifty-Two Week Chronicles (Delectables in the City Book 1)

by Joslyn Westbrook

  Turkey Cranberry Sliders

  Dessert:

  Tiramisu Cheesecake Bites

  Mini Molten Caramel Cakes

  As well as a full bar (That Uncle Joe will tend to) and a choice of soft drinks.

  * * *

  And now it’s Saturday.

  The day we introduce East Hamptoners’ to Foodie Crush.

  “Well, this is it, baby,” Jonathan says, holding me close, as we stand in the middle of Foodie Crush, admiring all that’s been accomplished in so little time. “Are you ready?” he asks, planting a kiss on my forehead.

  “I am ready, and so happy for you. This is a dream restaurant. I know people are going to be giddy over your food.”

  Aunt Becca, Uncle Joe, and Olivia join us, and we have a group huddle as Jonathan reviews our roles for today and tomorrow.

  “Okay, as a recap,” he begins, “Aunt Becca and I will be in the kitchen, Uncle Joe, you’ve got drinks, and Olivia and Kennedy, you two lovelies will be hostesses and servers when we open at 11 a.m.”

  We make final touches, and when Olivia goes to unlock the doors, she lets out a muffled scream, “Oh my gosh, you guys, there is actually a long line. A line!!”

  Most would say, to measure a restaurant’s success, simply check the bottom line for profits. But to me, it’s so much more than profitability—anyone can make a profit by cutting costs here and there, raising prices, reducing cost of goods, etc. Yet to me, a restaurant’s true measure of success is by the look of pure eye-rolling gratification as the customer takes that first bite of their meal and when they walk out looking completely satisfied, as though they just got laid.

  And that’s exactly what I observed today. Everyone seems to be in love with Jonathan’s food, the atmosphere, and the service.

  It’s been a nonstop force of energy since the time we opened the doors, and I couldn’t be more enthralled as I’ve watched Jonathan in action inside of the kitchen and also as he’s mingled unpretentiously with customers, speaking freely about his food and his plans for Foodie Crush.

  At closing, the five of us are dead on our feet, and when we arrive back to Brier Hill, Jonathan and I make love, before we fall fast asleep.

  Sunday is much of the same, except slightly elevated. More have turned out for the event, creating a longer-than-anticipated wait. But not one person seems to be agitated; most accepting the wait as part of the relishing experience.

  Sebastian makes an appearance in the evening, and ends up tending bar with Uncle Joe, adding pizzazz to the night, before he drives back to the city.

  We close at 8 p.m., and Jonathan sends everyone back to Brier Hill to rest, as the two of us stay behind and clean up.

  “This has been a dream come true,” he says, running his hands up and down my back, as we stand embracing in the Foodie Crush kitchen.

  “I know, and I told you people would go crazy over your food. I’m so happy for you, Jonathan,” I say, before he kisses me, unyielding passion flowing from his lips to mine.

  Our lips reluctantly unlock, and Jonathan smiles as he looks down at me. “This would not have come together if not for you. Seriously, this was your idea, and Sebastian pulled through on the marketing side of things… I am utterly grateful.”

  “Do you know what you want to do? I mean, you think you’ll sell Knight and Daze and make this a permanent gig?”

  He smiles, with a pensive glow in his eyes. “Looks like that’s a great possibility although I want to see how the next two weekends go. You’re gonna help still, right?”

  “Of course, I said I’m all yours for as long as you need me.”

  We discuss future goals and menu offerings as we continue to clean up when I develop a craving for coffee. The coffee shop across the street stays open late, and I offer to walk across and pick us both up a cup.

  “I’ll have a large, cold brew with a shot of vanilla,” Jonathan shouts from the office as I head toward the front door.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a flash,” I say, feeling like nothing in the world could rip me off this puffy cloud nine I’ve been floating on for the past few days.

  Jonathan makes me feel desired, loved, and needed as though I’ve been loved by him for my entire life.

  I walk through the coffee shop doors, and a perky young woman greets me from behind the counter. “Hi! Welcome! Wow! You all were so busy. I stopped by before my shift today and I was blown away.”

  “Oh yes, we were extremely busy. How was your food?” I ask, even though the look on her face tells me she had an awesome experience.

  “Oh my goodness. I had the Backyard Burger and Fries. It was too amazing. I mean, really. Food never tasted so good.” She smiles genuinely.

  “Great! I’ll be sure to let the chef know,” I say, a proud feeling running through my entire body.

  “What can I get you tonight?”

  “Oh yes. I’ll have a large, cold brew with a shot of vanilla. And also a small mocha with cream,” I tell her, lost in my own thoughts of yesterday and today.

  “Awesome. And your name?”

  “Penelope.”

  Chapter 26

  With our two coffees in hand, I practically dance my way across the street and back into Foodie Crush.

  Jonathan is waiting for me, wearing a euphoric grin, as he sits lounging comfortably at one of the tables.

  I place the two drinks on the table and excuse myself briefly to visit the little girls’ room.

  As I make my way back around the corner from the restroom, I notice Jonathan’s face has changed from its elated glow, to a look I have not seen, ever. It’s like he’s concerned and confused all at once.

  Taking one small step at a time, I approach him ever so carefully. “Jonathan, i-is everything alright?” My voice cautious.

  He stands up, both drinks on the table. He turns them around and points to the black ink on both cups.

  I stare dismayed, stopping clear in my tracks.

  Written on each cup in large black ink—the name PENELOPE.

  Oh Fuck. Fuck.

  While in the coffee shop, I was so distracted, cast-away in a sea of bliss, I didn’t think twice when she asked me my name.

  Jonathan looks at my guilt-stricken face as we stand staring at each other at least three feet apart, the farthest we’ve been since I’ve met him.

  My eyes begin to fill with tears, as I feel my chest cave in.

  No, please. Not now. You can’t have a panic attack now.

  Jonathan opens his mouth, and at first nothing comes out. Then finally, “W-what is this?” His voice timid and broken.

  “I-I can explain,” I begin. “You see—”

  “No,” he interrupts, his voice raised now, “you can’t seriously be her?” He sits down and then stands right back up, now leaning against the table with his arms folded.

  “Jonathan,” I try again to explain, taking a step closer to him.

  “No. Don’t come near me right now, please. Just talk. Tell me what the fuck is going on here.” His eyes fixed on me are dark and unforgiving.

  “Jonathan, it’s a long story, but I, agreed to be the one to help you since—”

  “Since you ruined my life?” he practically yells. “What was all of this for? Out of pity? To clear your conscience? I opened up to you about everything. Shit, I fucking made love to you.” He looks at me, frustration and hurt pouring through him. “Just when were you planning to tell me I was sleeping with the enemy?”

  His words cut through me like a switchblade, fast and to the point.

  And all I can do is run. Get the fuck out of here before I lose myself in this madness I created.

  The next morning I wake up in my own bed, unable to open my eyes completely. They are swollen from all of the crying I did on the ride home via Uber, and all throughout the rest of the night as I tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep.

  Thankfully, I was able to sneak in without waking Sebastian. A quick glance at the clock on my bedside table reveals it’s now 11
:30 a.m. The coast is definitely clear. Sebastian leaves for work at 8 a.m. sharp.

  My heart aches. And so does my head…and my feet from running away from Foodie Crush, escaping the harsh reality I left behind.

  I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. All I wanted to do was help Jonathan turn his restaurant around. It’s not like I planned for the two of us to fall into…whatever it was we fell into.

  Lust?

  Infatuation?

  Love?

  Ugh. Life sure has a way of knocking you down when you have nothing to hold on to.

  My phone rings.

  It’s Sebastian.

  “Hello?” I say, hoping he can’t detect the despair in my voice.

  “OMG, woman. Have you read the papers? As in The Herald and The Sentinel?” His voice sounds like he just discovered a winning lottery ticket.

  “Nope. Not really. Why?”

  “Well, shit! You all made the paper. Both of them! Foodie Crush is in news! A piece from some lowly food critic I’ve never heard of and another piece from none other than Gregory Hambrick. He gave it five freaking stars. One, two, three, four, five, Penelope. My boss is so freaking pleased, he’s hinting at a promotion for me. So, I won’t be home until much later. A staff celebratory dinner has been announced.”

  I sit up on the edge of my bed. “Are you serious? Well that’s really great for you! And great for Jonathan. That’s all such wonderful news.”

  “Yeah. He thought so too. I mentioned it to him this morning when he called me.”

  “Wait. Jonathan called you?”

  Great, he probably spilled the beans and now Sebastian knows I’ve royally fucked up everything.

  “Yep. He called asking for our address. Apparently you left in a hurry and forgot your bag and a few other things? Seriously. I had no idea you were home this morning. I would have totally made you an omelette.”

  I roll out of bed in a panic. “Wait. So he asked for our address to come here? Like today?”

  “Uh, no. He said he was just going to send your stuff in a box via FedEx…something about being busy. Anyway, are you okay, Penelope? You sound so confused.”

  “I’m uh, I’m fine, Sebastian. But I’ve gotta go now. Love ya.”

  I end the call before Sebastian hears a yelp from my outburst of tears. Jonathan is sending me my things all packed up in a box. That’s classic it’s over and I never want to see you again, shit.

  And perfect. Today’s Monday.

  I cry for a little longer before dragging myself into the bathroom and take a bubble bath, thinking this is the perfect time for Calgon to take me away. And I sit until the water turns cold, basking in pitiful somberness.

  I force myself out, dry off, and grab my robe, putting it on as I dawdle into the kitchen for coffee.

  What was I expecting? That Jonathan would show up with my stuff and confront me—tell me what a horrible person I am for stringing him along?

  But it wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t string him along. I wanted so badly to tell him.

  Through it all, this experience has taught me a great deal about myself. True, I’ve got a passion for food, but that doesn’t mean I need to be this petty food critic, penning details of good, or bad meals. I’ve learned I can channel my passion for food from behind the scenes—right in the restaurant. I’ve also discovered I’ve developed an insane amount of feelings for Jonathan. So much that my mind, body, and soul are going through withdrawals right now.

  Hmm.

  And he said I was the one who was like a drug.

  The Keurig completes its short brewing cycle and I grab my cup, adding two spoons of sugar and splash of cream.

  A quick knock at the door startles me and I can’t help but tremble. Could it be Jonathan? Did he come after all? Will he cut me as brutally as he did last night?

  Only one way to find out.

  Leaving my coffee behind, I run to the door and swing it open.

  But it’s not him.

  It’s the postman with a delivery for Sebastian.

  Figures.

  I sign for it and close the door and drag my ass all the way back to the kitchen.

  After placing Sebastian’s package on the counter and collecting my coffee cup, I move to the office. It’s Monday. Time to post a review on my Facebook page.

  An hour later, I press publish, sending my emotionally driven review out into the world, for all to see.

  Chapter 27

  The Fifty-Two Week Chronicles - Facebook Page

  August 1, 2016

  A spur of the moment adventure landed me in East Hampton, New York, last week where I was fortunate enough to spend time with what seems to have been a lifelong crush of mine—that is Foodie Crush.

  It’s a handsome little Pop-up in town for just a little while, to steal the hearts of locals and vacationers, making them drool over its fortuitous presence.

  East Hampton seemed to be in shock as to how quickly this joint swooped in and made them all agog. They all hungered for something new, evident of how long they waited in line at their chance to get a taste.

  Foodie Crush gave East Hampton exactly what they’ve been craving: satisfaction—expertly dishing out sultry menu offerings that are indeed the Rolls Royce of comfort food. From the decadent Backyard Burger to the sinfully rich Tiramisu Cheesecake Bites, you’ll walk out heartbroken that you can’t take your new crush with you.

  I was lucky enough to get a backstage view of how the food was planned, prepared, and plated. The total experience was enough to sweep me off my feet and toss me into a whirlwind of culinary happiness. If I had the chance to do it all again, I would.

  Foodie Crush will be open every weekend for the rest of this month. So, if you find yourself in East Hampton, stop by this little nugget of five-star happiness. The talented executive chef, Jonathan Knight, would love the opportunity to share his passion for food with you like he did with me and the kind folks of East Hampton.

  Cheers to you and yours!

  * * *

  It seems as though hours have passed by as I loll on the living room couch, trying to pry my eyes open. I cried until no more tears were left, and I must have eventually fallen asleep. It’s dark now and I don’t even know what time it is.

  Do I even care?

  Nope.

  More sleep, off this hard couch and into my own bed, would be best.

  But I’m too sore to move, still aching from this bloody heartache, no doubt.

  If Sebastian were here, he would have surely woken me up and made me some sort of a heartbreak-curing smoothie, latte, or maybe an omelette. But I remember he said he’d be home late, out for a staff celebration dinner.

  So it’s just me. Wallowing all alone, and it’s times like this when I wish I had a cat or a dog (a hypoallergenic one, of course). Shit, even a fucking goldfish would do.

  Ugh. Enough.

  I push myself off of the couch and then…lie right back down.

  I have no energy.

  A classic case of Jonathan Knight Withdrawal Syndrome.

  I acquiesce, give into my sorrow, and pull a throw over my entire body.

  I’ll just wait for Sebastian to come home.

  He’ll know what to do.

  I doze off momentarily, then hear a faint knock at the door.

  Sebastian. He’s probably drunk from his celebration dinner and can’t find his keys.

  I get up, turn on the hall light and hurry to the door.

  Before I reach it, there’s another knock. “Hold on, Sebastian, I’m coming,” I mutter.

  I swing open the door and—

  “Hi,” Jonathan says, his voice much more delicate now than it was last night. He holds up my bag and says, “You left this behind.”

  I stare at him, utterly shocked, but try hard to pretend I’m unfazed by him being here. At my door. Looking all…Jonathan like.

  “Uh, yeah. I suppose I did,” I say, unclear of what my next move should be. Do I snatch the bag from his hands
and slam the door in his face? Or do I run into his arms and beg him to forgive me?

  “Um, can I come in?” he asks.

  “Oh, of course,” I say, widening the door’s opening. I step aside, allowing him entrance.

  We stand in the hall for a minute as I adjust my robe, and seconds later, I finally take my bag from his hand. Feeling uneasy from the awkward silence that lingers, I walk down the hall, toward the kitchen, not knowing exactly what to say, and hear Jonathan’s footsteps following close behind me.

  “Can I get you something, some water, a cup of coffee, soda?” I offer as I motion for him to take a seat on one of the barstools.

  “N-No thank you. I-I, uh, only came to give you your bag,” he says as he sits and begins to nervously tap his fingertips on the countertop.

  “Oh. Well, thank you. That was quite thoughtful.”

  I take a seat in the barstool next to him, facing him, our knees now touching. He looks at me and I notice his eyes are slightly red. Either he shed a few tears of his own, or he got high. I laugh internally, knowing Jonathan certainly did not get high.

  “Sebastian said you were going to send me my stuff,” I say, glancing at the clock on the microwave that says 8:03 p.m.

  “I thought about that, but decided I would rather hand your stuff over to you in person.”

  I nod and put my bag down, realizing I had been gripping it close to my chest.

  My nerves taking over.

  “I read the review you posted today. For Foodie Crush. Thank you for that,” he says, still nervously tapping his fingertips on the counter.

  “You’re welcome. That post will probably be the last time I post for a while. I’ll send something out tomorrow to my followers,” I admit, now joining in with the finger tapping.

  “Why? I mean why the last post?”

  “It’s just not who I am anymore. You made me realize that.”

  He raises his eyebrows briefly. “And who are you?”

  “That’s what I need to find out,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

  A lengthy pause almost steals the moment, like a vulture swooping down on its prey.