He also had orange slices—because this was Vann after all. Oranges were obviously his favorite. And a salad with stone fruit and nuts on it.
He went to a lot of work to get this all together. I was truly impressed. “This looks amazing. Seriously.”
He smiled and I could see him visibly relax. “Uh… the cycling? I started working in a bike shop when I was in high school. The guy I worked for was obsessed with bikes. I mean, he was also this gruff asshole. But he taught me how to respect the ride and take care of my equipment. He showed me how it could be an escape. And a therapist. And a friend.”
I liked the way he talked about bikes. It was exactly how I felt about food. An escape and a therapist and a friend. It was there to take me away from my thoughts and life and the humdrum reality I’d boxed myself into. And it also listened to all my problems, let me pour into it my frustration and fear and the thousand other emotions I felt on a daily basis. And it was definitely a friend. The constant listener in my life. The always understanding, never judgmental, unconditional love I wanted so desperately.
“I get that,” I told him, real emotion lowering my tone. “You just knew you wanted to own a shop then? Like from that moment?”
He shook his head. “Not quite. I thought about college for a bit. Took some business classes and what not. But I don’t know, it just wasn’t for me. I’m not a… traditional learner. I hate school. I hate tests. I hate homework. I wanted to do something that I could see results in immediately. Opening my own business eventually became that thing. As I got more and more responsibility at the bike shop, I saw that it could be profitable if it was managed right. I decided to open something and be the successful owner I wanted to be.”
“That’s so cool.”
He smiled around a bite of his chicken salad lettuce wrap. “Cool. Also, hard. It’s been a long road to get where I am today.”
“You mean, doing well?”
“I mean, climbing out of the red.” His gaze grew distant, thoughtful. “It’s taken a minute to get where I’m at. I didn’t always know what I was doing.”
I hummed in agreement. “Being a grown-up is hard.”
He looked at me, a plate of food on his lap, completely clad in spandex, his cheeks a little red from the exertion of riding and sun and wind. He was all testosterone and chiseled masculinity. There was nothing struggling about him now. He had it all figured out.
He was all that was man.
And looking at me now, the way he was, made me feel completely, one-hundred-percent, female.
I wiggled a little at his open assessment, shoving my mouth full of kale chips and following it with a long chug of water. “I mean, there’s a lot going on,” I added, trying to pull myself out of this hole I’d unwillingly walked into. “Bills and business. And… making your own dental appointments.”
He finally smiled, erasing the building tension with that one expression. “I’ve always had to make my own dental appointments.”
“Oh?”
Nodding, he set his plate to the side and laid down on his side, with his head propped in his hand. “Yup. My dad couldn’t remember stuff like that. He also didn’t care about any of it. I realized quickly that if I wanted good teeth, I was going to have to solve that problem myself.”
“How old were you when you made your first dental appointment?”
He thought about it for a minute and then said. “Uh, seven maybe? And I’ve been on a strict every six months schedule ever since.”
“You’re kidding.”
He smiled, flashing perfectly straight and white teeth. “I never joke about the dentist.”
I threw a kale chip at him. He caught it in his gleaming chompers. “I never had to do that kind of stuff for myself. I mean, I wasn’t always rich. I don’t want you to get that idea. When my mom wasn’t with my dad, we were super poor. Like showering in truck stop bathrooms and splitting Top Ramen for every meal. But my dad was in charge of my healthcare, so I never had to worry about braces or checkups or anything.”
“I can’t decide which childhood I’d rather have,” he murmured, a frown replacing that blinding smile. “Sounds like we both had it kind of rough.”
I laid down on my side next to him. “I think that’s how most childhoods are. You know? If your parents didn’t totally mess you up, were you even a kid?”
He laughed and I loved the way it made me feel bubbly and happy and so totally removed from those dark memories.
“Maybe it’s not always your parents though. Sometimes it’s your circumstances,” he suggested.
“And sometimes it’s other kids. What I’m saying is there isn’t a way to get out of it unscathed. The only path to adulthood is trial by fire.”
“And then it’s just more fire.”
We reclined on the blanket at the same time, as if we’d had the same thought. Our shoulders bumped into each other as we watched the clouds drift across a bright blue sky. The summer breeze cooled my skin and lifted the rogue hairs across my forehead.
I turned my head and looked at him. He did the same thing. The sky was in his eyes. “Something happened to me.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d fully decided to say them. “It’s what turned me into a runner. Or, uh, the person I am today. It made me want to run. I just… I get scared. And I run away before things can get real.”
His fingertips drifted down my forearm until he found my hand. He wove our fingers together as he searched my face.
My body had stiffened, the itch in my feet that was, even now, whispering to run.
“Is that why the night of the rehearsal dinner was not okay?”
I nodded. “It bothered me that I couldn’t remember. That I would put myself in a situation like that when I was so far gone. And then I just assumed that you were the kind of guy that would…” I shook my head, unable to even say words about Vann that would suggest he was anything but incredible. And trustworthy.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His hand squeezed mine and I knew this was a safe space. I knew he would take my confession and treat me with grace and kindness. I knew I could tell Vann anything. At this moment, I knew that. But I still couldn’t get the words out.
They had lodged themselves in my throat and calcified over time. They were fossils by now. Still real. Still damaging. Still slicing my trachea wide open. But I could not speak them.
“I find that I can’t actually say the words yet,” I whispered, finding it hard to even get that much of a confession out.
His brows drew down in a deeper frown. “I’m here for you, Dillon. Whenever you want to say them, I’m here to listen. You won’t shock me. You won’t scare me off. Whatever happened, I am here to help you carry the burden.”
I realized then that he hadn’t put all of the pieces together. And I shouldn’t have expected him to. Just because the answer was so clear to me, didn’t mean anyone else would assume it about me. But I felt hope in his promises.
He’d stayed this long. Maybe he could hear the truth and trust me like I was learning to trust him.
“Thank you,” I told him, tears wetting my eyes.
“Come here.” He pulled me into a hug right there on the blanket, in our sideways position. Our legs intertwined automatically, and we wrapped each other up in the tightest hug—spandex to spandex.
We stayed like that for an hour. Just hugging. Just feeling warmth from each other and reassurance and the promise of something yet to come.
It was the most perfect afternoon of my life.
Twenty
Reopening weekend! And it felt so good.
Bianca was officially launched with our new vibe. Molly had helped come up with a gorgeous tagline—casual French for the modern American. And we’d run a ridiculously successful internet campaign thanks to her freaking genius marketing super skills.
We’d even revamped the interior of the dining room to reflect a brighter, sunnier, more brunch-like mood. Flowers were refreshed. Dishes were replaced. I’d e
ven convinced Ezra to go with a lighter, smaller-pronged set of silverware.
I’d reached out to Killian’s bartender friend, Will English at Craft, for some French breakfast cocktails and was super impressed with his help. This morning we were serving our version of a French 75, champagne and gin and a splash of orange juice. We’d added a toothpick with a strawberry, lime wedge, and agave syrup drizzle. We were calling it the Breakfast 75. We also had a pomegranate and champagne sparkling thingy that was perfectly refreshing. They were both delicious. I’d had ample samples this week.
Just to be sure—obviously.
We also had traditional mimosas and Bloody Marys.
Because now wasn’t the time to get snobby. We were trying to get people inside the restaurant. If they wanted tomato juice and vodka with whole strips of bacon and a cheeseburger slider on a stick, who was I to turn them down?
If they were willing to pay $17.99 a pop, more power to them.
Our final menu was something I considered a work of art. The whole kitchen staff had pitched in to make this brunch a shining star in a section of Durham that had no breakfast options.
Of course, my dreams included total and complete world domination. But I would start with this neighborhood and work my way out.
We had an eggs benedict station, that included protein and vegetarian options like smoked salmon, fried green tomatoes, and crispy, peppered pork belly. Our croque madame had been perfected with jalapeno raspberry jam, hickory smoked bacon, rich and creamy camembert and crispy kale chips—that idea I’d gotten from Vann’s picnic.
But hey, those crunchy little suckers really worked. And I loved the salty component they brought.
There were so many other mouthwatering items on the list as well. Enough that we hoped nobody would be able to decide their first time sitting down and then they’d note at least three other things they wanted to try. They’d mark this restaurant in their heads with a gold star and the memory that they wanted to come back and try x, y and z.
And maybe, if we were super lucky, they’d give us a glowing review on Yelp.
Or Google.
That was possibly wishful thinking. But after being here for months, I hoped for something other than the demise of my very short-lived career.
“Three tables so far,” Julia, one of my most reliable servers, said as she breezed into the kitchen. “But they seem excited about the menu change.”
My stomach squeezed with nerves. Three? That was hardly enough to justify the time change. “That’s good.” Because it was, I reminded myself. “We have to start somewhere. At least there are people out there.”
She nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Good point, Chef.”
I tried not to smile at her. Clearly this girl was terrified of me. Which meant I was doing part of my job right!
My impulse was to rip off my toque, throw it on the ground and do a happy dance right on top of it. But I kept my cool.
At least for now.
“Good work out there, Jules. We can save the sign-spinning for later in the morning.” Her jaw unhinged and I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m kidding.”
She hurried from the kitchen.
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Blaze noted while we all watched the printer, waiting for the first order to appear.
Shrugging off the giddiness that had followed me all week, I told him, “I’m excited to see how this goes. I’ve got a good feeling.”
“I do too,” he agreed. “I think this is going to change Bianca’s reputation for good.”
I beamed at his unexpected compliment and then remembered he would be giving me a final answer later today if he was going to leave Bianca or stay as sous.
He’d told me he’d get me through opening weekend before he moved on. But now it was opening weekend and my hopes that he would change his mind were slowly dwindling. He hadn’t said anything since our initial conversation.
And there had been a day he had mysteriously asked off last week. I’d tried to casually pry, but he’d been a locked box. And when I had asked the rest of the staff in his absence, they hadn’t given me any useful information.
So here we were. Hours away from his final decision. And I was a tight ball of nerves.
This was terrible planning on my part. I should have scheduled the meeting a year from now. But definitely not on the day we launched Bianca’s new menu. During our first brunch.
One day I would get my life together. Probably not any day soon. But one day.
One. Day.
“We should talk,” I blurted, unable to hold back my morbid curiosity any longer. And honestly, I was starting to question my mental sanity and if I could even make it that long. I was basically bubbling over, waiting to see how today went, waiting to see if this would work or if we’d fail before we ever really started… waiting for him to give me his answer.
Honestly, I was about three seconds away from just firing him, so I didn’t have to try to survive when he quit. Also I needed to get rid of some of this intense adrenaline. We were at critical levels.
“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.
The Something about Her: Opposites Attract book four Page 25
