The Fallback

by Dietz, Mariah

  “Hello, this is Brooke.”

  “Brooke, it’s Amelia.”

  “Hi!” I cry, my relief too loud. “Did you receive my message?”

  “I did,” she sighs, and my shoulders fall. “You know I love you,” she says, “but there’s no way I can fit this in. I have a wedding just a few hours later. I’m really sorry. If there was anything I could do, I would.”

  I nod, rubbing a hand across my forehead. “I know. I know. Please, don’t apologize. I knew this wouldn’t be your ideal event anyway because of where it’s located, but I had to give it a shot.”

  “Have you tried Bruce?”

  “He lost his food handler’s license,” I remind her.

  “He got it back, and his prices are lower.”

  “Because he lost his food handling license.”

  Amelia laughs. “I didn’t say you should eat the food.”

  I smile in spite of myself. “No. Just watch my reputation die a slow and painful death.”

  “I’ll ask around, but with it being just a couple of days away, I doubt I’ll be able to find anyone.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have a plan B that can go into execution if necessary.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Amelia says. “Knowing you, you likely have a plan C through Z.”

  “I really appreciate you calling me back. I’ll see you in a few weeks for the Gilbert wedding.”

  “The Gilbert wedding?”

  My heart rate spikes, and my hand falls from my face. “You don’t…” I shake my head, fearing how many other vendors might have received incorrect contracts.

  “I’m kidding,” she says. “Sorry, too soon.”

  “Way too soon,” I tell her.

  “Bye, Brooke.”

  “You do have it though, right? Seven hundred and twenty-five guests. Salmon and steak. All the carbs you can dream of…”

  “I caused a mini panic attack, didn’t I?”

  “It’s continuing as you refuse to confirm the event.” My tone is transitioning from a plea into a demand.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it, and my team will be there.”

  I expel a deep breath. “You’re lucky I like you.”

  “You’re lucky I like you. I’ll bring some vodka and create a special concoction just for you. It sounds like you need it.”

  “Bye.”

  I shake my head, my heart still working to slow down from fears of mass contractual errors.

  “Ready?” Chelsea asks as she and Levi head toward me.

  I nod. “Let’s go.”

  The moment we step outside, my phone rings again. I cringe. I make it a point to silence my phone when I’m with a client; however, the Abergals’ bar mitzvah and my life and job will run considerably smoother if one of my calls pans out.

  “This is Brooke,” I say, pledging to keep the small talk short.

  “Brooke, it’s Jay. I got your message. How’d you end up in such a bind?”

  We stop at another crosswalk, and I wish the others around us would pull their attentions from their smartphones and talk to each other or make a call so it wasn’t just my voice heard over the traffic. “It was my fault. I made a mistake on the contract I’d sent.”

  Levi’s blue gaze snaps to my face, his brows lowered as he watches me.

  “I have some extra servers available, but I’ve got to be on the other side of town that day,” Jay tells me, remorse heavy in his voice.

  “That would be a huge help. How many do you have?”

  “Maybe a dozen?”

  “Okay, let me know. I can hire more, but I know you’re picky about your servers, so that will help a lot.”

  “I wish I could do more, kid.”

  “No. I appreciate this. Thank you so much.” I hang up and work to recall how many servers I’ll need to find.

  “What’s going on?” Levi asks.

  I shake my head, making it a point to silence my phone. I can return calls on my way back home. The risk of Chelsea or Levi getting annoyed or mentioning my lack of professionalism outweighs my measly chance of finding a last-minute caterer. “It’s nothing. Just work stuff. I’m sorry about that.”

  “If you need to go, I can handle this.” Chelsea’s offer is equally infuriating as it is tempting. I need this time, yet leaving her to be alone with Levi has me willing to miss sleep in order to stick around.

  “No, really, it’s fine. I’ve got it sorted.”

  People around us shift, moving as the light to walk turns. Levi places a hand on my lower back. The warmth and weight of his touch has me sighing so deeply I feel the release in my toes.

  We stop at three more bars, and as much as I hate to admit it, Chelsea is our greatest asset. She knows the right questions to ask to both the patrons in the bar as well as to Levi to get him thinking about details I would have overlooked.

  “This was great. I think we have a much clearer vision of what we want to accomplish, and that will help tremendously once it’s time to start ordering materials,” Chelsea says. “Are you guys on this side of town? I’m just a few blocks from here.”

  “No. I’ll probably catch a cab back to the office,” I say.

  “You have to stop working so much, Brooke.” She leans forward to hug me. I feel petty that it pains me to smile and hug her in return. The past few days have created a haze that covers much of our previous interactions, leaving me to wonder if it’s jealousy that is making our interactions a struggle or if she’s always had obnoxious tendencies and I just never cared because we weren’t both working to compete for attention from the same man.

  “I just have to stop and get my car. Until someone manages to invent teleporting, I’m stuck using four wheels to get me home.” I attempt to keep my tone light and friendly.

  She laughs, but it’s as forced as my joke.

  “Come on,” Levi says. “We’ll share one. We’ll see you later.” He waves to Chelsea, returning his hand to my back once more.

  “Yeah, I’ll see you Friday.” She flashes another smile, and another catty part of me comes unleashed with the temptation to mimic her.

  God, she’s bringing out the worst in me.

  I swallow my trifling thoughts. “Thanks for coming out. You were a wealth of knowledge. I’ll follow up with you tomorrow on our first stops.”

  She smiles. “I thought you might need my professional eye.”

  Every ounce of pettiness I’d worked to conceal floods my thoughts, and I wish to the karma gods that she wakes up on Friday morning with a giant red pimple on the tip of her pert little nose.

  “See you!” She waves before turning and flouncing down the sidewalk.

  I’m already planning the imitation of this moment I’ll be doing later tonight for Felicity when Levi’s hand lands on my lower back once more. It distracts me from wanting to complain and soothes the tightness in my shoulders.

  “Here we go.” Levi lifts his free hand, waving down a taxi.

  He opens the back door, allowing me to scoot in before following me. The scent of ammonia is so strong it makes my eyes and nose burn.

  “Sorry,” the driver says. “I just washed the inside of my car. Someone spilled some coffee back there.”

  “I thought you’d washed the windows. It smells like glass cleaner.” I notice how shiny the leather seat is beneath us.

  The cab driver shakes his head, laughing. “I use glass cleaner to clean the seats. You don’t want to use those wipes they sell you. That stuff will destroy the leather and dash faster than you could believe. Glass cleaner is the only stuff you need to clean the entire interior.”

  “Learn something new every day,” I say, looking to Levi.

  He grins. “Could you please take us to Fourth and Wallace?”

  My brow furrows with question. “Where?”

  “I need to make a quick stop at one of my bars. Would you mind? You can see the inside of it, tell me your thoughts.”

  “That’s fine.” I should say no. I’m playing a g
ame of roulette with my heart right now, not to mention the work I need to complete.

  Then Levi smiles, and those parentheses around his lips taunt me, silently saying, “Should but don’t want to,” and those eyes—those damn expressive eyes that make me want to get to know him better so I can understand the flashes of humor and other emotions they reveal—send me into a trance that has me losing all sense of thought and reason.

  The taxi pulls to a stop in front of a large hotel building where several doormen are waiting to help customers.

  “Mr. Westbrook,” an older man with short, white hair greets Levi with a smile and handshake. “It’s good to see you.”

  Levi nods, a reciprocating grin across his face. “Always good to see you, Bill.”

  “Are you guys here for business, or are you dining with us tonight?” I’m grateful he doesn’t mention the alternative—that we might be here for the hotel.

  “Perhaps both. Bill, this is Brooke. Brooke, this is Bill. He’s been working here for thirty-eight years.” Bill stands taller, his chest expanding with pride.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, extending my hand.

  His hand is warm, his grip firm.

  “I bet you know all the best-kept secrets around this area.”

  Bill nods. “I do, including where you can find the best Italian beef sandwich.” He shakes his head. “Tourists always want to have the pizza, and don’t get me wrong, we make the world’s best pizza here, but it’s the Italian beef sandwich that is our secret weapon.” He winks. “But I’ve stopped telling people to go down to Pilsen for Mexican food. That’s becoming way too popular.” He looks to Levi, a deep frown pronouncing the deep creases around his mouth. “Took me over an hour to grab a couple of tacos the other day.” He shakes his head. “Madness.”

  “Send them on a wild goose chase for some smoked chubs,” Levi says.

  Bill throws his head back and laughs. “You’ll hire me when I’m fired, right?”

  Levi pats him on the shoulder. “You know it.”

  “Good to meet you, sweetheart,” Bill says as Levi leads us toward the hotel, then moves to the next car to greet it as someone opens the doors for us.

  “How’d you go from culinary school to owning bars?” I ask as we head into an expansive lobby. The walls are covered with ornate details that suggest the building is another time capsule hidden among the many modern marvels the city boasts.

  Levi gently grasps my elbow, directing me to turn with him. “It sort of found me, I suppose.” He nods as a hotel employee passes us. “After my grandfather passed away, I inherited some money, and that happened around the same time Jerry lost his job after the restaurant was bought out by someone who planned to level it and turn the entire block into another hotel. Jerry had this idea of creating a bar for White Sox fans,” Levi pauses, dipping his chin as his blue eyes round with humor. “I’m fairly certain he spent too much of his life watching Cheers, because he wanted to open this small neighborhood bar, and somehow two guys with no experience and zero knowledge about running a business or taxes or anything else decided to open a sports bar.”

  “Wait. You own the Homeplate?”

  He nods.

  “Why didn’t you guys open a restaurant instead? I mean, you’re both chefs.”

  Levi lifts a shoulder. “Restaurants are risky. There’s a lot of overhead and late hours. Plus, the food scene in Chicago is so competitive.”

  “The nightclub and bar scene aren’t?”

  He releases a deep breath, then traces his bottom lip with his tongue. “I love food. I love cooking. I love that they introduced me to these opportunities. I didn’t want to risk opening a restaurant and have it fail because I didn’t want it to influence how I feel about those things.”

  I nod with understanding. “Maybe one day?”

  His lips tip with a subtle grin. “Perhaps.”

  We take the few brief steps remaining to reach two broad wooden doors that are propped open. Inside, opulence spills into each detail, from the lavish chandeliers to the colossal grand piano in the corner, where a pianist fills the space with soft jazz music.

  “Is this what you were expecting?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I mean, it makes sense that your locations are each so different. It just amazes me. There isn’t an obvious common denominator.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s because my mother did most of the planning for this location.”

  The rich dark woods and red fabrics make her tastes and input more apparent. “I can see her in this space.”

  “Me, too.” He places his hand on that trademark spot on my back—the area now waits for his touch. “I just need to tend to a few things in the office. You’re welcome to stay out here and have a drink or go with me.”

  “I should check my messages really fast.”

  “Come on to the back. This place is packed. You’ll never be able to hear anything.”

  I follow his lead, noticing how many smile at us as we pass—most of them women.

  We pass by the restrooms and a small door that I assume is a closet straight to the last door in the hall. Levi produces a key that he uses to unlock the door and pulls it open. The space is filled with three desks, each clearly belonging to a different person based upon the different methods of organization.

  “You can take a seat. Both of these will be empty tonight.” He points to the two desks nearest the door—the tidier spaces of the three.

  I sit at the desk with the least number of things so as to disturb less and retrieve my phone. I have four voice mails and a text from Felicity.

  Felicity: How are things going?

  Felicity: I’m still #TeamLevi

  Me: Things went well. The THREE of us got a lot of work done.

  Because it’s already past nine, I don’t expect her to respond. She’s been starting to pass out shortly after dinner these days.

  I check my messages, each a decline to my pleas for catering.

  “Bad news?” Levi asks, startling me.

  I take a deep breath. “I sent out a contract with two dates on it for a bar mitzvah this weekend, and my caterer had scheduled it on his calendar for the incorrect date, so I sent out a Hail Mary and contacted everyone I know.” I release a deep breath. “But everyone is booked with weddings and other events. I knew they would be, and it will be totally fine. I’ve got a fallback plan, and everything will be great.”

  “What’s the fallback plan?”

  I lift my chin higher to feign confidence, working to convince both of us that this will be a good idea. “Well, thankfully, this hall we rented has a kitchen, so I’m going to go pick up a bunch of food I can heat up from a wholesale store.”

  Levi stares at me as though he’s waiting for the rest of the plan. “Aren’t they going to notice the changes to the menu?”

  “I’ll be calling them tomorrow to let them know of the changes.”

  “How many guests?”

  “Two hundred.”

  His eyebrows jump. “And it’s when?”

  “Saturday.” Panic leaks into my gut. There’s no reason for him to ask these questions unless he’s considering offering some sort of assistance, and I can’t accept his help with this. Not only would it create even more doubt about my competence, but there’s no way I could allow him to offer such a huge favor.

  “Let me call Jerry. If we tag team it, we could do that without a problem. But we’ll need to get some prep work in. Do you have the menu with you?” He stands, walking closer to me as he scrolls through his phone.

  I shake my head. “No. Really. No.”

  He stops. “Why?”

  “You guys have work. Lives. Responsibilities. I can’t have you do this.”

  “We’re trained chefs. I’ll personally guarantee the food.”

  “It’s not the food I’m worried about.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “You’re my client.”

>   “And for a day, I was your date. I can wear all kinds of hats.” He steps closer to me. “Let me make sure Jerry is available before I make any promises, but if he is, you should accept this offer.”

  My thoughts volley between the possibility of accepting his help and the personal and professional ramifications of not as he calls Jerry, his gaze never veering from mine.

  “Jer, it’s Levi.” He pauses. “I need your help. Will you call Kay in if you scheduled yourself over the next couple of days?”

  Jerry’s response is too muffled for me to make out clearly, but one side of Levi’s lips pulls up into a quirk and his eyes smile wider. “Yup.”

  Curiosity is killing me nearly as much as accepting their help.

  “I’ll call you with plans later. Just prepare to sharpen your kosher skills.”

  Another muffled reply has Levi barking out a laugh. “I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up and shrugs. “All done.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” I accuse.

  He chuckles a humorless laugh. “Because it is.”

  “It’s not.”

  His gaze continues to contest, but he remains silent, a gentle smile on his lips. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “I should go.”

  “The restaurant here has a chef who’s vegan.” Levi contorts his face with thought. “He’s a tricky bastard. He doesn’t actually call himself vegan but plant-based.” He shrugs. “I’ve never eaten here, but my staff all claims it’s good. Let’s grab a bite, and you can tell me about the bar mitzvah.”

  I should say no.

  I should create some much-needed space between myself and Levi.

  I should go home.

  “You know you don’t have to do this. There’s literally zero obligation,” I tell him as well as myself.

  “I don’t feel obligated,” he says.

  For some reason, that’s even scarier. Levi extends a hand. “They even have a burger that’s supposed to be like the real thing.”

  I laugh. “This won’t ruin your foodie reputation?” I take his hand, standing.

  He lifts a shoulder. “You’ve inspired me.”

  Later, I’m going to be regretting that I hold his hand the entire way to the restaurant, allowing myself to memorize the feel of his skin against another part of me. I tuck that thought away though, allowing the lines between us to blur further.