by R.S. Grey
Fresh on the heels of winning the James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurateur, Dean Harper is set to open his new restaurant, Lirio, next month. We haven’t been able to pin down details on the menu yet, but with a name like that, one can only hope it will have a Spanish flare. Tapas and margaritas anyone?
We managed to snap this photo of the outside of the restaurant, but the windows are taped up during the interior construction phase. Sneaky sneaky. As soon as we have more details, we’ll be sure to pass them along!
Also, to save you the Google search, Lirio translated into English means Lily. Dean Harper is a notorious bachelor, so we have no clue where the name came from. His grandmother? A friend? PLEASE DON’T SAY IT’S HIS GIRLFR—
I started the article again, this time reading each word as slowly as possible. Dean was opening a restaurant and he was naming it after me. He was naming his restaurant after me and I’d stood him up.
I slapped my laptop closed and tossed it onto the futon. I turned in a circle, trying to think of what to do first. I was wearing a t-shirt and no bra. Shit. I threw off my pajamas and rifled through my closet, trying to find a single clean shirt. I hadn’t had the energy to do laundry in days. I grabbed a black sundress and yanked it on over my head, then yanked it off and put on a bra.
I had my keys in hand and my purse over my shoulder when I flew through the front door. It wasn’t until I was halfway down the stairs that I realized I wasn’t wearing any shoes.
“SHIT!” I yelled, turning and running back toward my apartment.
This was the closest Dean would ever come to commitment, and I had no shoes. I needed to find him. I needed to apologize for standing him up and I needed to find some freaking shoes!
It was already 7:30 PM. Dean definitely wasn’t still at the restaurant, so I took off in the direction of his house. I didn’t want to wait for a cab, so I hoofed it on foot, my flip-flops slapping against the concrete as I made a run for it. I turned the corner and took off down the sidewalk, nearly plowing down a girl Instagramming her ice cream cone.
“Watch it!” she spat as I brushed past her.
“No, YOU watch it,” I yelled back. I wasn’t taking anyone’s shit. I had to get across town and I couldn’t waste a single second.
Flip-flops were a terrible choice of footwear for a cross-Manhattan run. I knew I’d be nursing blisters for the next two years.
“Oh god, I’m not going to make it,” I hissed, leaning against a brick wall and trying to catch my breath.
I was almost there, but my heart was going to give out if I kept running. I turned to the side and caught sight of my reflection in the window of the building. Holy shit. Not good.
I hadn’t put makeup on that morning or washed my hair the night before. Not that it really mattered; most of the blonde strands were sticky with sweat and stuck to my forehead in a grungy sort of look. My cheeks were flushed, and my eyes were wide—that may sound cute, but it wasn’t. My black dress was stuck to my chest with sweat, but thankfully the dark color sort of concealed my general lack of hygiene.
I forced myself to ignore my appearance and kept going. I pushed off the wall and took a deep breath. Dean’s house was only a few blocks away.
I’m almost there.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Lily
I rang the doorbell twice and then knocked with my fist. The light turned on in the foyer and then his black lacquered door slid open. He stood on the other side, shirtless and silhouetted by the light behind him. His black drawstrings pants were untied and loose around his hips—clearly he didn’t know proper protocol for how to answer a door.
“You’re too late,” he said, careful to keep the emotion out of his voice.
I took a step back before meeting his gaze. I’d seen him angry before, on multiple occasions, but I’d never seen him defeated. His eyes were soft, his lips were downturned, and his brows were furrowed not in anger, but in pain.
“You named it after me,” I said, barely above a whisper.
He swallowed slowly and then nodded. “And every single dish was inspired by you, and every wine tastes like you, and every painting hung on the walls was commissioned in your honor.”
“Dean—”
“Too bad you missed it.”
“Show me,” I pleaded.
He took a step back. “I think I’m good.”
“Dean. Show me.”
He laughed, but it was a hollow sound, something I never wanted to hear again. “Antonio is gone. The food is in the restaurant’s kitchen, cold and forgotten.”
He moved to close the door, but I put my hand out to block its path. If he closed it, he’d chop my hand off. I wouldn’t put it past him, but I had to at least try to stop him.
“Dean. Please take me to Lirio.”
A tiny spark lit up behind his sad eyes. “I waited there for two hours. I sat in the restaurant by myself, waiting for the door to open. You never showed up and it’s too late to go back now.”
I could visualize him there perfectly, that glimmer of hope in his eyes. He’d thought I’d show. What had it felt like to put the food away in the fridge after waiting there alone for two hours? I wanted to wrap my arms around him and make it up to him, but I knew he would pull away. We didn’t work like normal people. We were stubborn and proud.
I knew I had to work for his forgiveness, so I took a step back and then felt for the hand railing on his stoop. I used it to guide me down the steps backward. All the while, he stood in his doorway, on the precipice of shutting me out of his life for good.
I kept walking backward, keeping my eyes on him until I was in the middle of the sidewalk. Then, I flung my arms out to my side and yelled at the top of my lungs, “I’m sorry! I’m SORRY! DO YOU HEAR ME NEW YORK CITY?!” I twisted around in a circle and yelled out to the houses around me.
“I stood up a wonderful man and I’M SORRRRYYYYYY!”
A car alarm went off a few streets over and I swore I heard a cat screech with annoyance down the block.
I stopped twirling and dropped my hands back to my sides, facing Dean with absolute abandon.
“I’m sorry,” I said, one last time, just for him. It was sincere and real and it was the best I could do.
We stood frozen, staring at one another. He kept his position in the doorway and I stayed outside, giving him space. I thought he’d turn and walk. After everything we’d put each other through, the odds of him loving me the way I loved him weren’t in my favor.
“Please,” I said, trying to convince him.
He inhaled a deep breath, shook his head, and then he held up a finger. “Lirio’s closed, but luckily, I know the owner.”
…
We didn’t speak the entire walk to the restaurant, and we tried our hardest not to look at one another. Every so often, I felt his eyes on me and I’d turn to face him. He’d glance away and I’d be left with a view of his profile, so achingly beautiful that I couldn’t help but stare for a moment. Halfway there, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I see you watching me,” he said.
“Look, I know we're still testing the waters here, and you’re doing me a big favor by agreeing to go with me, but…I ran all the way to your apartment in mismatched flip-flops and my feet are basically two giant blisters right now. Would you mind giving me a piggyback ride?”
He laughed and turned so I could hop onto his back. My feet thanked me the second I was off the ground.
“Better?" he asked.
I smiled. “Much.”
His grip tightened around my thighs and he carried me until we reached the restaurant.
The photo on the blog must have been recent because the windows of the restaurant were still taped up and the facade still lacked its finishing touches. The brick was painted black and the building was dark, but the streetlights illuminated a thin plastic banner hanging just above the door. Lirio was spelled across it in black scrolling letters.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, sl
iding my gaze to him.
He brushed off my compliment. “It’s not done yet.”
“Well, I love it already.”
His smile hit me full force when he turned to me. “Me too.”
“Did you taste the food earlier? When Antonio was here?”
He shook his head.
“Come on. Let’s heat it up and try it.”
“It won’t be nearly as good,” he said.
It was.
Of course Antonio would have plated the food with pretty details, but we managed just fine. The dishes were delicious, full of complex flavors that I had to sit and mull over as I chewed each bite. Dean and I fought each other for each morsel until the very end and even then, I still wanted more.
“Here,” he said, holding out his fork with the last bite of our dessert resting on top.
I smile and leaned forward, letting him feed me. The cheesecake tart with fresh blueberries was the perfect ending to the meal. The creamy texture rolled over my tongue and I let a soft moan escape my mouth.
“It’s exactly what I wanted,” I said, waving my hand over the empty plates and bowls. “This is the kind of meal I was expecting in Vegas.”
He nodded, watching me over the kitchen island.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” I said, broaching the subject I’d avoided throughout dinner.
He dropped his fork onto his empty plate and met my gaze. “A part of me knew you wouldn’t show up.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone had treated me the way I’d treated you, I wouldn’t have given them another chance either.”
“Is that what you wanted? A second chance?”
He wet his bottom lip and for a few seconds, I wasn’t sure he’d even answer.
“Dean?”
“The other day you said that no man is an island. Ever since I was young, I’ve been fiercely competitive. I guess I always thought of myself as a mountain climber. I wanted to be the fastest kid on the track, the smartest kid in the class, and the richest man in New York. I wanted to climb and climb and climb, but the top turned out to be an even colder type of isolation.”
"Are you saying you need a Sherpa?”
He laughed and bent forward over the island to kiss me. He took me by surprise and I could hardly kiss him back before he was pulling away.
“I need you,” he confirmed. “God help me.”
I smiled, flushed from ear to ear with a blush I didn’t bother trying to hide.
“When I pushed you out of my house that night, I told you that you’d find a better man than me, and well, I’ve decided that I’m going to be that man. In the last month, I’ve worked to become the type of man you deserve.”
“Oh really?” I asked, trying to keep my cool. Inside, I was pushing down the urge to shove the dishes off the island and throw myself at him.
“I sold off four of my restaurants, I hired three new managers to help with the workload, and I promoted Zoe so that she can help with daily operations. I won’t ever fully retire, but I’m not going to be a workaholic any more.”
“What about Lirio? You didn’t sell it, right?”
I’d kill him if he had.
He shook his head. “I still own Lirio. It’ll always be our restaurant.”
I smiled and leaned in, whispering against his lips just before I kissed him.
“The first of many.”
Epilogue
Dean
I reclined in the back seat of the town car and let the city lights ease my growing headache. My flight from Iowa had landed an hour ahead of schedule, but the traffic from the airport to Lirio was about to drive me insane.
The driver’s voice broke me out of my haze. “How was your trip, sir?”
I turned toward the front seat and met his eye in the rearview mirror. “The usual.”
My parents had badgered me the same as they always had, but this time Lily had been the topic of discussion.
“When are we going to get a grandchild? We’re only getting older.”
“Are you sure you want to stay in New York City? Is that really where you want to raise your family?”
“Aren’t you ready to make an honest woman out of her?”
I swore they were still living in the 1800s, but I’d tried my best to appease them. I’d had a ring burning a hole in the pocket of my pants for the last two months. I’d picked out a ring that was big, but tasteful. Julian had set the bar high a few months earlier—the bastard—but I’d been happy to spoil Lily. She’d flip when she saw it. If she saw it.
Our lives had been so busy the last few months. Opening Lirio had taken a lot of work and the restaurant still wasn’t running smoothly. Most nights, Lily and I were both working like dogs.
“Here you are sir. Would you like me to wait?”
I shook my head and offered him a tip. The night was still young and I knew Lily and I would be at the restaurant for quite a while.
“Go on ahead and drop my luggage at the house. We’ll catch a cab later.”
“Sounds good, sir.”
Lirio was packed when I walked in, busier than usual for a Wednesday night. The New York Times had featured our restaurant the week before and we were already starting to see the effects of the article.
“Hi Mr. Harper,” the hostess said, nodding at me as I walked in and hung my jacket on the coat rack near the door.
“Hey Sarah. What’s it looking like tonight?”
“We have over a hundred reservations and I haven’t tallied the walk-ins yet. There are two parties taking place in the back rooms at the moment.”
I nodded. “Good. Where’s Lily?”
She smiled and angled her head toward the center bar.
“Again?”
“Yeah, Todd called in sick.”
That was fourth time he’d called in sick in two weeks, and I knew for a fact the kid was calling in so he could make it to last minute auditions.
“All right, thanks,” I told her, moving past the hostess stand so I could find Lily.
We’d designed Lirio to be much smaller than Provisions. We’d wanted the experience to feel intimate. The tables were covered with white tablecloths with fresh flowers and tea candles. The lighting overhead was soft and meant to be forgotten. Beautiful abstract paintings hung sparingly on the walls, but the real art was the food. Antonio had created dishes for us that were jam-packed with color and flavor.
“Two jalapeño margaritas!” Lily called, sliding two drinks across the bar. There was a small crowd around her, watching her work and waiting anxiously for their turn to get a drink.
There was another bar on the other side of the restaurant, but like always, people were drawn to her. She had her blonde hair twisted up in a bun atop her head, but a few strands had slipped out. She huffed out a breath, trying to blow the strands out of her eyes as she dried her hands on her black apron. She wasn’t in the standard black uniform the other employees wore; she never was. Just like the food, she was a constant source of color in the restaurant. Her royal blue wrap dress curved around her, completely modest but lighting a fire inside me even still. She was beautiful. Hours of working behind a bar would never dampen her glow.
I walked up to the edge of the bar, a few feet away from where she was stationed. She bent forward toward a patron to hear his order over the hum of the crowd. When she leaned back and reached for her shaker, I spoke up.
“You told me you were going to catch up on admin stuff tonight,” I said.
Her bright eyes slid from the shaker up to me and she squealed.
“Dean!”
She took two steps closer and leaned over the bar to plant a kiss right on my lips. I wrapped a hand around her neck, holding her against me.
“I missed you,” I breathed against her lips.
“I need to make this drink,” she laughed, peeling out of my hold.
I regretted having to let her go, but there were customers waiting for drinks.
“You want me
to help?” I asked.
There’d been a few nights in the last month when Lily and I’d had to tackle bar duty together.
She scooped some ice into the shaker and shook her head. “Nah, there’s plenty to do in the office and I don’t want to be here until 3 AM again.”
Her mischievous smile confirmed that she was referring to the week before when we’d worked late and shared Chinese food in the back office. She’d leaned over to wipe something from the edge of my mouth, I’d licked her finger, and we’d ended up on the floor in a messy pile of love and lo mein.
I tapped my knuckle against the bar. “Come find me when it slows down.”
…
There was a knock on the office door and I glanced up as Lily strolled in, kicking the door shut behind her. She held a bottle of chilled champagne in one hand and two champagne glasses in the other.
“How were your parents?” she asked.
I leaned back in my chair and motioned her forward.
“Good, but they were sad you couldn’t make it. Why the champagne?”
She slid down onto my lap and I wrapped my hands around her waist. She nuzzled the side of my neck and I inhaled her sweet perfume.
“It’s to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” I asked, pulling back so I could look into her eyes.
She smiled. “This place has been open for almost six months. That article in the Times has taken our business to a new level. I think we have like 250 reservations for Friday night already.”
I drew a strand of hair off her cheek. “Are you happy with it? The hours and the work?”
She shot me a sidelong glance. “Are you kidding me?”
The Times article had been a human interest piece more than a food critique. Word got out soon after we opened that I’d opened the restaurant in Lily’s honor. The dishes and their names were all charmingly named for her. She’d become something of a celebrity in the food world overnight, but there was no time to relish in the popularity except for stolen moments in our back office with stolen champagne.
