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“We’d love you to come back when you feel ready,” Henry said. “Maybe next week sometime?”
Diana gestured toward the restaurant. “I was thinking tonight. Valentina and I have dinner reservations. I want to experience the magic our Rachelle is cooking up back there.”
“Oh! Great idea,” Henry said, rubbing his palms together. “We can surprise her at the end and tell her you ate all the courses! We can call it the ultimate test on her quest to become the head chef!”
Valentina’s eyes turned from Henry to Diana and back again.
“That’s how quickly decisions get made in reality television,” Henry said, guffawing. “We fly by the seat of our pants.”
“I can see that,” Valentina said.
“You’ll have to check out my next real film,” Henry said, his cheeks flashing pink. “It’s coming out next summer. This is just to pay the bills.”
Valentina begged him for more details on his film, amazed that he’d done something so artistic.
“Those kinds of projects barely scrape the surface of what I need to pay my ex-wife in child support,” Henry explained timidly. “I’m just grateful I get to make any of my own art at all. So many people never get the chance.”
As Valentina and Diana entered The Clam Factory, Eddie approached with the newly printed menus, wearing a horribly attractive smile. Obviously, his botched facial treatment had had no lasting side effects. He was just as handsome as ever—and just as willing to do anything for the spotlight.
Diana wondered if he’d learned any lesson from his hyaluronic acid experience. She suspected that men like him needed to learn their lessons ten times before they stuck.
“Evening, ladies!” Eddie said.
There were cameras upon them. Diana stiffened and glanced at Valentina, nervous. But Valentina was a natural. She took the menus and flipped her hair behind her shoulders, hardly glancing at Eddie at all.
“I’ll have a glass of Malbec,” Diana said as Eddie raced away from their table.
Diana opened her menu to inspect Rachelle’s new offerings. Left to her own devices, it was no surprise that Rachelle had proven herself to be a mesmerizing and fresh talent in the culinary scene. Everything from the ceviche appetizers to the banana cream pie dessert was immaculate—and dangerously innovative. Some of the flavors never would have occurred to Diana.
Later, tears sprang to her eyes when she tasted her third course with a small spoon. Rachelle had truly done something extraordinary here.
“What do you think?” she asked Valentina. “Would you rather be eating macaroni?”
Valentina laughed. “No way. This is amazing.” She glanced toward the cameras, which had pinned them in view for the entire night. She wagged her fork playfully. “So it’s always like this for you and Dad?”
“For the better part of twenty years,” Diana said.
“I can’t imagine,” Valentina offered. “What a nightmare.”
When the entire restaurant cleared, except for the television crew, the waitstaff, Diana, and Valentina, Henry instructed one of the cameras to keep recording for the “next portion” of the evening. He went back into the kitchen and called Rachelle’s name.
For whatever reason, Diana’s heart pounded with nerves. She could just imagine herself at Rachelle’s age, throwing herself through the mechanics of another stressful day in the kitchen. She could just imagine how fearful it was to be called into the dining room after a heinous shift, only to find that your boss was sitting there, ready to judge you.
But Diana had only wonderful things to say.
Rachelle stepped through the kitchen door and looked on the verge of melting. She clasped her hands together and looked at Diana with buggy eyes.
“Chef?” she rasped. “What are you doing here?”
As Rachelle walked toward their table, Valentina stood to greet her first. Rachelle had been the one to “save” her when she’d arrived at The Clam Factory, inquiring about her mother. She’d reunited mother and daughter. And Valentina would never forget that. Neither would Diana.
“Hi,” Diana said, hugging Rachelle after Valentina was through.
Rachelle’s eyes glinted with tears. With meaning. Diana knew Rachelle had been trying to contact her all week. That had only escalated when Ryan and Stacy’s cooking show had aired.
Rachelle was the sort of woman who looked out for her own. She was everything Diana wished she’d been at her age. And more than that, she had enough self-respect to keep her away from the prying arms of someone like Ryan. She’d already given Eddie the revenge he deserved.
As the cameras rolled, Diana reached for Rachelle’s hands. “Rachelle,” Diana began, her voice breaking, “you are truly one of the best chefs I’ve ever worked with. And this meal you created was sensational. Everyone from Singapore to Melbourne to Timbuktu has to dine at one of your restaurants. I see only beautiful things in your future. Buckle up.”
