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Deanna and I exchange raised eyebrows, both wondering who could be visiting at this hour. It certainly isn’t Gina or any of the former staff.
“Maybe it’s a customer mistaking us for being open since the doors are unlocked,” Deanna says. “I’ll go check it out.”
“No, I’ll handle it,” I insist, quickly moving to address our unexpected visitor.
As I approach, I come to an abrupt halt upon recognizing the person standing before me. “Naomi?” I ask, surprised to see Gina’s best friend here.
Initially, I entertain the thought that Naomi might have mistaken the restaurant for being open. But then, a chilling realization sets in. Maybe it’s something else. Could something be seriously wrong with Gina, and that’s why she hadn’t answered my calls? Has Naomi spotted my car in the parking lot and come inside to deliver the bad news that Gina’s in the hospital, or worse? The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my tone laced with caution and worry.
To my relief, Naomi responds with a bright smile that perfectly matches her usually sunny disposition. “I was just in the neighborhood and noticed the doors were open, so I decided to see what’s going on,” she explains. “I’m actually moving to Boston.” Her gaze drifts nostalgically around the familiar surroundings. “I’ve spent so much time in here over the years.”
I’m taken aback by the nostalgia in her voice as she reminisces about the past. She recounts the countless times she visited Gina while she was on a break and how I seemingly kept track of every second of Gina’s downtime. She chuckles as she mentions it, but I find myself questioning—did I really monitor her every moment?
“But you’re back!” she exclaims as if just realizing the surprise of encountering me here.
“I am,” I manage to reply softly. While I could engage in small talk about my plans to reopen the restaurant after renovations, I can’t shake the feeling that Naomi walking in here is akin to Gina herself walking in, given their inseparable bond. If anyone truly knows why Gina has been avoiding my calls or if she’s involved with someone else, it’s the woman standing before me.
Part of me desperately wants to ask about Gina, but at the same time, I’m terrified of what the answer might be. Will it destroy me from the inside out?
“Hello?” Deanna’s voice chimes in as she enters the front of the restaurant.
Naomi’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh,” she says, looking at Deanna as if she’s just seen a ghost. “So it is true.”
“What’s true?” Deanna and I ask at the same time.
“You two are… You know?” Naomi stammers, her finger wagging between us.
“You know what?” Deanna asks as she walks over to stand beside me. Then she turns to face me. “Randy, the strangest thing happened on my flight home. A few people asked if you and I were together. I didn’t think anything of it at first; I just assumed they were fans drawing their own conclusions. But…”
“Me too,” I interject, recollecting my own encounter with the ticket agent.
“What the hell is going on?” Deanna exclaims, folding her arms and focusing her attention on Naomi as if she’s the only one capable of answering her question.
“Yeah, why would you think I’m hooking up with Deanna?” I ask, puzzled by the implication.
“Okay, I’m not that horrible,” Deanna retorts, picking up on my tone.
“Sorry, D. You’re a beautiful lady, but us being together is pretty unlikely. We’re like family.”
She nods in agreement. “Extremely unlikely.”
Now both of us fix our curious gazes on Naomi, awaiting an explanation.
“Well,” she begins, then proceeds to tell us about the show and how, during our interviews, we mentioned our past relationship. She says that although we never explicitly stated that we were romantically involved, it seemed clear that we were playing coy about it.
“We never said that or played coy,” Deanna snaps, her frustration evident.
“Never,” I confirm, equally irked by the misunderstanding.
“Those assholes must’ve stitched scenes together to create the narrative they wanted people to see,” Deanna hisses.
“But you slapped him on the butt and—” Naomi begins, trying to explain.
“Yes,” Deanna interrupts irritably. “I told him to get his ass in gear because he was lagging behind and needed to win the challenge. I was a contestant, but I’m not the star chef; he is,” she exclaims, clearly upset. “Sorry,” she adds, shaking her head. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at those snakes for creating this narrative without running it by me first for approval. I wouldn’t have given it because he’s my star client. They’re messing with my reputation.” Deanna unleashes a string of expletives before pressing two fingers to her temples and taking deep, calming breaths.
I raise my eyebrows at Naomi, who appears shocked by Deanna’s reaction.
