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“This looks perfect,” I say to Phil, who is doing an amazing job as sous. He needs a promotion. “Keep ’em coming.”
Then to Maggie.
“Don’t get used to the new Evie,” I tell her. “Another week off my mini-vacation, and I’ll be back to normal.”
Normal meaning slightly high-strung and paranoid.
And yet . . .
That’s not really true. If Maggie is noticing a difference, there’s a good reason. I feel different. More at peace than I’ve been in a long time.
I’m so in the zone, I don’t notice Maggie leaving the kitchen, but I definitely notice her coming back in. Her face is white.
“You need to come with me,” she says, unusually direct. “Now.”
Since she’s never used that tone before, I, and the rest of the kitchen, immediately take notice.
“Tidy up,” she says.
So, an important customer? I pull off my apron, hang it on the wall and nod to Phil, who takes over with ease.
Fixing my ponytail and tucking my shirt in a bit more, I follow Maggie from the kitchen.
Her expression is completely unreadable. It’s as if she’s seen a ghost.
“What’s going on?”
“Over there.” She points to a table in the corner. A man sitting solo. I’ve never seen him before.
“Who is he?”
She blinks. And looks as if she’s about to cry.
“Maggie? You’re freaking me out. Who is he?”
She takes a deep breath and swallows.
“He’s fromCucina Magazine.”
40
Tristano
“I’m heading home,” Lusanne says.
I grab her purse from under the bar and slide it toward her.
“Sit with me,” I say spontaneously.
Lus pushes her purse to the side.
“Drink?” I ask.
“Sure. One red.”
In our family, we assume you’re drinking Angel unless otherwise noted. So I pour two glasses of Angel Red and look around the empty restaurant. Only the two of us, and Brax, remain.
“You never told me how that photography workshop went last weekend.”
