AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No,” I admit. “It’s not.”
“So let’s unpack this. What are you really worried about?”
Where to start? I lean back in the booth, ready to unload. “We tried this weekend to avoid work talk. Which makes sense, because us sharing, well, basically anything, is problematic. And that lasted for all of three seconds.”
“So you guys talked this weekend too?”
I guess I forgot to mention that.
“We sort of hung out after hours at Festa.”
Zara leans forward. “Seriously? And you forgot to mention that fact? When? What night?”
“Friday and Saturday.”
“Friday and . . . oh boy. This is worse than I thought.”
She has no idea.
“And look at you. Your cheeks are flushed.”
My hands fly up to my cheeks. “Are they really?” I lift my glass to my lips. “It must be this water.”
Zara smiles through a forkful of salad.
“Sorry.” She swallows. “You were saying? About work talk?”
I think back to that conversation.
“It’s just, I have no life outside of work. And it’s fine. Renovating the restaurant, the possibility of this award, and what it could mean. Putting Mama Leoni’s on the map. I want people to come from all over, not just Bridgewater. I want to win a Beard, get starred. I’ve trained for this, and am ready. But it takes a lot of work. Work I can’t entrust to anyone else. At least, not fully.”
She looks skeptical.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t doubt it. And have no idea what it takes to achieve those things. But I do know a bit about attaining goals. And sometimes, life gets in the way.”
Of course she does.
Zara’s parents are award-winning photographers. She’s traveled the world with them. Attended grad school at Oxford. Had some crazy-cool job in D.C. But in the end, she gave it all up to come back here and live in her grandmother’s house when she passed away.
Of course, she met Cole and now owns a newspaper, so I’d say Zara is doing pretty well. But I know returning to Bridgewater wasn’t in her original life plans.
“I sold Dad’s place to make this work. And I will make this work.” I pick up my tuna sandwich. “For both of them.”
Zara’s sad eyes are why I don’t talk about my parents much. I spent years on the other end of pity, having lost my mom at a young age. And I appreciate the sentiment, of course.
“I understand,” she says. “But do you really have to live there? Today, can you take a day off? The restaurant is closed.”
I’m already shaking my head before she finishes. “No way. Not with the judges coming Friday.”
She gives me a look.
“What? I took off two weeks ago for the wedding.”
“Oohhh, one night? In how long?”
I won’t answer that.
