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It takes me a second to realize my phone is, indeed, lighting up in my pocket. Standing, I look at the number. Usually I don’t take calls from phone numbers I don’t recognize, but with the Cucina thing, I click it on and walk toward the railing, watching as the lake comes alive.
“Hello? Tristano DeLuca speaking.”
A pause, and then, “Mr. DeLuca? This is Tom Bailey fromCucina Magazine.”
The name isn’t familiar, but the organization certainly is.
“Good morning, Mr. Bailey.”
“Good morning, Mr. DeLuca. I’m calling to congratulate you. DeLuca’s II Ristorante has received an official nomination fromCucina Magazinefor the Best Restaurant in the Northeast Region competition this year. As you may already know, this means you can use the designation of “nominee” in any marketing materials, and you will now be entered into the semifinal round. You will not be notified of the date of the judges’ visit. Do you have any questions?”
He doesn’t give me much time to think of any. Heart hammering, I try to form a coherent thought.
“No, Mr. Bailey, I do not believe so. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“It is our pleasure. Congratulations again. We will be in touch either way.”
“Thank you,” I say, “I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Have a nice day,” he says, just before the phone goes dead on his end. Likely I’m one of many calls he’s making this morning.
Evie.
I stare at the phone, praying. Please call me. Please be nominated.
I wait. And wait.
But the phone never rings.
33
Evie
“Hey, guys,” I say, walking up to Zara and Lisa’s table. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Are you kidding?” Zara says, trying to hide her sympathy. It’s been two days since Tris got the call. Which means we didn’t make the cut. “When risotto is on the menu, I’m here.”
I stand aside for the waitress, who puts down their drinks.
“Sit with us,” Zara says.
I’m about to refuse when she cuts in. “What good is owning a restaurant if you can’t enjoy the fruits of your own labor for five minutes?”
Looking around and seeing everything pretty well under control, and because it’s almost past the golden hour, I relent. Taking a seat from an empty table, I sit beside my friends.
“I hear you got a pretty big client?” I ask Lisa, not having seen her much these past few weeks.
“Yeah, I’m pretty pumped. Although making all of the signs for a casino will be a pretty big undertaking. I’m in the process of hiring part-time staff now. You know how that goes.”
Staffing as a business owner. Yes, I know it all too well.
“Good luck, though. That’s pretty incredible.”
Lisa inherited her sign company, like I did this restaurant. And is killing it, expanding into new markets beyond Bridgewater.
Like Tris.
Of course I’m happy for him to set and reach goals. What would life be like without them? But he’d not told me anything about it, even the night when I’d met Frank . . . it was like he didn’t trust me with the information. Since then we’ve avoided work talk. But that doesn’t feel right either.
