“No! Willow!” Ellie says, reaching toward the camera as if she wants to climb out of the screen and stop me. “Let me listen! Please!”
I click off the chat window and answer the phone.
“Willow?” Cole says.
“Speaking,” I reply, almost surprising myself with how hearing him compels me to smile.
“How are you?”
“Little tired,” I say, checking the dough again, “cooking up a storm. Same as always.”
“You should take a break sometime.”
“I should. I’ll have to check with my boss,” I tease.
Cole chuckles warmly.
“Actually, I think he might have something in mind.”
His deep voice, even over the phone, feels like music, striking at some deep, primitive urge in me. My skin tingling, an emerging tension that makes me stroke my own neck.
“Oh yeah?”
“Come with me to Vegas for a couple days. I’ve got most of the distributors lined up but I want to really nail down any problems in the menu; see if there are any gaps, run the cooks through their paces. I’d like a second opinion, a second pair of eyes, and since Martin is busy finding new chef candidates, I’d like that second opinion to be yours.”
“Two consecutive days off work?”
“You’ll still be working, make no mistake. We’ll cut a few tables at Knife, the crew will manage. And I’ll pay you overtime, of course.”
I take a moment to think of what to say, mentally performing acrobatics to read between the lines and figure out if it’s as professional as he makes it sound.
“I’ve got to ask…why me? I mean, I’ve only worked at Knife for a few weeks. Wouldn’t one of the other chefs know your style better than I do?”
“You’ve got good taste,” Cole says, without missing a beat. “Plus, you’re one of the few people with the balls to tell me when you don’t like something. You disagree with me about food, and that’s what I want in a second opinion: Criticism. I might not act on it, but it’s what I want to hear.”
I let another moment drift by, feeling the inevitability of this trip encircle me.
“Can I just ask...is this all business, or…”
Cole laughs again.
“It’s absolutely business,” he says nonchalantly. Then, in a voice that seems to come from some unresolved urge, from that broad, hard-muscled body, “Until the business is done. After that…well, it’s up to you. Though I did only book one suite for us to share…unless you’d prefer your own room. The trip still stands, regardless. I need you there.”
“The suite works great,” I blurt, understanding the implication, and figuring that I can always book myself a separate room later, if need be—although I can’t imagine wanting to…
“Great. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
“So soon? Um…ok. Sure. Should I book a flight, or are we driving, or—?”
“I’ve taken care of all the details. Pick you up first thing, say around nine?”
“That’s perfect. Looking forward to it.”
Cole hangs up, and I stand in the kitchen feeling dazed for a few seconds before remembering that Ellie is probably still waiting in front of her computer. I call her up again and dump the dough onto the counter, ready to roll it out.
Ellie appears on-screen pouting disappointedly. It doesn’t last long, though.
“Sorry about that,” I say, as I start forming the buns.
“Was it him?” Ellie asks, her pout disappearing in the face of immense curiosity.
I nod.
“Ha! I knew it.” Now she’s all smiles again. “And what did he say?”
“Uh, not much…just wanted to discuss some business stuff…”
“Willow…”
“Fine! He wants to take me to Vegas for a few days to help him with the new restaurant.”
Ellie squeals so loud I have to reach over and turn the volume down with flour on my fingers.
“Greg!” she calls off-screen. “Willow’s in a relationship with Cole Chambers!”
“I’m not in a relationship!” I plead.
Ellie laughs and looks back at me through the screen.
“Sorry,” she says, warmly. “I’m just happy for you. And I just want to see you happy. Not just this Cole thing, but everything else. The job, the Vegas trip. It’s great to see you moving on, getting over things not working out in Idaho. You deserve better, and you’re capable of so much more. I’m just glad you’re finally on the right path.”
“Yeah,” I say, looking back at her affectionately. “I know.”
“And listen, whatever happens with Cole, just enjoy it. Although, I mean…it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you fell madly in love with each other and could invite us down to eat at his restaurants for free…but so long as you’re enjoying life then who cares what you call it? You do you.”
“Thanks, Ellie.”
“Look,” she says, suddenly hurried. “I’d better get going to pick the girls up from dance class. Greg’s cooking his ragu tonight.”
“Does he still use parsnip instead of carrot in it?”
Ellie shrugs lovingly.
“You know Greg—he likes what he likes.”
“And that’s why we like him.”
“Ok, call me when you get back from Vegas.”
“I will. Say hello to Greg and the girls for me.”
We sign off and I finish baking the cinnamon buns, taking a few hot ones piled high with icing straight to my room, still wearing the big smile my sister always leaves me with.
I lay back on the bed, my muscles sinking gratifyingly at finally being able to rest, and let the sugar hit of the cinnamon buns send a gentle buzz through my blood. Then the phone rings again.
I tense up, half-expecting it to be Cole again, but instead see that it’s Tony. I drop the bun, put the plate aside, wipe my fingers on a napkin and pick up the phone.
“Hey—”
“They said yes,” Tony interrupts.
“What?”
“They said yes.”
I sit upright in the bed.
“The investors?”
“The investors. They said yes.”
I lick my teeth with my tongue, staring into space as I struggle to process the sudden information.
“What…how…we didn’t even—”
“They said they loved us!” Tony crows, and I can hear that he’s as stunned as I am still. “And that they think we’re onto something. The local food thing, the L.A. twist on classic comfort cuisine, the unique approach—they loved all of it. Most of all, though, they believe in the two of us.”
“You’re sure?”
“I just got off the phone with them right now. Get this: They said they want to do everything they can to get the restaurant up and running in ten months.”
“Ten months? That’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“It would take that long just to find a location and lease it.”
Tony laughs in amazement.
“Not when one of your investors made his money in real estate.”
“Who?”
“Andre. He owns a bunch of locations around L.A. already, and said he could sweep through a lease if we had something in mind. Isn’t it incredible? Spud! We’re gonna open our own restaurant in less than a year!”
He laughs again, and I get up to pace the room, rubbing my brow.