“Now because this place was a restaurant, it’s still got all the connections for the kitchens and stuff—plumbing, electricity, cold storage. We’d have to equip it with our own appliances, of course, but technically there are no big structural changes needed here. You could have this place serving dinners in just a couple of months if you like it.”
Andre stops and I feel both of the men’s eyes bore into me expectantly. I can almost sense their held breath.
I let out a sigh. “No.”
Tony leans toward me, as if he didn’t hear me.
“What was that? No?”
“No.”
They glance at each other for a second, then look back at me, the silence heavy.
“Is that it?” Tony says. “Just ‘no’?”
I shake my head and step forward into the dark space.
“It’s…it’s awful.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Tony asks.
“It’s…faux European.”
Tony frowns and throws up his hands. “Ugh! You always say that and I never know what you mean!”
“I mean that it’s another one of those places that just seems ashamed of existing in America. Why is it so dark in here? This is California, for God’s sake! I feel like I’m in a basement. And so much dark oak paneling, as if it’s scared of being snowed in, and the ceilings are so low…a hobbit would feel claustrophobic walking around! And these windows! When was the last time you saw windows like this that weren’t in a period drama?”
“Who cares about the windows!” Tony says. “What does serving great food have to do with Gothic windows?”
“Everything. The place has to work as a whole, a complete experience. I want to serve food that makes the customers feel energetic and alive—this place will make them feel like they’re falling asleep in a Jane Austen novel.”
Tony is about to reply but Andre puts a calming hand on his shoulder.
“The lady hath spoken,” he says in his good-natured way, and we turn around to trudge back to the car, Tony shooting me the stink eye the entire time.
The third place is a beautiful building in Culver City that I reject before I’ve even entered as soon as I smell the burning rubber and hear the screeching drill of the garage next door. The fourth is an okay-but-small location in Midtown that I dismiss when I notice that the windows look out upon an eyesore of a government building across the street. Each time the words between me and Tony get more and more terse, while Andre’s interventions and peacekeeping become more and more necessary.
When we turn up at the fifth place, a low-ceilinged location tucked behind wildly-unkempt bushes, Tony’s beyond caring about decorum.
“So what about this then, Goldilocks?” he says, melodramatically. Opening his arms wide and looking at me as he backs into the center. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“The ceilings are too low in this one too,” I say, deadpan in the face of his derision. “And the walls seem to be made of paper, you can hear the traffic from the street on all three sides.”
Tony snorts derisively, looking at Andre for a second as if for support.
“And the feng shui is wrong,” Tony adds sarcastically, “and the air doesn’t smell like roses, and you’ve got a feeling the place is haunted too, I’ll bet.”
I glare at him and fold my arms.
“You don’t have to be a jerk about this, Tony.”
“Me?! You’re the one who’s been making us drive all over Los Angeles since—”
“Tony,” Andre says, almost habitual now, “let’s ease up and—”
“No,” Tony interrupts him back. “Andre, can I have a word with Willow? In private?”
Andre stops and glances at me to check if it’s ok. I nod that it is, and he shrugs as he steps past us.
“I’ll go wait in the car then. Take all the time you need.”
Tony waits for him to go, then looks at me, his anger faded now, leaving a deep disappointment in its place.
“Willow…” he says slowly, as if carefully searching for the words. “What’s going on? Why don’t you want this to happen?”
“Of course I want this to happen.”
“I don’t think you do,” Tony says ruefully. “Ever since I negotiated this investment you’ve been pulling back. First you don’t believe in it enough to commit, then Andre brings the papers and you don’t want to sign them, now we’re looking at place after place and all you keep saying is no. People would kill for some of the places we’ve seen.”
“Tony,” I say softly, moving closer to him, “I just want to do this right. I don’t want to do a half-assed job of this. Like you said, this is a one-in-a-million opportunity we’ve got.”
Tony sighs, wringing his hands with exasperation.
“Windows? I mean we’re rejecting places because you don’t like the windows? We can always put in new windows, at some point.”
I shake my head. “If you settle for windows you hate then you’ll end up settling for second-rate ingredients from distributors, then you settle for chefs who turn up on time but can’t cook for shit, and before you know it you’re just another restaurant that people like because it’s close and the food is just about edible.”
Tony turns away from me and takes a few steps, as if contemplating. After a few seconds he turns back and I can almost see pity in his eyes.
“Cut the crap, Willow. I know exactly what this is about.”
“What?”
“It’s about Cole Chambers,” Tony says, shaking his head a little in contempt. “You’re in love with him. And now that you’re happily banging your celebrity millionaire boss you’re afraid to ruin it, so you’re jeopardizing our whole venture.”
“What?!” I yell so loud that Andre can probably hear me. “That’s insane, Tony! I mean…maybe that’s part of it, but…it’s complicated. There’s more to it than that.”
Tony looks up and smiles sadly again, shaking his head as if my fumbled words are all the evidence he needs to know he’s right.
“Look, you’re a little bit right,” I say, striding toward him to show I’m being direct. “I am in love with him.”
“I knew it!”
“But this is my dream,” I say, the force of a lifelong wish behind my words now, a direct honesty that even Tony can’t look away and deny now. “And even love isn’t going to stop me from making it a reality.”
Tony and I stare at each other for what feels like both an eternity and a split second, our eyes telling each other far more than any words. Finally, he nods.
“But that also means,” I say, once I see that he understands now, “that this place has to be worth it. If I’m gonna betray him…lose him…if I’m gonna get hurt…then this can’t just be some restaurant I happen to own—it has to be the place I always wanted it to be, the place we always dreamt it would be. Anything less than that, and I’m losing more than I gain.”
We stare at each other again, and this time he pulls me toward him for a hug.
“Ugh,” he says, and I can hear the feelings blocking in his throat, “I hate it when you get all emotional on me.”
“I hate it when you get me emotional.”
We break apart and Tony rubs his face, sniffing a little.
“Ok,” he says, taking deep breaths. “Let’s get back to Andre and try to convince him he didn’t invest in a couple of bickering schmucks who can’t even find their own assholes.”
We leave the building all smiles and walk toward Andre, who’s leaning against his car, swiping at his phone. He looks up at us when we draw near, eyebrow raised.
“Everything ok?” he asks.