The words draw my eyes deeper into his, wrong-footing me with his sincerity.
“So…what do you want?” I say, confused by his presence now more than anything.
Cole looks down and takes a deep breath.
“That’s a hell of a big question. Took me a long time to figure it out for myself.”
“And?”
He looks up at me, eyes as open as those days in Vegas, as the night by his pool. Even tangled up in the mass of conflicting emotions that the night has brought on, I feel my heart jump a little at all the warm memories I have of me and Cole connecting.
“What I really want,” he says, slow and serious, “is for you to be happy. With or without me.”
My lips part, but I can think of no answer. He doesn’t need one, however. Instead he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials, bringing it to his ear and looking at me as he talks.
“Charles? Are the premiere guests there yet? Tell them to leave…I don’t care. Exactly what I just said. Shut the place down. Give them a bottle of wine and tell them to beat it. Tell them there’s a fire hazard, or a health risk…difficult or not, I’m sure you can manage it, Charles…yes. Once that’s done I want you to tell all the chefs and waiters to come on over to Chow…right, Willow’s place… pack up the vans and bring some tables and chairs, also—”
Cole offers me the phone and says, “Tell him what you need. All of it.”
I take the phone, my eyes still on Cole, wishing I could pinch myself without looking stupid. Then I give Charles the long list of ingredients, cutlery, and drinks that we’re short of, before handing the cell back to Cole.
“Did you get that? Good. Tell the staff they’re getting double overtime for this—and a bonus if they can get here within twenty minutes.”
Cole hangs up and puts his phone away, looking at me as I gawp and struggle to come up with words to express what I’m feeling.
“I…thanks…I don’t really know what to say, or how to repay you—”
Cole steps toward me, close enough now to put a hand on my arm. He shakes his head. “I’m not asking anything of you—you already gave me enough.”
I glance back at the kitchen, take in the sound of desperate chefs fighting over a stove. I let out a sigh.
“To be honest, I’m not even sure it’ll be enough to save this. People have already been waiting all evening. And we haven’t been able to serve half of what’s on the menu.”
Cole puts his other hand on my opposite arm, and I realize I’m falling into him again, the hard determination that’s made my body tight and wound-up melting at his touch.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Cole says. “Nobody remembers the wait when the dish is good enough. And I know your dishes are good enough. Besides, whatever they couldn’t order tonight? It’s just gonna be one more thing that brings them back next time. ‘Cause one taste of you is never enough.”
His strong hands move up to squeeze my shoulders as he stares into my eyes, his expression warm and reassuring.
And just like that, I suddenly feel like everything is going to be ok.
Knife’s staff arrives like the cavalry, a crack squad rescuing the night from spectacular failure in dramatic fashion. His waiters set tables and chairs up on the sidewalk outside, cheers from the line going up as they shift and find seats, while his chefs lug desperately-needed boxes of seafood and supplies inside. There’s even enough alcohol to offer the people who waited in that long line a round of free drinks. Cole even manages to fix the stove, recognizing the problem as a common one with that model, and recommending a superior replacement.
As quickly as the evening descended into chaos, it starts to lift, the atmosphere gathering momentum as tensions seep away both in and out of the kitchen. Soon the anxiously low volume of chatter from the restaurant is a loud, dynamic music of clanging plates and excited voices and the panic-ridden kitchen turns into a smoothly oiled machine, with my rookie staff now ordering Cole’s international team about as if there weren’t decades of experience between them. When a cop comes past to check that our street side tables and chairs are legal I almost feel it going off the rails again, but a quick conversation with Cole makes everything ok.
By midnight, the restaurant opening is more like the end point of a carnival parade, spilling out onto the street as many diners who couldn’t find tables settle for Tony’s impromptu idea to serve them takeout. Even the kitchen staff and waiters find a moment to laugh now that we’re overstaffed, and I finally get the chance to leave the kitchen and join Ellie and Asha outside, my nieces still tucking into desserts with Chloe.
“I’m so proud of you, Willow,” Ellie says, her eyes misting up a little.
“So am I,” Asha says. “Though I didn’t doubt this place for a second.”
“Me too,” Chloe says. “The gelato is awesome!”
“You guys really thought I had everything under control?” I say. “Even when there was a line down the block big enough to make the DMV proud?”
Asha laughs. “Especially then. Crises bring out the best in you.”
“It’s true,” Ellie adds.
“Well, I didn’t do it all myself,” I say, looking around to find Cole. “I had a little help.”
Taking my glance as an invitation to come over, Cole moves away from a conversation with Tony and comes up beside me.
“Oh my God,” Ellie says, looking around. “Where is Greg? I can’t believe it’s Cole Chambers himself! In person!”
“Well hello again,” Asha says, shooting Cole a warning glance.
“This is my sister Ellie, and this is Asha, who you’ve already met, of course,” I say to Cole. “I was just telling them about how you helped me out tonight.”
I barely notice the hand Cole places on my back, it feels so natural.
“It was nothing,” Cole says, “compared to the help she’s given me.”
Ellie and Asha beam, on the verge of giggling like schoolgirls.
“Actually,” Cole says, looking at me a little seriously, “there was one thing I needed to clear up with you. You ladies don’t mind if I steal her for a minute, do you?”
“Really?” Ellie says, a pained expression on her face. “I’ve got so much stuff I wanted to ask you, though.”
“Don’t worry,” Cole says, glancing at me before looking back at her, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
He turns away, taking my hand and leading me back through the packed tables of happy diners, back through the waiters swinging plates of food through the hallway, through the cooks and smells of the kitchen, out into the alleyway again. It’s dark now, and cool, the sounds of my restaurant fading into a distant chorus as the exit door shuts behind us.
“What’s up?” I say. “Is this about—”
Before I can finish, Cole spins me around and clutches me to him, pressing his lips to mine. A slow, savored kiss that makes us recognize the hunger we’ve had to hold back for so long. A kiss that tastes better than any other.
When we finally pull apart, Cole says, “I lied.”